Poetry in the Written Word

Poem by Jennifer L. Day

A drama of black and white
Creating characters of love, hate, heartache
Erratic in its conception
Fluid in its completion

Defying ways of the mind
But surrendering to the soul
As I look on that which I love
I, all the more, consider it my enemy

Contributor’s Note: I am currently a student at Cerro Coso and hope to continue studying the art of the English language. I love photography and I hope to learn more of the arts and all they entail.

Fiction Contest--Deadline July 31

Glimmer Train Press

Family Matters
A prize of $1,200 and publication in Glimmer Train Stories is given quarterly for a short story about family. Online submissions are encouraged. Submit a story of 500 to 12,000 words with a $15 entry fee by July 31. Visit the Web site for complete guidelines.

Very Short Fiction Award
A prize of $1,200 and publication in Glimmer Train Stories is given twice yearly for a short story. Online submissions are encouraged. Submit a story of up to 3,000 words with a $15 entry fee by August 31. Visit the Web site for complete guidelines.

Glimmer Train Press, 1211 NW Glisan Street, Suite 207, Portland, OR 97209. (503) 221-0836. Susan Burmeister-Brown and Linda Swanson-Davies, Coeditors. http://www.glimmertrain.org/

Fiction Writing Contest

Attention Creative Writing Community: the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival is accepting submissions for its Second Annual Fiction Writing Contest. The winner will recieve a $1500 prize, a $500-value VIP pass to the festival (March 24-28, 2010), publication in the New Orleans Review, and more. Open to writers who have not yet published a book of fiction. For all the details, go to tennesseewilliams.net. Sounds like a good time!

Creative Writing Club: Call for Writers and Literature Lovers!

Oh, the words, the words,
the achingly

inadequate

beautiful

words.

--Terry Hertzler

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Michele Beller, and I am the new Student Editor for Cerro Coso’s online Creative Writing Club. I am very excited about having a community of fellow writers with whom I can share my love of writing and good literature. What a great opportunity! Here, we can support each other as we master our craft, bounce ideas off each other, and share resources. I look forward to some inspiration, some good reads, and I really look forward to some great discussions!

What better time than National Poetry Month (April) to shift the online Creative Writing Club into first gear and get ‘er running again? National Poetry Month is an annual celebration of the art of poetry, with the goal of increasing appreciation and support for poetry and poets. Let’s read some great poetry! Let’s write some even better poems! Let’s turn our friends and family on to the pleasures of verse! And let’s have some great fun in the process!

National Poetry Month was started by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, and has been gaining momentum every year since. Inspired by this celebration, we have many fun activities scheduled for April, like some great reads, and some fun writing exercises. Come join us! If you are already a member of Cerro Coso’s online Creative Writing Club, log on and jump in. You’ll see the site has received a spiffy tune-up and a new paint job. If you’re not a member, go here to request the enrollment key from the club’s faculty advisor, Gary Enns.

Review for Parra's After-Dinner Declarations

After Dinner Declarations
Poetry by Nicanor Parra / Translated by Dave Oliphant
Available: December 2008
Host Publications

"What is Poetry?" begins a Nicanor Parra poem that sets the stage for an experience in poetry I never knew I wanted. All right, so you have to get halfway through the book before you read this snippet of thought I'm beginning with, but sometimes we have to be in the middle to realize the value of what came before. Parra describes himself as an anti-poet and I could, at best, be described as anti-poetry. Don't get me wrong, I like some of it, and my generalized opinions haven't miraculously changed due to this reading, but I do believe a gem has been found. I think most critics can agree it's difficult to find good poetry saying something remotely interesting. What was appealing about Parra's style is that he's not pretentious, nor is he cliché.

Parra writes many of his poems in succession to each other offering you to read as if he were thinking aloud and letting his mind wander. Readers might not be familiar with many of the other authors Parra frequently mentions, but think of it as a chance to depart from the formulaic writings that are thrust into our Hollywood society and jump into new ideas for your next booklist. It doesn't take away from the experience. Parra's unique way with words, if not somewhat cryptic, creates a sense of humility (sometimes self deprecating) while simultaneously pompous. And he certainly knows how to serve up a bowl of irony that's palatable while still being thought-provoking.

In one particular poem, Parra utilizes Hamlet's most famous soliloquy, commentary sprinkled throughout for a modern context, in a blatantly honest and humorously somber look into the human condition. The genius that is "After Dinner Declarations" could only come from someone who has lived long enough to know or was born with more wisdom than he deserves. He has seen the pain of politics, life, and ignorance. And yet he maintains the outrage and innocence of a youth who has not yet seen the remainder of his poems. That sort of passion dies with "I've lived long enough to understand," "I've seen things over the course of my life," and the ever so slightly bitter and accepting; "The world is going to hell in a hand basket." He sees idealism as a requirement for young people and insanity for old, but you can't help but see sparks of optimism in his own ideas. Maybe as you reach a certain age, you're able to suppress it and by the time you pass age 70, you can afford to think like a young man/woman, provided the excuse "eccentricity" is readily available.

There are few poets (and for that matter, authors) who can illuminate a problem with such calm and normalcy to be effective in inspiring voluntary brainwork. Parra's "Remarks by the Minister in Charge" relates a social dilemma as if it were the fault of the victims, not unlike the style of Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal." The creativity of this reverse psychology tickles the poetic ivories until you hear the sound of truth ringing in your ears.

The book, on the whole, is very enjoyable. In fact, I quite enjoyed this work for its honesty, complexity, irony, and entertainment, (not to be confused with modern entertainment which lacks the essential effort it takes to realize your being entertained). Parra without a doubt has a way with words, and more importantly, ideas, which explains why he has been nominated several times for a Nobel Prize. But his work speaks for itself, so, to return to the question and poem that I began with, "What is Poetry?" I step down from my podium and ask someone better than me to answer. Mr. Parra, would you mind taking the floor?

Decoding The Love Song

T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” brings to life the inner workings of an aging man who worries about isolation and loneliness because he lacks a mate. With only a cursory glance, a reader might believe that this epic journey is but a mere dirge to a life which lacks love. However, deeper analysis brings forth another conclusion about this poem’s true intent. It is in fact a veiled social commentary, focusing on various aspects of human society.

Perhaps the biggest elucidation would be the plot of Prufrock itself. The speaker of the poem is a balding man who it seems cannot find love no matter how hard he tries. As he grows older, his chances become slimmer due to physical unattractiveness which is at odds with the preconceived notion of physical beauty that his community holds when courting. He lives with the knowledge that the women he seeks will say things about him like “'but how his arms and legs are thin'” (678)! Controversially, Prufrock also lets the women he sees blend together into a singular being in the respect that he has “known their eyes already, known them all” (679). Here the speaker is pointing out how all of the women have the same values in a man, and that they are in a way all the same, and thus almost gives up by not knowing how to “presume” due to the repetitive nature of the females in his world. However, eventually, later in the poem he seems to succumb to the situation by deciding that the proper way to handle his age is to take up the latest fashion, wearing the “bottoms of [his] trousers rolled” (680). Even though he still seems dejected and maintains that he will probably never find a woman, he trudges onward and carries on with his quest to attain love. This interpretation of the ending helps us see the conformity that is imposed upon a person who is for the entirety of their monologue and objector to the statues queue. He goes along with the concepts he hates only because he it seems to be the only means to his end. As such, much of his dialog can bee seen as a commentary of the social standards one has to go though for even the most minuscule prospect of love.

One way Eliot illustrates his social qualms is with the many historical references he makes, one of the most noteworthy being “In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo” (678). We can imagine that he is talking of perhaps the most famous Michelangelo who created the Sistine Chapel, reputed to be on of the greatest artists of all time. For approximately a hundred years now there have been rumors and evidence circulating claiming that he was a homosexual, this timeline would of course put the start of the rumors within the same time period that Eliot was writing this composition (Alberge). Homosexuality was something of a taboo practice in the early 20th century; it can be assumed that one of the most noteworthy people of all time possibly partaking in same sex relations would be the hot button for gossip. With rumors, there is no need for truth in the matter, only that people are willing to spread it to others who will do so in kind. So when a critical question is posed in the poem we “make our visit” to the place where women talk “of Michelangelo” (678). It would seem as if the speaker is saying that we as a society put the most stock in the gossip of a sewing circle, rather than focusing on what is actually important in the bigger picture. His connotations to rumors are supplemented by those of other literary classics.

Elliot makes numerous allusions to other great works including, but not limited to, Hamlet, The Bible, and Dante’s Inferno. The sheer number of references he makes is a testament to his poetic style, and simultaneously turns the poem itself into something of a social commentary in that only the learned people of the world could read and understand it. Perhaps this was intentionally done to help drive people into become more scholarly, and have a greater appreciation for the various forms of the written word. It has been suggested that he intentionally made his poetry so complex in order to pull in the reader and make them “involved” (Brooker). Is there any doubt that today almost a hundred years later, in the U.S.A, our educational system seems to be in at least quasi dire straights? Moreover, this idea can be further expounded upon when the connection is made that out of all the works both the editors Schilb/Clifford and I could not find a single one which was spawned from the mind of an American. This development helps show his lack of respect for American Literature which was riddled with Romanticism during his time period. In fact he was often noted to “[react] against Romanticism” (Brooker). Perhaps the numerous allusions he makes are in a sense a challenge to the contemporary writers of the era to change their style and become noteworthy enough to be made reference to in a literary work.

Arguably, the most interesting reference in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is made in the very beginning of the poem; it is a selection written in its original Italian from Dante's Inferno. This epic poem is but the fist in a three part masterpiece which chronicles a man’s trip though the various settings of the after life (Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven); the Inferno corresponding to Hell. After translation we find that the excerpt is that of a person in Hell telling Dante that no one returns from Abaddon (Eliot 677). The primary purpose for this opening line would seem to be to tell us as readers that we are already in the fiery pits even if we may not know it. But what is this Hades which Eliot wishes us to see and realize we are in? The rest of the poem would is centered on the social scene of the era with lines like “I have measure out my life with coffee spoons” (678). It is not unfathomable that Eliot might be saying that the communal environment of the time is very much like the dankest of abysses.

Yet another connection occurs in stanzas 5 and 7 in which Eliot some what mimics the biblical poem Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 by repeating the phrase “There will be time” and a pattern of listing two opposing acts such as “plant” and “uproot.” Following the allusion are various metropolitan aspects such as “yellow smoke” (smog) and “taking of toast and tea” (678). Here it is almost as if he is attempting to show us how venerated such facets of life have become, by comparing them in a biblical sense. Furthermore, he goes on to in the same list tell us of time to “murder,” an act which helps bring forth the darker connotation he seems to be going for. As it stands both these stanzas seem to cast light onto some of the “evil” areas of modern life (Brooker).

T.S. Eliot's style and life experiences give credence to the conclusion that “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is a social commentary. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” was the culmination of the first portion of his career, and was only preceded by a few poems titled respectively "Portrait of a Lady," "Preludes," and "Rhapsody on a Windy Night.” All four of these poems set themes that Elliot would revisit “time and time again.” This concept should be taken into account when we consider his land mark work, known as “The Wasteland” in which he “diagnosed” the troubles not only of his epoch, but of “Western Civilization” as well. His time spent as a literary critic is also quite telling as so many of his essays included “social and religious criticism.” His other works show that he has something of a predisposition for societal appraisal; it would stand to reason then that Prufrock could be thought of as a stepping stone to the greater annotations of his later career (Brooker).

T.S. Elliot has riddled this piece with social commentary galore. He has masterfully woven in many differing views on the way things were accomplished in the world then, and has managed to keep it applicable for today’s world almost a hundred years later. His primary overtone being that of reforming the dating system, we find him even going so far as to compare the dating pool to a circle of Hell. Some of his undertones use historical and biblical connections to show our dependency on rumors and ritual. He even, in a very round about way, goes so far as to make the assumption that American literature is not worthy, and that our educational system is in adequate. The surface of the brimming pot of social commentary has only been scratched, but even soaking in at this level leads me to believe that this is no mere souls lamentation of loneliness.

Works Cited

Alberge, Dalya. "Michelangelo was not gay, says scholar." The Times (London, England) (Feb 22, 1999): 8. InfoTrac Custom Newspapers. Gale. Cerro Coso Community College. 20 Nov. 2008 .

Brooker, Jewel Spears. Dictionary of Literary Biography Volume 329. Literature Resource Center. Gale. 2007. 18 Nov. 2008. Cerro Coso Community College.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, New International Version. BibleGateway.com. 2008. 18 Nov. 2008

Eliot, T.S.. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Making Arguments About Literature. Ed. John Schilb and John Clifford. Boston: Bedford/St. Martins, 2005. 677-680.

Using Masks as Tools of Self-Discovery

The Poems Of Vikram Babu
Poetry by Jesús Aguado / Translated By Electa Arenal / Beatrix Gates
Available: January 2009
Host Publications

Say not, “I have found the truth,” but
Rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.”
Say rather, “I have met
the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
-Kahlil Gibran

There exists within every culture the desire to delve into the innermost workings of human nature and expose the conflicts and hypocrisies that divide every person from his or her Self. The poet has always served as a facilitator and mentor in this task, guiding those with the fortitude and desire for such a journey through the darkest passages of their own minds. The Spanish poet, Jesus Aguado, performs this sacred charge by adopting the guise of a seventeenth-century Indian mystic and basket-weaver called Vikram Babu. In his newest book of poems titled The Poems of Vikram Babu, Aguado presents the reader with dark scenarios and sometimes rather comical situations, and then poses questions that dare the reader to explore his or her relationship to the words on the page. But why does Aguado choose the persona of an Indian mystic? And why do the poems in this collection follow such a rigid pattern? While the specific reasons why Aguado imbues his poetry with these characteristics may not be known, it can be inferred that he uses the persona of an Indian mystic to create a sense of the student/teacher relationship between the speaker and the reader. This guise also allows Aguado to detach himself from his creation, giving the poetry in this collection a distinct personality that is not necessarily defined by the author’s own emotions and convictions. The rigid structure used by Aguado may be nothing more than an example of the way in which an Indian mystic may query his students, or it may be a way of inviting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem.

The persona has always been a standard tool of many of the greatest poets throughout history. Jeannine Hall Gailey, in her essay, “Why We Wear Masks,” writes, “a persona is the “I” of a narrative or the implied speaker of a lyric poem” (1). This is, of course, a rather text book definition for an element used in writing for as many different reasons as there are writers. But Gailey goes further by explaining that the use of the persona is “an exercise in empathy and analysis” (1) that frees the writer and allows the reader to feel what the speaker feels, and see what the speaker sees. In her poem, “Phantasia for Elvira Shatayev,” poet Adrienne Rich speaks through the voice of Elvira Shatayev, leader of a woman’s climbing team who died, along with the other women in her party, while climbing Lenin Peak during a storm in 1974. Addressing her husband, the speaker lists her reasons for undertaking such a dangerous climb, and explains the depth of comradery and love the women have for each other (4). Through this persona Rich is able to convey to the reader the struggle for validation and acceptance a woman in a male-dominated society must undergo, sometimes losing her life in the process. Many of Rich’s poems are written through the personas of real people with tragic stories, inviting the reader to view these individuals as being more than just media fodder, but real people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams.

There are other ways that a poet can employ the use of a persona effectively in his or her works. Some poets pose riddles, enticing the reader to guess at what mask they have chosen to wear. Emily Dickinson does this with exceptional skill. She has been everything from an insect to a cloud, hiding behind clever metaphors and hints. Sylvia Plath’s poem, “Metaphors,” does essentially the same thing, although after reading the first line most will already guess the answer. When the speaker describes herself as “a riddle in nine syllables” (726), there is not much left to puzzle over for the reader. However, the riddle may not have been Plath’s main theme, but a vehicle to drive home another message.

Vikram Babu, the persona used by Jesus Aguado in his latest book of poems, is obviously not used in the same way that the previously mentioned poets choose to incorporate theirs. Instead, Aguado has more in common with Kahlil Gibran and his poetic masterpiece, titled The Prophet. Both Aguado and Gibran channel their inspiration through spiritual teachers who are sought out by those in need of guidance and instruction. Gibran’s persona, named “Almustafa,” (3) answers questions posed by the inhabitants of the city of Orphalese, where he has lived for the past twelve years. The narrative structure employed by Gibran works to draw the reader into the poetry, but more from the perspective of a bystander that is hearing, vicariously, the teachings of Almustafa to his followers. Aguado’s speaker is given no such background information or narrative context, and the reader must create for him or herself the conditions under which these poems are presented. This approach works well for Aguado, and I found myself reading the poems as if Vikram Babu was speaking directly to me, as we both sat meditating by the banks of the river. Both Gibran and Aguado, however, use their personas similarly, to create a textbook of sorts, to guide the reader on a path of truth seeking and self-discovery.

Through Vikram Babu, Aguado dissociates his Self from his poems, making it easier for the reader to claim ownership of the ideas they contain. He is also able to transcend the boundaries of time, religious belief, and cultural constraint by donning the mask of such a benevolent character. In comparison, Gibran’s persona runs a striking parallel to the character of Jesus Christ. Even the way in which Gibran’s speaker addresses his followers is reminiscent of Christ’s sermons. But while Gibran’s speaker is addressing the inhabitants of a fictional city, Aguado’s speaker seems to be posing his questions directly to the reader.

Another important difference between Gibran and Aguado is in the way the poems are written. Gibran’s poems are free-flowing statements advocating a spiritual approach to everyday life, but Aguado’s poems are questions posed in the form of a simile, each one following a strict pattern of structure. Aguado deliberately uses the same format for all fifty of the poems in this collection, presumably to give a traditional voice to his mystic Indian speaker. But repetition is used quite frequently in poetry for a number of reasons. Some poets repeat significant phrases throughout their poems to help guide the reader’s interpretation. Others may incorporate the techniques of poetic meter to present their message in a more subtle way. Aguado’s use of repetition seems to be a way of connecting the poems to each other and to the reader. George Szirtes, author of an essay called, “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza and Pattern,” says that patterns “can be the beginnings of religious vision” (5). Like the words a Buddhist monk chants in order to induce a state of pure meditation, the repeated structure in Aguado’s poems works to direct the reader’s gaze inward, until the message is completely absorbed into his or her consciousness.

One more definitive characteristic of The Poems of Vikram Babu is the use of simile found in every one of the poems. All of the poems begin with an almost identical format, such as, “Like the one who attempts” (Aguado 7). Using a Simile as structural support in these poems is a creative way of getting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem, even before the speaker asks the question, “you too?” (7). Although the use of the simile is by no means new to the poetic landscape, Aguado is able to incorporate this literary tool in such a way that the reader has no choice but to acknowledge the familiar aspects connecting him or her to the poem.

There are many different paths that lead to self-discovery, and some form of truth can be found through all of them. It is the poet’s task to create a map for the reader to consult in order to find his or her bearings in a world where society, like a thick fog, can sometimes bring fear and doubt to a confused and weary traveler. Through The Poems of Vikram Babu, Jesus Aguado has fashioned a map that will serve well the reader who decides to embark on this most serious of expeditions. The defining trait of a great poet is that “if he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind” (Gibran 56). A debt of gratitude is undeniably owed to Electa Arenal and Beatrix Gates for translating The Poems of Vikram Babu, so that many more people around the world can now add a new and powerful tool to their inventory of indispensable equipment for the journey of self-discovery.

Works Cited

Aguado, Jesus. The Poems of Vikram Babu. Trans. Electa Arenal and Beatrix Gates. Austin: Host, 2008.

Gailey, Jeannine Hall. “Why We Wear Masks.” Poemeleon. 2008. 20 Nov. 2008. http://www.poemeleon.org/gailey-why-we-wear-masks-essay/

Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1994.

Plath, Sylvia. “Metaphors.” Perrine’s Literature: Structure, Sound, and Sense. Ed. Thomas R. Arp and Greg Johnson. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth, 2006. 726.

Rich, Adrienne. The Dream of a Common Language. New York: Norton, 1993.

Szirtes, George. “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza, and Pattern.” Poetry 187.5 (2006): 416(9). Expanded Academic ASAP. Gale. Cerro Coso Commuity College. 20 Nov. 2008. http://find.galegroup.com/itx/start.do?prodld=EAIM

Met Meetings

Hi guys,this is your new blog editor Pliskin42. We have had two meetings on the KRV campus these past two Tuesdays and we came up to several difficult decisions during them.

In the first meeting we discussed very broad guidelines that we wanted to use when selecting which submissions we would want to make it into print. things that tend to denote amateur writers were to be avoided, such as overtly simple rhyme scheme.We also came to something of a agreement on how to weigh in the ratings on the number scale given already (two or more tens was defiantly worth discussion, ect). Then we eventually delved in, began judging the pieces, and weeded out those who it seemed did not to cut it. There are still a few pieces that are on the proverbial fence, so you editors who have not put in any input throw in your two cents.

During the latter meeting we came to the conclusion that since the Graphic design class is not in session this semester, and we had in the past worked hand in hand with them for art and layout design, it would most likely be best to push back production of this years Met in order make use of their services. This decisions holds a two fold benefit, the first being the aforementioned use of the classes on campus, and the second being that we can now open for new submission and hopefully flush out the few areas where we were seemingly lacking ( for instance we only had a single art submission.) As such we had to go back and come up with new deadline dates. February 28 is now the last day we will be taking submissions for this upcoming Met. March 16 is the deadline we set to have all the submissions that we have chosen in the order we wish them to appear in our final cut. March 31 is our final due date, this is the day on which we must have everything edited as well as ordered and then sent off to the Digital Imaging class for lay out and construction. After Deciding on dates we then discussed how we could foster more support. We came to the conclusion that we needed to advertise more around the various campuses here in Cerro Coso and that it could be done both by word of mouth and by creation of posters. Additionally to foster a greater following with our web based community, the ideas were thrown out to promote the blog with more contributions from the various members of the creative writing community. So all you creative writing community members who want to help make this blog great come on forward! lastly we created a couple new positions in the club, the first being the blog editor (that would be myself) and the second was that of calendar editor ( which went to Margret).

If there is any more questions, concerns, or comments feel free to let us know!
-Pliskin

Buffalo Carp Flash Fiction Contest

BUFFALO CARP
Quad City Arts’ Literary Magazine

*GUIDELINES for Buffalo Carp’s FLASH FICTION CONTEST*

-Prize is $250 USD, plus five copies of Buffalo Carp, Volume 6. All entries will be considered for publication.

-Send no more than three (3) flash fiction stories, each one being no longer than 600 words. ONLY unpublished flash fiction stories may be submitted.

-Entry fee is $10 for each submission of up to three (3) flash fiction stories; please make checks payable to “QUAD CITY ARTS”. All entrants will receive Buffalo Carp, Volume 6 (winning story will be published in Volume 6) with paid entry fee.

-Email submissions are accepted, but will NOT be processed until the $10 entry fee is received.

-Please include a SASE for notification and cover sheet with all contact information (name, address, phone #, and email), title of all stories submitted, and a brief bio. Name and contact information should NOT appear on the stories themselves.

-Judging will be done by the editorial staff of Buffalo Carp.

-Simultaneous submissions are accepted, as long as you notify Buffalo Carp immediately should your work be accepted elsewhere.

-Deadline for submissions is January 16, 2009. Winners will be announced February 2009.

Please send entries to:

Flash Fiction Contest
Buffalo Carp
Quad City Arts
1715 Second Avenue
Rock Island, IL 61201

OR email submissions to: buffalocarp@gmail.com

If you have questions, please contact Ryan Collins: (309) 793-1213 ext. 107, or email: rcollins@quadcityarts.com

Camp Shakespeare

This may seem like an advertisement, like I'm being paid to say such glowing things. But I assure you I've got nothing at stake here. This is pure love!

I've just returned from a week-long, ultra-intensive and very fun week of Camp Shakespeare at the Tony Award winning Utah Shakespearean Festival, and words, words, words can hardly describe the experience. I feel like I've just woken up form a strange dream--a dream that an Elizabethan English playhouse had been magically transported to the red sandstone mountains of Southern Utah, that Shakespeare fans and students of all ages were now traveling to Utah in droves to see stellar performances of the bard's plays, that actors and audience members alike were partying after hours in cabarets, that world renowned scholars and directors and stage designers were drawn inexplicably to Cedar City to create some of the best Shakespearean theater in the world ...

(Slide show photos by Gary Enns, Gary Graupman, and Michael Flachmann)

If you have never been to the Utah Shakespearean Festival, then you are in for a shock. There is not much that seems regional about this regional theater. For forty-six years, Fred Adams and USF supporters have been building this festival into something spectacular. The festival grounds now boast three stages, indoor and outdoor lecture spaces, concessions, and a center with bookstore and gift shop. The USF produces nine--yes, nine--plays per year. Needless to say, Southern Utah is now a magnet for professional actors, directors, and other drama professionals. For its excellence, in 2000, The USF achieved international attention when it won a Tony Award for Outstanding Regional Theater of the Year.

The Adams Memorial Theatre is the crown jewel at the USF. An open-air theater designed in the spirit of Shakespeare's Globe, it's the space of choice for traditional period productions of the plays of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. For musicals, contemporary plays, and non-traditional productions of Shakespeare, the USF utilizes the beautifully gilded indoor Randall L. Jones Theatre.

For anyone even remotely curious about the Shakespeare and the theater, Camp Shakespeare is a fantastic introduction. In five intense days, you see six plays (three of Shakespeare's and three by other playwrights and/or composers), attend seminars and classes and workshops on all things theater, and eat extremely well in SUU's beautiful and elegant Great Hall. Lodging and all meals are included. World renowned Shakespeare scholar and official festival dramaturg Michael Flachmann heads up the camp, wearing several hats--host, teacher, party coordinator, and general fun guy. And if you are a student, valuable university undergraduate and graduate credit is available through SUU and CSUB.

The 2008 Summer season that I just attended includes The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Othello, The Taming of the Shrew, Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac, Moliere's The School for Wives, and Bock, Harnick, and Stein's popular musical Fiddler on the Roof. The highlight for me was Rostand's play directed by David Ivers. The chemistry between leads Brian Vaughn and Melinda Pfunstein was first rate and brought great pathos to this melodramatic play.

For more information on Camp Shakespeare options (including Mini CS and CS for Seniors), visit Camp Shakespeare Online. Hopefully I'll see you in Utah for Summer 2009!

Aeron's Review: Down to a Sunless Sea by Matthias Freese

Down to a Sunless Sea was a challenging and emotional read, but one I took on with interest and intensity. I saw reflections of myself, turned this way or that in the glass of the book, responding to the pictures that are so sharply and courageously drawn of people in inescapable pain, some of whom who seem to be mourning or experiencing deep anguish or torment. It was as if the book were a pool of dark water that revealed a hall of mirrors as I broke the surface in my dive into the deep.

I very much like Freese’s title for this collection, and saw it interlaced throughout the book in the deep and disturbing nature of the stories he tells. I felt drawn to many of his characters, fascinated in a tender way by their dark, even sad, yet striking portraits. To say that I felt their struggles resonating within me would be an understatement. The experience of reading the book may have been heightened somewhat for me by a recent personal loss, but even without fresh pain, reading Down to a Sunless Sea will strike in most readers that common chord of humanity, as they see so clearly before them the desolate, and yet recall the undying hope so many of us carry within.

Matthias Freese’s writing is sensitive, yet starkly illustrative of the sometimes frantic, sometimes muted angst of mental illness and emotional turmoil that his work reveals to readers. It’s as if, at certain moments, I felt the author’s voice as well as hearing it, and I responded with an array of feelings – from anger to compassion, and everything in between.

Every now and then, a turn of the phrase would capture me and take me to another level in my life as a reader. For example, in the story “Unanswerable,” the phrase “…the dead are alive in us…” really struck me – and not simply due to my recent loss, but more because “…that memory is as present as time itself…” I could feel the pain of distance and disappointment, of fear and loathing, mixed with love and confusion and loss in this story, for both the child and the man. As an anthem to numbness, I resonated with the words “…he had no there in him.”

I cannot name a favorite from among the stories; they are each unto themselves unique, and yet that golden thread unites them all and I did not find it difficult to transition from one to the other. Instead, I seemed to want more. I tend to put a book down and then pick it up again, and, true to form, I did that with this collection of stories – the natural breaks from one to the other making my habit fit easily within its covers. Still, I would find myself thinking about the last story I had read and anticipating, not in a voyeuristic fashion but in a sense of being drawn to, the next. I would pass by my study and see the book on the arm of my chair and find myself stopping in when there were other things to do.

I plan to spend more time with Freese’s stories, and encourage especially those who are interested in the mind and in exploring in more detail the inner lives of human persons to read his work. I have recently read The i Tetralogy, and found it a welcome arrival when I was ready to move on from Down to a Sunless Sea. I admit that I was not altogether willing to move on, but after a time of self-reflection, found my footing and did so, eager for more of the rich descriptions to which I had become accustomed. The i Tetralogy did not disappoint, but I did find myself wanting to revisit the intensely personal worlds of Down to a Sunless Sea.

I noted some typographical errors in the printing (errant punctuation such as a comma and period residing in the same location), but – even with my perfectionistic bent as an editor – simply wished them away. Usually, those items of housekeeping distract me when reading, and, were I to be completely honest, they did here – but they did not detract from my overall experience of this read and may have, in some spiritual way, been fitting. My attention was certainly not taken at any point from the sometimes jarring but somehow tranquil journey through the landscape of emotional and mental life, and I dare say that I came away from the reading with a new place opened up inside myself – yet another tender access to my already captivated mind and willing heart.

I congratulate Matthias Freese on a challenging work expertly done.

Aeron Hicks, reviewer
Crossfield Consulting Literary Agency
©2008

Drumroll please!

The moment we've all been waiting for is here at last! The release of Metamorphoses 2007-08 is finally here!

Many apologies to those of you, if any, who have not yet given up on us and are still eagerly awaiting your copies. The change in funding and everything became a little more than we could chew... in a timely manner. Switching from being a school funded production to an independent project brought on many new obstacles that proved a bit much, but we have made it at last and are thrilled to present the culmination of our efforts.

To all of those wonderful individuals and businesses who supported our funding, as well as those who contributed all the great art, poems, and stories that make up this edition, we will be sending you a copy of the journal just as soon as we can get them all packaged and labeled. We thoroughly hope you can all be as proud of the first independent edition of Met as we are, knowing that it couldnt have happened without the support and contributions of people like you! Thank you for making Met what it is this year, and we hope you will join us to see the progress in years to come and know that it all started here.

For those who are not getting copies shipped to you, you can pick yours up at the Cerro Coso campus or online at http://www.cerrocoso.edu/metamorphoses/. As I understand, we are going to try to keep this publication free of cost to CCCC students, and for non students it will be $5 per copy (plus shipping for both students and non-students if you order online). Please continue to support by telling all of your family and friends!

Id like to congratulate our cover artist, Michael Batty, both on his awesome art work and on the award he recieved at the 2008 Awards Banquet at the Ridgecrest campus yesterday. I didnt get the chance to talk with him, but he recieved recognition from the Fine Arts department as the student of the year for that subject. I have to say just from seeing your work and hearing all the great things that were said about you that you deserve it! Keep up the good work, and were proud to have your work displayed as the cover of our very first independent publication!

"Met" Minutes

Greetings, all! I hope you're all doing well.
No, Met has not been published yet, but when I asked Gary about it today he said "March, March March!" so hopefully that means March...
In the meantime, I would like to give you a little bit of a preview of what is to come, and maybe my reviews of a few pieces.




This is "Pair of Feet" by M. Batty. He is a Cerro Coso student from Ridgecrest, and I absolutely love his work. We are featuring several of his pieces, including the cover piece, which you will have to wait to see!





This is "Rousing the Whirlwind" but Aunia Kahn. She is one of the non- Cerro Coso students we have fought to be able to feature. We are also featuring more than one of her pieces, and each one of the pieces submitted by her have a very unique statement. I like the way she expresses herself through her work.





"Desert Dreams II" by Jeani Sunday. I love this piece. Not many photographs of deserted buildings make me want to be in the picture, but I almost get a feeling of weightlessness looking at this. It's beautiful.



"Amusing" by Donna Fitch. I have taken art classes with Donna, and she does some amazing work. This is one of my favorite pieces of hers.


COMBING by ANDREW SHELLY
I.
Stilled dusk of washed-out louring light
rain-tense day silted down to a black line of cloud on the horizon
sense how everything goes quiet and freezes
just before the storm crumbles and boils over
cloud violently colliding with itself to crush and fracture the curdled light brighter
feel how everything goes silent just before the fall of autumn or that of night
see how a life goes still and turns in on itself at evening just before it ends
as if viewed through a soundproof screen of doom-tinted glass/shade-stained glaze
element stained to slurry with black ink
cloud-streaks of blue-black aquatint
whose sleek perspectives trailing back into the sky's past
converged upon us and trapped us standing there at an odd angle to each other
drawn across the landscaped page
with a paint-drenched brush pressed firmly to the surface
shot across the ether's sheet
or dashed angrily in savage black against the feverish background greys
held back beyond the dulled rim of the looming horizon ruthlessly planed down
flush with the pert cut scar of your flat prim mouth
slowly disintegrating like a jet's ragged wake
as torn tares into the close-heated thickness of afternoon-muted light
earth line brought so near as to be a gulch between us
by the storm-borne air of haze-saturated heat/waterlogged lead
heavy as tears in a pain-soaked skull-shell of scree and sand/sunburst earthhead
rimful of intimate distance brimming with unshed, grey theatre rain
yellow-purple bruise of sunset storm-sky just before it breaks in blood
low-humming of near-pent water muted ominous booming
threatening to bulge and burst out as the first or final flood
retreating and retrenching to silt over the parched terrain
to fresh growth teeming from black mud.
II.
Stiff, dry grass in the swamp-heavy air
combed obliquely back and forth between green and paler matte lime
I stood slightly slantwise on the uneven rain-thirsty plain
rigidly ruled into plots by cotton twined round short planted stakes
pock-marked with hollows and unburst shell-holes,
I untangled your hair, as your bare face wept
unraveled the knots in your clammy hair carefully
washed out the matted strands of your hair in the river water
pecked cloth-balls from your crummy clothes ruefully
your baggy rumpled skirt and wind-shocked top
while you cried, bare-faced,
while ineptly you wept, your bald face wet
a trickle of wincing tenderness seeped out through the cracks in our broken hearts
vulnerable pulp or sap to salve the knife-cuts in the tree's bark
which slashed our sticky initials into the fresh white wood flesh
such that they oozed glue but obstinately refused to adhere together
separated by a thin line like a joy division sign
like a flat cut pert mouth primly shut and silent
me over you doesn't go or leaves a remainder of precisely zero
flung an 0 echoing down the deserted street of days in the bleak light of spastic dawn
popped us like a plastic spit-bubble
pricked to the shape of a flame-burnt scar-tissue heart by a red-hot needle
hovering over our heads forever like a trembling speech-balloon
empty but for an exclamation that twists itself up to the shape of a question mark
or an illegible rune that bursts in a pretty tinkle of little spit-specks like a teardrop tree
and vanishes into clean air, into lean air.
I dried you, while you cried, your bare shame-face
turned up to the sky which dropped a fine
freckling of scattered rain-flecks upon the pale
sliver-of moon opal thumbnail of your face's plane,
my finger chucking you lightly under the chin
tilted the beaten-thin disc of your visage's skin
slightly to the grey light the grim sky
like a jagged diamond turned slowly between fingertips
in the hard light of exact appreciation,
precise pencil-beam trained seekingly upon the smooth of your round moon-face
fused first as pixel points of dense intensity
into the surrounding dawnrise silence
as you smiled a little in the hot pre-storm half-dark
shattered blue of your eyes' metalled crystal ovals
faint against the stark zinc light
like almond-facets of pastel quartz
touched into the neuter pre-downpour twilight
bleached colorless and drained off-white like strained rinds
by a blunt thumb's end dipped in stain.
We stood slightly bent towards each other-
I stood sagging in low-slung loose trousers at an awkward angle
one foot higher than the other and skewed shoulders slanting sideways
in the spitting pre-deluge drizzle
on the stumpy marsh-land studded with clumps of hard sod
crumpling into myself like a used tissue screwed up in a fat fist
having absorbed all the snot and sweat and filth of the world
you ran off over a fence, leapt like a lamb,
heavy space weighed me down, drooping greens
all around, early haze, pre-summer moist,
rain-freighted shale while
the vivid bright stile closed its colors.


This is another one of the people who submitted that we almost didn't get to publish. Andrew Shelley is from London, and I'm glad we are able to publish this work.


PUTTING DOWN MY RAKE, I TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT GETTING OLDER by Shawn Aprill.
September leaves fall.
Beige hand holds brown—see myself:
Fragile. One more year…


Shawn Aprill is local but is not a Cerro Coso student. All the wonderful work we wouldn't have been able to use without all the fundraising we did!

Coleridge’s Contribution to Creativity

To go on a voyage resonates as something fantastic and breathtaking. The word “voyage” in itself brings to mind indistinct, exotic places. However, when one reads The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, an expedition conveys a completely different significance. In this narrative ballad, the Mariner discloses the harrowing account of his own unforgettable voyage. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is regarded by some as Coleridge’s greatest contribution to poetry. This work took poems to a whole new level with meter, imagery, and the never-ending quest for penance. Though one can presuppose that Coleridge was at least moderately inspired by his addiction to laudanum, this literary scholar would prefer to concentrate exclusively on the poem—isolated from all outside influence. So, please--read this poem and post your thoughts here. Do you think the old Mariner ever attains peace? What do you think is the message here?

Letters to Ebay Twisted and Hilarious

Here's a quick review of a hilarious book I've been making my way through this Christmas break.

If you're looking for something weird, twisted, and hilarious to pass some down time, then pick up a copy of Art Farkas' (pen name of Central Valley eBay enthusiast and author Paul Meadors) Letters to eBay.

Amazon.com lists the book's key phrases as "happy bidding," "lint rollers," "deer jerky," and "depression glass" - fitting for this farcical, oftentimes obsessive, exploration of the virtual world of online consumerism.

Farkas' basis for the book is simple. According to his blog, he began "firing off crazy questions and seemingly far-fetched scenarios to eBay vendors concerning their items mixed in with a dose of TMI (too much information)." His crazy questions along with the oftentimes serious (and thus hilarious) replies from the vendors creates the core of this book.

Letters to eBay is one of those books that's just plain good to have around when there's a possibility of a few moments down time. The letters/answers are quick reads and can be taken in small doses. Farkas knows how to shape an incredibly ridiculous question with just enough detail and earnest tone to make it believable. And the unsuspecting vendors bite, responding here with good natured sincerity, there with exasperation. The questions - funny; the real-life responses - even funnier!

Keep this book around - it's worth a big laugh a day.

"Met" Minutes

Well, here we are, just after midterms, and still worrying away about the well being of Metamorphoses. Well, believe it or not, Met is indeed still alive and kicking, and is expected to be released (better late than never!) in December.
The fundraising went better than we ever expected it to, and thanks to all of the friends and supporters of Met, this issue will feature artists and writers from all over the world.
Despite an abundance of complications and delays, this is proving to be the best issue of Met that we could hope for!
Our publication this year will be a little bit edgy, featuring collages from an amazing artist in London, as well as some very thought-provoking work from the Cerro Coso student in Ridgcrest chosen to be featured on the cover. Our literature choices include a few pieces by the imfamous Sterling Warner, and Bakersfield's own Melinda Carroll as well. There are some really amazing writers, artists, poets, students, teachers, and dreamers being featured in this years Met.

INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 4 by Leo F. Kohl

I now present to you the final installment of Leo F. Kohl's INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN.


Marty and Francois rose at dawn the next morning, while Louisa prepared them a brief breakfast and coffee, which they ate hurriedly, then went out to meet with the picking crew, which had gathered outside the main entrance to the winery. Francois, accompanied by Marty
and the members of the picking crew, walked out to the first block of grapes Francois desired to be picked first; these were the Dr Chaunac variety and the sugar content was at a high enough
level to be harvested.

“The grapes in this block should take from several days to a week to harvest and be
crushed,” Francois told Marty. “When they are through with this block, start the crew in harvesting the largest block; the ‘Catawba’ grapes!”

“Will do!” Marty replied, then asked, “When’s the winery crew due to arrive?”

“Anytime, now!” Francois answered. “Have them get the steam up in the boilers and the rollers started, so when the first vineyard wagons pull up to the hopper, they can be unloaded and the grapes started to be crushed!”

Everything proceeded smoothly until late in the morning. The winery crew had crushed the first load of De Chaunac grapes, and was ready to start on the next, when Sheriff O’Leery
and three Deputies came by the winery and were met by Francois and Marty. After shaking
hands all around, and following introductions of the Deputies to the two men, O’Leery shook his head incredulously as he exclaimed to Marty, “Don’t know how you did it, Allhoff, but you were right on the mark as to that being their hide-out!”

Marty replied, “Remember Tim! I was trained by one o’ the top Plainsman there are, Jack Lord!”

“And in that regard, you’re right on the mark as well!” O’Leery exclaimed, then went on to describe what had occurred. “We went to r Longworth’s Winery first, and he was completely bowled over when I described last night’s happenings to him! He asked me how you managed through all that happened, Francois?”

Francois replied, “Like myself, mon ami, he too, is not accustomed to violence happening so close to one’s person!”

O’Leery continued, “Anyway, we checked out the premises and found no one around or near the place. It was totally deserted! Had the warrant, but in the long run, it wasn’t needed. Searched the house an’ barn thoroughly an’ found a considerable amount o’ valuables stolen by the two in previous robberies! For a while, there, guess they had a picnic! Anyway, the folks who
had reported being robbed by the pair, will be asked to identify the bodies, and claim their property, if it’s still available and in our keeping! Have to inform the newspapers ‘bout what had happened, but as much as I can, I will not divulge your names, nor how either of you became involved!”

With a grim expression on his face, Marty told O’Leery, “Francois, I know, would very much appreciate not being involved from a local business standpoint, an’ I had enough o’ news- papers after what had happened this past Halloween!”

When O’Leery and his three deputies departed the winery, Francois and Marty continued to work with the harvest crew.

Marty had written down all the various steps and procedures he had been required to learn and carry out under Francois’ tutelage. When all that had been completed, Francois exclaimed to both of them shortly after the harvest season had ended, “All you need to know now is the bottling and tasting techniques to ensure you have developed the best vintage you can.
Over the next few weeks, I will teach you how to sample wine, determine the proper sugar content and select those casks that will be ready for bottling!”

True to his word, Francois had Marty sampling the wine, determining the sugar content in other wine vintages and learning the proper techniques required in the bottling and corking of wines. By mid-September, Marty had completed all the training that Francois could put him through, and according to Francois’ very high standards, he was considered to be an accompli- shed vintner.

About a week before Marty and Louisa were to leave Francois’ winery, Sheriff Tim
O’Leery and two of his deputies showed up at the winery and Francois asked them what they had on their minds.

“Not much!” O’Leery answered. “Heard a rumor in town that Marty an’ his wife’re gon-na be leavin’! That true?” he asked Francois.

Francois replied, “Mais oui! Yes, that is true! They will be leaving me in about a week, and head for Oakwood to be with their families for two weeks, then travel back to California, where Marty hopes to start a vineyard and winery in Coloma, where, from what he has told me, he has already purchased the land!”

At that moment, Marty and Louisa stepped out of the winery, saw O’Leery and his deputies and waved at them. When the couple approached closer to them, O’Leery commented to them, “Heard you’d be leavin’ soon, so wanted to confirm it with you! That right?”

Marty answered, “Right as rain, Tim! Headin’ home to be with our families for a couple
o’ weeks, then it’s off to California for us!”

O’Leery asked them, “How you gettin’ there?”

“Same way my brother an’ I came home!” Marty exclaimed. “On a special Wells, Fargo wagon train that carries supplies to various forts an’ outposts along the Oregon an’ California trails! In fact, our wagon train’s waitin fer us in East St. Louis!”

“That so?” O’Leery responded. “We’ll sure miss you ‘round here! Anyways, have a safe journey an’ say hello to Jack Lord for me, will you?”

“Marty replied, “Sure will! That is, if and when I get to see him!”

At that moment, Francois told O’Leery, “Mon amis, my many thanks for letting Marty in on those two road agents he shot recently, as well as keeping us out of any adverse publicity in
the local newspapers! On behalf of Pinaud’s Winery, allow me to present you with a bottle of champagne to show my thanks and gratitude!” From a case of champagne just inside the winery door, Francois removed a bottle of champagne and presented it to O’Leery. Turning, he asked the two deputies, “You like champagne?” Both men responded with a loud “Yes!!” So, Francois gave both deputies a bottle of champagne. All three thanked Francois for the champagne and shook his hand to show they were grateful. Then O’Leery shook Marty’s hand and bade he and
Louisa goodbye, and lots of luck!

In a few days, they left the winery and Francois drove them to the Railroad Depot in the Winery Carriage and Porters placed their trunks and luggage in the loading area reserved for Springfield. Marty had already purchased tickets on the stagecoach from Springfield to Oak- wood. He presented the train tickets to the Ticketmaster, who saw all was in order. The train came chugging into the station, wheezed and came to a stop in a cloud of steam, as they bade their host and employer the past five months, a very fond goodbye and wished him the very best in his winery operation.

Francois exclaimed to them, “Au revoir, mon amis! Goodby, my friends! I will miss you both! Maybe someday, I might be able to come out to California to see how you have prospered in your own grape production endeavors! Anyway, Au revoir! I wish you all the best in the
world, my friends! Marty, thank you for bing such an adept and knowing apprentice! Goodbye!”
Francois called out to them as the “All Aboard!” was shouted by all the conductors.

“Goodbye, Francois!” they called out to him as they hurried to their railroad car.
“Goodbye and good luck!”

The conductor helped Louisa up the steps, as Marty stepped on board and waved
goodbye to Francois upon entering the railroad car. The conductor escorted them to their seats, and they were no sooner seated, than the car lurched forward and they were underway back home to their families and Oakwood.

REFERENCE SOURCES.
1. McCabe, James D., Jr. “GREAT FORTUNES AND HOW THEY WERE MADE.” 1872. San
Francisco, CA, B. Hannaford & Company.

INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 3 by Leo F. Kohl

I now present to you INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 3 by Leo F. Kohl with no commercial interruptions.


Once they left Longworth’s Winery, Francois allowed the horses to proceed at a slow canter, since it was night and he was not sure of the directions he should take. At his side, Marty, who had alertly watched the direction they traveled on the way to Longworth’s, told Francois to turn on certain roads until they were out on what appeared to be the main road headed toward their winery. They had not been on that road ten minutes, when Marty suddenly cocked his head to the side, looked behind them, and said to Francois, “We’re bein’ followed! Two men on horses an’ travelin’ at full gallop!” With that casual remark, Marty removed his pistol from its
holster and held it in his right had against the metal grillwork siding of the driver’s seat. Marty
told Francois to continue on at the slow pace they had been traveling.

In less than five minutes, the horses caught up with the carriage, and the riders slowed their pace and looked over each of them as they slowly passed on both sides of the carriage and , stopped, then turned and faced the team of horses. The big, brawny one of the two men dis- mounted and Marty noted that he drew his pistol from its holster, as it flashed dully in the light from the almost-full moon. Holding his pistol so it could not be seen by the folks on the carriage, the man approached, then loudly called out, “Halt! Stand and deliver! Now, Allhoff, you’re gonna get yours for killin’ my friends out in California!”

Fully alerted, Marty saw the man start to slowly raise his pistol, when Marty suddenly aimed and fired at the man and hit him dead center in the heart! The man grunted loudly,
“Uh-h-h-h!” Then he fell forward with his arms outstretched as his pistol fell to the ground from
his now dead fingers.

Confused and frightened by the shot, the other man’s horse reared up and made it impossible for the second man to draw his pistol. Marty pushed Francois flat on the seat, and softly said to him, “Good! Stay there ‘til I tell you to get up!”

Marty waited cooly until the horse’s front hooves hit the ground, then aimed and fired a
second shot. The ball found its mark just above the left eyebrow, as it entered the man’s fore- head. When that happened, the man let out the most horrible scream Marty had ever heard. The second shot frightened the horse once again, as it reared up and dislodged the now dead rider from his saddle and he tumbled face down in the road and blood from his wound seeped into the ground.

As soon as he fired his second shot, Marty jumped down from the carriage, grabbed the reins of the frightened horse and led it to the rear of the carriage, where he tied it securely to a ring that was there for that purpose. Then he went back to where the tall, thin road agent lay, and removed his pistol from its holster and jammed it into his waistband.

Then he went to the front of Francois’ team of horses to do the same thing with the other horse, and stopped briefly to check on the other road agent sprawled out on the road. He reached down and picked up the dead man’s revolver, then stuck it in his jacket pocket. He led the other horse to the back of the carriage and tied it to another set of rings, then called out to Francois, “Francois! Could you please come down here an’ give me a hand loading these two dead bodies on their horses? Oh! An’ do you have any rope in the carriage’s boot to use to tie ‘em down? I promised Sheriff O’Leery I’d bring him the bodies if I could!”

Francois, somewhat traumatized by the incident, climbed slowly down from the carriage,
went to its boot in the rear and came back to Marty with a coil of rope, as he exclaimed, “Sacre bleu! Tres mal! Tres mal!” Then the two of them struggled to get the larger of the two men
across the saddle and properly tied down so the body would not fall off in transit. The tall, thin man was much easier to handle, load onto his horse and tie him down.

Francois, a horrified expression on his face, exclaimed to Marty, “Mon Dieu, mon amis!
My God, my friend! You mean to tell me you shot five men out in California? For what reason?”

Marty answered, “To stay alive! You have to shoot first and ask questions later! Jus’ like
this big man here! He had his pistol drawn an’ was ready to fire, when I shot him first! If the other one could have gotten to his pistol, I’m sure he’d have taken a shot at me! Lucky for me he had a spooky horse! Now that we’ve got the bodies loaded, le’s head fer the Sheriff’s office in Cincinnati! Wanna see the expression on O’Leery’s face when we bring the two in to him!”

As they were climbing back to the driver’s seat, Marty asked Louisa, “You all right?”

“Still shaking a little! But now that I see you are all right, everything is much brighter!” she replied, then asked her husband, “Where are we going now? Back to the winery?”

“Nope!” Marty replied. “We’re takin’ the bodies to the Sheriff’s office! Told O’Leery I
would! Like I jus’ told Francois, wanna see the look on his face ! Know he didn’t believe me!”

Francois turned the carriage around and headed back in the direction of Cincinnati, which took them almost an hour. At that time of night, there was almost no traffic, and when they pulled up in front of the Sheriff’s office, pandemonium erupted! Half a dozen deputies accompanied Sheriff O’Leery to Francois’ carriage, as Marty jumped down and confronted the Sheriff. “There you are, Tim! All tied up an’ waitin’ for the Coroner! Correct me if I’m wrong, but the big one’s Steve Bearess, an the tall, thin one’s Ron Rotzinger! Right?”

O’Leery replied, “Right as rain! But how the hell did you do it? An’ don’t tell me a little bird tol’ you!”

“Well, almost! ‘Member I told you my brother, John, an’ I were scouts for Jack Lord’s
wagon train we traveled in goin’ ‘cross country to California. Learned how to use my senses, an’ tonight, it paid off! Ever been out to Longworth’s winery?”

“Yeah!” O’Leery replied. “A few times! Why?”

Marty asked him, “Member seein’ a round hill covered with trees to the left o’ the drive into the winery? Think that’s where these two were holed up! ‘Pears there might be a house on the other side o’ that round hill, ‘cause I saw two pairs o’ legs on the other side o’ the trees, but the trees blocked the view of the upper parts o’ the bodies. Suggest you obtain a warrant n’ go check it out!”

“Are you sure?” O’Leery asked him.

Marty replied, “Absolutely! When you an’ your Deputies’ve checked it all out, come by
Pianud’s Winery an’ let us know what you’ve found!”

O’Leery turned to Francois and asked him how he felt.

“Mon ami! My friend! Everything happened so fast, were it not for Marty, here, and I was alone, I might be lying by the side of the road, dead! I was not aware you knew each other out in California, nor that Marty had killed five men while he was out there!”

Then one of the Deputies who was standing beside O’Leery asked Marty, “Are you the same Allhoff who shot those four thugs on Halloween over in Oakwood, an’ killed their leader?”

“Yep! I’m one an’ the same!” Marty replied. “Constable overheard ‘em makin’ plans to waylay me an’ work me over! Unbeknownst to the rest o’ them, their leader planned to kill me!
Jury voted unanimously that I was ‘Not Guilty’ by reason o’ self-defense. The three thugs were
declared ‘Guilty’ an’re still in Ohio State Prison!”

Then Marty commented, “It’s after midnight, an’ tomorrow we start the summer grape harvest, so we better get back to the winery, don’t you think, Francois?”

Before Francois could respond, O’Leery said to both of them, “We’ll follow up on the information you just gave us, an’ we’ll drop by the winery a’ let you know what we found. Sound all right to you?”

“Fine with us! Right, Francois?” Marty asked his employer.

“Tres bien! Very good!” Francois responded, “Just keep us out of any adverse publicity!”

O’Leery replied, “Will do the best I can, but you know these newspapers! They make everything worse than what they really are, and actually lie about it to get a good story out of it!
Yellow Journalism! Phooey! See you sometime tomorrow!”

Francois turned the carriage around, and in an hour, were back at Pinaud’s Winery, where all three sought sleep as soon as possible.


Come back in two weeks to find out what happens to Marty and Francois next!

INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 2 by Leo F. Kohl

Sorry for the delay folks. I know I said to come back in a week and it has been two weeks, but the author and I had a little palaver and we decided that maybe two weeks between sets would be better. Now without further ado I present to the world INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 2 by Leo F. Kohl.


They continued down the Winery Drive, until they were met by two gentlemen dressed in “Livery” costumes, who asked them where they were going. Francois replied, “To Nicholas Longworth’s July Fourth Party! I am Francois Pinaud, the owner of Pinaud’s winery on the other side of Cincinnati!”

“Yes, sir!” One of the men in livery responded. “You are on the list! Are the other two part of your operation?”


“Yes!” Francois answered somewhat gruffly, “but why all the questions? This is my apprentice foreman, and inside the coach is his wife! But why are we being so questioned? We are invited guests!”

At that moment, a rather slight man, about 5-foot, 8-inches tall, with bushy, white side-burns and twinkling, bright green eyes, came down the road and said to the two men in Livery, “That’s all right Karl! Stan! This is Mister Pinaud and his entourage! Let them in!”

“Yes, sir! Mister Longworth!” both men said in unison, then saluted the gentleman who had let them enter the winery.

Before Francois signaled the horses to move, Mister Longworth climbed up on the driver’s seat, as Marty made room for him to the outside. Longworth reached over and took Francois’ hand and said, “Welcome to Longworth’s Winery, Monsieur Pinaud!” He looked at Marty and asked,

“And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Marty Alhoff, sir! Glad to meet you, sir!” Marty answered. “And that’s my wife, Louisa,
back there in the coach!”


“Welcome all three of you to Longworth’s Vineyards and Winery. Sorry for the question and answer session back there, but since you are here, I had to make sure it was you, Francois, and not one of the riff-raff that have suddenly sprung up here in Cincinnati! Sheriff O’Leery has warned me against a pair of road agents that have been operating in our area at night on week- ends and specifically, a Holiday such as today!”

Francois then told Longworth, “There are two cases of different wines in the coaches’ boot. Would you be so kind as to have one of your attendants unload them, as they are our gift to
your party?


“Certainly!” Longworth replied, then asked Francois, “May I ask the names of the vintages you have brought us?”

“Oui! Certainement! Yes! Certainly!” Francois answered. “The first vintage is called ‘Marechal Foch,’ and being an early season fruit, is the first of the grapes we crush and make the wine. These we have brought you are from last year’s crop! The other is a wine named ‘Clarice,’ after my dear wife, who passed away in France. It is a sweet wine of my own fashion- ing! I do hope you will like both! Salud!”

“Why, thank you so very much, Monsieur Pinaud!” Longworth exclaimed , as a big smilelit up his face. “We’ll serve it to our guests and announce from whence it came! If you do not mind, we’ll let our guests pass judgement on your offerings!”

“That would be fine with me!” Francois replied, then added, “and please, call me Francois! I feel better when I can speak with people on a first-name basis! It feels more friendly under those conditions! Conpris? Do you understand?”

Longworth replied haltingly in French, “Je suis compris! I understand!”


With that, Francois asked Longworth, “Parlez vous Francais?”


To which, Longworth laughingly replied, “Un tres petit! A very little! Only a very little!
When I was studying to become a lawyer, I had to learn French, but not enough to carry on a full conversation, I’m afraid!”


“That is all right!” Francois replied. “We always have English in which to converse! Ne
c’est pas? Isn’t that right?”


Longworth chuckled and replied, “You are right! So very right!”


“Oh! I almost forgot!” Francois exclaimed. “Herman Lister, one of my leading Vinegres, asked me to extend to you his warmest regards!”

Longworth replied, a wistful expression on his face, “Please return the favor to Herman!
He was one of the best workers I had working for me in my winery and vineyard! You are so lucky to have such a fine individual working for you!”


To which, Francois replied, “You are right! You are so very right!“

Excellent! Excellent!” Longworth replied. “Return my best to Herman when next you see him, please!”

Longworth then personally introduced Francois, Marty and Louisa to his assembled guests. No sooner had introductions been completed, than the Chef announced that supper was ready. The Chef was one of the foremost in Cincinnati, and had prepared a feast of steak barbequed on grills over coals from oak wood, along with various side dishes. The guests sat at tables strategically placed in the open area, with umbrellas which provided shade from the glare of the late afternoon sun. Longworth sat with Francois, Marty, and Louisa so he could have the opportunity of getting to know them a little better and find out more concerning their personal backgrounds. He became very excited when he learned that Marty had mined for gold in California, and even more so, when he was told by Francois that Marty and Louisa planned to leave for California sometime in September and establish a winery in the region in which Marty had mined for gold. It was then that supper was served to the guests and the area became quiet as the assembled guests consumed the delicious meal.

As dusk began to fall, and night was soon to be upon them, Longworth stood up and an- nounced to all his guests that they would be treated to a display of fireworks never before seen in the Cincinnati area, and hoped everyone would enjoy what they were about to witness. When the last glimpse of daylight had disappeared, everyone heard a loud “Whump!” from an open area some hundred yards from where they sat, as the darkness was split by various colored lights that burst, then burst again to make the entire party area light up as though it were instant daytime! Everyone in attendance applauded the opening fireworks display, then “Whump!” “Whump!” “Whump!” a whole series of bursting and cascading lights lit up the area, and for the next half-hour to forty-five minutes, different pyrotechnic displays drew “O-h-h-hs” and A-h-h-h’s” from the assembled guests, who were absolutely enchanted with the beautiful displays provided to them.

Soon, the fireworks display was over, and under some kerosene lamps provided by several attendants, Longworth served his guests the first of Francois’ wines, Marechal Foch, and asked each to properly taste the wine and judge its qualities. If they signify with a “One,” it means the wine was excellent! A “Two,” conveyed that it was good, but not great! A “Three,” signified that the wine was of poor quality! Longworth then introduced Francois to the guests, and indicated to them that it was he who had provided the wine for the final program of the evening. Francois stood up and thanked everyone for sampling and judging his wine, as he chuckled loudly when he told the assembled group he hoped to receive no “Three’s!”

It took about fifteen minutes for the group to properly taste the wine, then Longworth called out to them, “Are there any ‘Three’s?’” No one in attendance raised their hand! “Seems we’re off to a good start, so far!” Longworth commented. Then he called out to the group, “Are there any ‘Two’s?’” Four people raised their hands. “Maybe you better have your taste-buds checked by your doctor!” Longworth replied laughingly. “Now! For the down and dirty count!

Are there any ‘One’s?’” Forty-six people raised their hands, as Longworth exulted, “Fantastic!”
Francois beamed at the results of the tasting, and these folks, all wine lovers, proved his wine to be among the best!


The same procedure continued with Clarice, and the results were a little better; no “Threes,” only three “Two’s” and forty-seven “One’s” Everyone at the Supper Party liked the products from Pinaud’s Winery, and many asked where he was located, so they could visit, and perhaps, purchase some of the wines in his inventory.

The very pleasant evening ended with the wine-tasting and everyone stood up and prepared to depart Longworth’s Winery. Everyone who was in attendance told Longworth how much they enjoyed the dinner and especially the fireworks displays; then thanked him for inviting them. There were quite a few who came up to Francois and thanked him for providing the wine for all to taste. As the carriages and surreys were being brought up by Longworth’s attendants, Marty informed Francois concerning having seen the two pairs of legs on the other side of the hill, and noted to him that his “Scout’s Senses” were coming through in that regard and they have never failed him since the trek across country back in ‘49.


Marty told Francois, “Hope they’re wrong, for all o’ us concerned! But whatever happens out on the road, please do as I ask you to! I have a feeling we’re being singled out! In particular, myself, for having killed some o’ the friends o’ one o’ the Road Agents out in California!”

Marty turned to Louisa and told her what he had seen and what to expect. At first, she was incredulous, but soon came to the realization that Marty was extremely serious in this matter, so she told herself she would do whatever her husband wished her to do.

The two liveried attendants, Karl and Stan, brought Francois’ carriage up to them, then
helped Louisa into the carriage as Mister Longworth bade them all a “Goodnight!” Before they left, Longworth asked Francois if he might visit his winery sometime and note how his operations were conducted. Francois told him he could visit any time he wished, but he hoped it would be soon, since the summer harvest would soon be upon them and he and Marty would be extremely busy. Longworth told him he understood and would let him know as soon as he could.
Then Francois and Marty mounted to the drivers’ seat, and Francois cracked his whip as the four-horse team walked slowly up the drive past the tree-covered knoll, now enveloped in the blackness of night.

On the other side of the tree-covered slope, now cloaked in the night’s darkness, another,
yet more serious scene was unfolding. Two men, one tall and slender, the other heavy, tall and with broad shoulders, stood on the porch of a house that was set back into the hill, while both men discussed what actions to take concerning robbery and other potential mayhem. The large, heavy man with the broad shoulders told the tall, skinny one,”If we don’t move soon, that carriage’ll be beyond where I, for one, care to go ‘cause O’Leery has his deputies scouring the roads; an’ he knows me from when I was out in California! Besides, I’m positive that the feller with the black beard is Allhoff, an’ I have a score to settle with him fer killin some o’ my friends out in California!”


The tall, skinny one said to his companion, “Whatever you say, Steve! If we’re gonna carry this off tonight, we better get saddled up an’ get a move on!”

The larger man, Steve Bearess, told the slim young man, Ron Rotzinger, “All right, then,
le’s get the horses saddled! We might have to gallop ‘em fer a while to catch up, but that should- n’t take too long!”


Both men went to the stable where their horses were in two of the ten stalls that lined the walls of the barn. The property had once been owned by Rotzinger’s parents, and when they died, it was passed on to him; this was where the two “Highwaymen” were “Holed-Up,” since the house was not visible from the main-traveled roads. Both men quickly saddled their horses, then rode swiftly from the large barn. They galloped at a fast pace down a little-used drive until they reached the main road, upon which they turned left and galloped rapidly until, way up ahead of them, outlined in the bright moonlight, was the carriage they sought.

Come back in two weeks to find out what happens next!

INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 1 by Leo F. Kohl

The following is a short story by KVR CCCC biology professor Leo F. Kohl. The story was a bit long for our printed publication, so the Metamorphoses editorial staff concluded that this piece must be serialized here on the Met blog. Now without further ado I present to the world INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN part 1 by Leo F. Kohl.


PROLOGUE:
Marty Allhoff and Louisa Weaver were married on the first Saturday of May, 1852 in the Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Dayton, Ohio and Honeymooned in Cincinnati, where Marty was to be apprenticed to Francois Pinaud, a local wine producer who had been a friend of his father’s in Germany. Through the Maitre’d at the Amherst Hotel, the leading Hotel at that time in Cincinnati, Marty and Louisa were able to meet Francois and learn the route to and from Francois’ winery. Louisa visited the local “Apothecarist” in Cincinnati to purchase proper contraceptives and thus escape becoming pregnant. Louisa remembered what her Papa had told her before her Mama had died; that he and Mama were married in 1835 and she was born in 1837. Louisa and Marty agreed they would wait a few years before having children. As a result, each night before she and Marty made love, she carefully followed the Druggist’s directions. From then on, she carefully followed the contraceptive methods that had been prescribed and was able to forestall problems with pregnancy.

In the meantime, while Louisa was at the Apothecarist, Marty decided he wanted to have his revolver registered with the local sheriff’s office, which, upon inquiry, he found out was only a few blocks down the street from the Hotel. He walked down the street to the building that had been described to him and saw it was the local Sheriff’s Office, since the sign over the main entrance to the building stated:

HAMILTON COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE CINCINNATI MAIN OFFICE

The moment he entered the office, he was greeted by a clean-shaven man dressed in a khaki uniform, who called out to him, “Well! If it ain’t Marty Allhoff! What brings you to this office?”

The uniformed man looked vaguely familiar to him, so he said to the man, “Apparently you know me, sir, but who’re you?”

“Thought you wouldn’t recognize me!” the man answered. “But maybe you’ll remember my name from back in Coloma when you shot them two horse thieves - one you killed an’ the other one you wounded! Vigilantes strung that one up an hour later! Name’s Tim, Tim O’Leery, who sometimes took your friend, Jack Lord’s place when he was called out on official duty! Was one o’ the Vigilantes who worked with Cap’n Shannon, the Alcalde, or Mayor of Coloma. Do you remember?”

“Well, I’ll be go to the devil!” Marty exclaimed as recognition began to set in. “Never would o’ recognized you without your beard! What brings you to Cincinnati?”

“Might ask you the same question, Allhoff?” O’Leery inquired, “How come you’ve come by the Sheriff’s Office? Most folks avoid us like the plague!”

“On my honeymoon!” Marty replied. “Wife’s out shoppin’, so thought I’d swing by the Sheriff’s office an’ register my revolver, in case I should ever need it!” Then he asked O’Leery, “When did you leave Coloma, an’ how’d you travel to Cincinnati?”

“You came to the right place, Allhoff!” O’Leery answered. “An’ with some o’ the problems that’ve jus’ started comin’up, you jus’ might need that pistol! You got it with you?”

“Right here!” Marty replied, as he opened his coat, removed his pistol from its holster, and handed it butt first to O’Leery. Then he asked him again, “When did you leave Coloma?”

“Bout the midddle o’ September, 1851! Traveled by sailin’ ship down the coast to the Isthmus o’ Panama, crossed it in three days with no hassles, caught a steamer in Colon to New Orleans, up the Mississippi to Davenport, Iowa, then by stagecoach to Toledo, Ohio, by a lake steamer to Cleveland, and finally by train to Cincinnati! All told, it took about six weeks to get here!” O’Leery added, “Oh! An’ congratulations on gettin’ married! When did that happen?"

“Last Saturday!” Marty replied. “You gonna register my pistol? An’ what do you mean I
might need it? What kinda problems would you have here in Ohio? Certainly nothin’ like we had out in California, are they?”

“Close to it!” O’Leery replied. “Remember the Dick Bell Gang out in California? Well, one o’ them was a member o’ that gang, has come here to the Cincinnati area an’ has teamed up with one o’ our local fellas. The two o’ ‘em have been holdin’ up carriages an’ robbin’ folks, jus’ like some members o’ the Bell gang used to do out in California before law an’ order got started. Anyways, they operate on the main roads at night, mostly durin’ the weekends an’ on holidays. As the sheriff o’ this County, I’ve sent deputies all over the County out from Cincinnati to try an’ catch ‘em, but to no avail!”

With awe evident in his voice, Marty asked O’Leery, “You’re the Sheriff?”

“Yep!” O’Leery replied. “No sooner got here than an election was takin’ place for a sheriff. Filed jus’ in time to throw my hat in the ring, an’ based on my experience as a policeman in New York, an’ some o’ the law enforcement work I was involved with in California, I was elected to be the County Sheriff!”

Marty asked O’Leery, “How do this pair o’ road agents work? My brother John an’ me had some experience with road agents on the way home, but we were informed who the gang members were an’ we were ready for ‘em!

“That so?” O’Leery asked, “But as to how these scoundrels work, we only know from the descriptions given us by the victims o’ their robberies. We’ve got the two men’s names, but elusive as they are, we haven’t been able to nab ‘em yet! With the big holiday, July 4th comin’ up, we’re hopin’ they’ll screw up somehow an’ we’ll be able to catch ‘em!”
Marty told O’Leery, “Thanks for the tip, an’ for your description o’ how these bozos operate! We’ll be on the lookout for ‘em if we’re ever out at night! Now, how’s ‘bout registerin’ my revolver so I can legally carry it here in your jurisdiction? Oh! An’ what are the two mens’ names?”

O’Leery took Marty’s proffered revolver, and started to register it, as he said to him, “The big fella, who was out in California has blonde hair, is clean-shaven an’ goes by the name o’ Steve Bearess. The other thin one, who wears a black mustache an’ chin whiskers, goes by the name o’ Ron Rotzinger! If you come across either one, be armed an’ ready to shoot! Knowin’ your past history out in California, an’ from what Jack Lord had told me, I’m quite sure you can handle yourself! If there’s any confrontation an’ you kill the two bastards, bring their bodies to me for verification, all right, Marty?”

Marty asked the Sheriff, “Seems like you think I might be o’ some help in catchin’ these two scoundrels, right Tim?”
O’Leery replied, “Bein’ out there at Pinaud’s Winery, an’ travelin’ ‘round out in the countryside, makes you a more potential victim for these two robbers! Besides, I’ve heard rumors out in California that Bearess has a grudge against you for killin’ some o’ his friends out there, so, knowin’ you from past history, you’ll be better able to carry it out than all my deputies an’ I’re able! Here! Carry this with you at all times while you’re wearin’ your gun an’ holster!”
he told Marty as he handed him the copy of the registration, signed “Timothy O’Leery, Sheriff.”

“Good luck! An’ shoot straight, if you have to!” O’Leery told Marty as he shook his hand. “Glad to see you back in Ohio! We’ll have to get together sometime an’ swap tales, all right with you?”

Marty replied, “I’d like that very much!” He turned and left the Sheriff’s office and
walked back to the Hotel, where he met Louisa in the lobby as she inquired, “Where have you
been?” He answered, “Tell you when we get back in our room!”

Once they were in their room, Marty related the entire story concerning how the local Sheriff was an acquaintance out in California, and had also known Jack Lord, who had taught Marty and his brother, John, how to handle weapons, had told him about the two “Highwaymen” who had been robbing local folks in large carriages and surreys. He told Louisa that O’Leery thought Marty might run into the pair, since he’d be living far out in the countryside, and having known Marty’s reputation out in California, felt that he would be able to handle any situation
that might arise. For once, Louisa had nothing to say in that regard, because she knew deep in her heart, that no more violence could happen to them. Nothing was further from the truth in that concern!

INDEPENDENCE DAY SUPPER, FIREWORKS AND HIGHWAYMEN.

On Friday, Francois Pinaud, the owner of Pinaud’s Winery a few miles out of Cincinnati, arrived at the Hotel in the winery’s carriage and helped Marty and one of the Bellmen and the Doorman load all their trunks and luggage in the carriage’s spacious boot. Marty tipped the Bell-man and Doorman handsomely for their efforts. Mister Cousey, the Hotel Manager, came out and wished them well at Pinaud’s Winery, and asked them to return to the Hotel from time-to-time, where they would be treated royally. The Maitre’d, Pierre Renaud, who had first taken Marty and Louisa to meet Monsieur Pinaud the previous Sunday, and had been a boyhood friend of Louisa’s Papa and had known her when she was but a baby, said his goodbyes to them. But he told them he would see them on his visits to the Winery to purchase wines and cordials to supply the Hotel’s wine cellar. Louisa and Marty bade all their new-found friends farewell, climbed into the carriage, and with Francois a t the reins, they were off to begin an entirely new experience in the wine-making business.

Francois took them out to his winery over the very same roads that Pierre had taken them the Sunday before on their very first visit. Francois had provided them a small cottage in which to stay, which would be their “First New Home” for the duration of their stay at the winery. When they arrived at the winery, Francois helped Marty unload their trunks and other luggage,while it was Louisa’s responsibility to see that all their garments were properly hung in the closets provided, as well as try out the various kitchen implements she would be using during their stay. Once all their trunks were unloaded and they were somewhat settled in, Francois asked them to accompany him around the vineyard so they could see for themselves the different types of grapes he produced, and the various wine vintages produced from those grapes.

Through the remainder of the month of May and through June, Francois, Marty and the crew of Vinegres, French for “Vineyard Workers,” harvested specific blocks of grapes that were crushed then placed in certain casks to allow them to ferment to alcohol to produce special wines for which Pinaud’s winery was noted in the region. On the last day in June, Francois approached Marty and Louisa in their little cottage and told them that the three of them had been invited to a special “Independence Day Supper With Fireworks” at Nicholas Longworth’s vineyard and winery on July 4th.

Francois said to them, “Mon amis, I hope you don’t mind, but I have already accepted the invitation on your behalf, as well as my own! I have always wanted an opportunity to meet the man who began the wine industry in this region, some thirty years ago, so I accepted his invitation and included both of you, tres certainement! Most certainly!”

“Sounds like a great idea to me!” Marty exclaimed. “I’d very much like to meet Mister Longworth, since I’ve heard different members o’ the crew mention his name in passin’ many number o’ times!”

“Me too!” Louisa exclaimed. “Sounds real exciting to me! And to see fireworks as well!”

Francois exclaimed to them, “Then it is all decided! We will go in my carriage, which you, Louisa will have all to yourself, since I want Marty to be in the driver’s seat with me!”

“Why is that, Francois?” Marty asked him. “You must have a specific reason in mind, since usually, you want us both to ride inside the carriage whenever we go somewhere!!”

“Yes, I do!” Francois replied. “Though I often put it off as rumor, several of my friends were robbed at gunpoint by “Road Agents” a few weeks ago! I contacted Sheriff O’Leery, and he confirmed my questions. Imagine my surprise when he told me he had known you quite well out in California, and then he said to me, “Have him ride up front with you, and follow any direct- ions Marty gives you, for your own good! With a weapon, ‘specially a pistol. Marty does not miss! Good luck on the road on Independence Day! Tell Marty, ‘Happy Huntin’!"

“Well, I’ll be danged!” Marty exclaimed loudly. “So, O’Leery told you all about my exploits out in California, eh? Hope he didn’t get too gory with the details!”

“Nothing of the sort, mon amis! Francois replied. “I will feel much better having you both along with me when we go to Nicholas Longworth’s!"

July Fourth, Independence Day was a bright, sunny day, but in the very early morning, it did not look like the day would begin as well as it did. A hazy fog hung over the Ohio River, a short distance away and began to spread further away from the River proper. But once the sun was up, the haze and fog soon disappeared and the day became one in which the Holiday could be enjoyed because of the fine weather. Both Francois and Marty were early risers, and early in the morning, both of them were in the wine vaults taking care of some last minute tests that had to be made with some of the new-made wine recently assigned to their respective casks. Once those tests were completed, and both were satisfied the wine was fermenting in a proper fashion, both men returned to Louisa’s and Marty’s cottage, where breakfast awaited them.

After breakfast, Francois and Marty gathered the harvest crew together. Most of the crew were experienced French Vinigres, but there were quite a few experienced Germans in the crew, as well. There was one German, who had worked for Nicholas Longworth for quite a few years, but when Francois had started his vineyard and winery, began working for him; the man’s name was Herman Lister. Herman was the “Crew Chief under” Marty, and took all his orders from him, unless orders came directly from Francois; which rarely occurred.

When all the crew had gathered around, Francois told the group that all their orders for that day would be given by Herman, since he and Marty would be gone from mid-afternoon on ‘til whenever they returned. They had both been invited to Nicholas Longworth’s vineyard and winery for a July Fourth party and they had accepted. Herman asked Francois to convey his best regards to Mister Longworth, and Francois indicated he would The crew returned to harvesting the grapes and Francois and Marty entered the vaults to check the progress of other vintages in various stages of fermentation. They were engaged in this fashion until lunch time, at which time, both men returned to Marty’s and Louisa’s cottage and sat down to a good lunch she had prepared.

By two o’clock P. M., they were ready to depart in Francois’ carriage, in which they had packed two cases of wine of different vintages for the enjoyment of the other guests. The two vintages were a case of Marechal Foch, and a case of one of Francois’ favorite creations named Clarice, after Francois’ late wife. As had previously been agreed upon, Louisa rode by herself inside the carriage, while Marty sat alongside Francois, who occupied the driver’s seat.

Francois’ vineyards and winery were about an hour’s carriage ride from Longworth’s property, which was situated on the down-side of East Sixth Street outside of Cincinnati proper, on the road to Observatory Hill (1:158). The terraced vineyards swept down a gradual slope to the Ohio River, and it and other vineyards that consisted of thousands of acres, stretched up from the banks of the Ohio River, that were covered with luxuriant and profitable vineyards that rivaled in profusion and beauty the vine-clad hills of Italy and France. The oldest vineyard in Hamilton County were Nicholas Longworth’s plantings, which he subsequently increased to two hundred acres.

The route they traveled took them around the main portion of the City of Cincinnati, and the road upon which they traveled was mainly still in the countryside. Ahead of them, and off to their right, they were able to see “Observatory Hill” in the distance and they knew they were getting close to Longworth’s property. They had covered less than a mile, when they saw a street sign that read “Sixth Street,” and was accompanied by a second sign that read, “Longworth’s Vineyard and Winery;” with an arrow that pointed to the right. Francois turned the carriage and traveled only a short distance, when the road forked, the one to the left obviously traveled up “Observatory Hill,” while the one to the right had another sign that read “Longworth’s Vineyards and Winery,” with a large arrow that pointed to the right. They traveled along the Winery Drive, as on their left, they saw a rather large, rounded hill covered with trees. All of a sudden, Marty shook his head. Had he been seeing things? He thought to himself, that he was sure he had seen two sets of legs running on the other side of the hill and he looked more closely. Yes! There they were again, but the bodies were obscured by the trees! Suddenly, he saw a bright flash of light! What could the that be, he asked himself? He thought back a few minutes, then it came to him. He remembered the trip across the prairies, and whenever Jack Lord wanted to see some- thing distant, he used his spyglass which often flashed a bright light on contact with sunlight.

He mused to himself, “Now who would have a spyglass to observe other people’s doings and travels? Wonder if those’re the road agents O’Leery told me about? Might be! Best to keep this to myself for the time being and tackle the problem, if there is one, when we leave Longworth’s tonight!"


Visit next week as we unvail what happens next!