2809 Slices
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Part III: Wisdom From a Short Perspective

Rick Salutin ECW Press ePub

ODD. THERE ARE PEOPLE IN Nottingham who don’t seem to have heard of Sherwood Forest. The clerks at the hotel stare as if no one ever asked how to get there. They call a number and say a cab will cost 30 pounds each way. Wow. I thought Sherwood would be a big theme park, with the region focused around it, like Orlando. But it is a nature preserve, with a short Robin Hood Festival each summer. We planned to get here on its final weekend. I was sure there’d be regular tourist buses.

Gideon has been engaged with Robin Hood since age four; now he’s almost six. Pin it on Ross Petty. The actor-entrepreneur produces an English-style pantomime in Toronto each Christmas. That year it was Robin Hood. Ross played the sheriff of Nottingham. In the music hall tradition, the audience is encouraged to boo and cheer. Gideon was enthralled. From there we went to movie versions, such as the 1938 Errol Flynn film, with its robust music and rollicking jokes. Those tales met the main condition for capturing his four-year-old interest: they were about good guys versus bad guys.

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Medium 9781574412871


Manuel F. Medrano University of North Texas Press ePub


September 22, 1994

Dr. Américo Paredes: Okay. How do you want to lead off?

Medrano: Today is September 22, 1994. We are very pleased to be here at the home of Américo Paredes, Professor Emeritus at The University of Texas at Austin. Dr. Paredes what can you tell us about your childhood? Where were you born? About your parents? Where did you grow up?

Dr. Américo Paredes: I was born in Brownsville; I’m a Brownsville boy, on September 3, 1915, during the height of the border troubles when there was an ethnic cleansing, to use current term, along the border when Rangers and others murdered a number of Mexicans and intimidated a lot of others to leave the country; in other words, so the country could be developed. That’s why we have grapefruit orchards and all of that in the Brownsville area.

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Medium 9780253020864

1. The Johnson Years (1965–68): A Remarkable Time to Begin in Congress

Lee H. Hamilton Indiana University Press ePub

THE NOVEMBER 1964 ELECTION THAT BROUGHT ME TO CONGRESS was also the Lyndon Johnson landslide over Barry Goldwater. The four years that I would serve in Congress during the Johnson years—in the 89th and 90th Congresses—were a memorable, tumultuous time.

Legislation came at us very quickly. I was sworn into office on January 4, 1965, and by April we had passed the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, the first of sixty major bills we passed that Congress. President Johnson felt he had a clear mandate from the election, and he was poised to strike. Much of the legislation had been developed by President Kennedy, so Johnson had an agenda handed to him. And many of the major bills were fully aired and, to Johnson’s mind, fully settled during the campaign. So it was full speed ahead.

The 89th was a Congress in which the president clearly took the lead, and Johnson was relentless in pursuing his agenda and in his follow-up with Congress. He had great energy and focus, and a thorough knowledge of the institution and its members. He enjoyed the legislative process and had been involved in it for much of his life. He was constantly on the phone to members of Congress, making dozens of calls every day. Like other members I was cornered by Johnson on several occasions, his index finger poking against my chest as he told me why a bill needed to be passed. The question on his mind was always, How do I get your vote? Johnson was a dealmaker and he used the full powers of his office—which were considerable—to close the deal, whether it was promising a federal building or bridge for your district, offering you a trip overseas, or appointing someone you knew to an office. Anything he needed to do, he’d do.

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Medium 9781574414615

More Injuries and Violence

Ron Tatum University of North Texas Press ePub

More Injuries and Violence

(Why Horseshoers Are Always Late)

The horse owner told me she wouldn’t be able to meet me, but that the horse would be tied to the pasture fence. At this point, I should have been suspicious: this was a disasterprone customer. Her horse was well behaved and a delight to shoe, but the owner was dangerous to be around. She invariably knocked over things that scared hell out of every horse in the vicinity, or ran her car into a ditch, or left a gate open for all the horses to escape . . . things like that. One time she only hurt herself. She had forgotten to catch her horse for me, and we had to drive my truck up to the top of a hill where we caught him. She should have ridden him down the hill, but chose instead to pull him beside the truck, while she sat in the cab holding his lead rope in her hand. She hoped the horse would come with us. I recommended against this. All went well until the girl enthusiastically stuck her arm out the window to wave at someone. She waved it right in her horse’s face. The horse, of course, freaked out and pulled back. Instead of letting go of the rope, the girl held on as it sang through her hand. When the pain finally broke through to her disorganized mind, she let go. I stopped the truck and told her to open her hand so I could see the extent of the damage. She wouldn’t open it. Half an hour later, I was able to convince her to open it, both of us expecting a half-inch-deep bloody groove through the middle of her palm. The damage was minimal, however, and I patched it up with my ever-ready first aid kit. Not that it matters in the long run, but all of this cost me an extra hour and caused me to be an hour late to my next appointment where the owner petulantly asked me why it was that horseshoers were always late.

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Chapter 11

Rebecca McClanahan Indiana University Press ePub

Briarwood Cottage
January 11, 1918

Mrs. A. H. Sanders

Oxford, Indiana

. . . Yes Sylvia the war certainly is straitning some of the boys out, those that they keep sending back in their boxes any way, only those that get broke and scattered to bad. I tell you they are getting thinned out around here with boys gone and hands all gone. Charley Mc. hand is gone, Funks & Joe Yundts. Nobody in where Redman lived . . . Ivan thinks they are to be moved right away but don’t know where so don’t know when I will hear from him . . .

Hattie rarely scolded her darling Sylvia, but it is hard to miss her chiding response when Sylvia suggested that the war might be just the thing for straightening out boys like Ivan. A Civil War baby, Hattie had grown up hearing stories of her soldier uncles, learning early on what war can do to families. Her daughters had never felt war’s consequences firsthand. What they knew was what they had heard—that “our boys” were fighting the Kaiser to keep the American way of life possible and the women at home could help out. While they waited for word from their soldier brother, Sylvia and Bessie and other Red Cross Ladies rolled gauze bandages, stitched Service flags, and exchanged newspaper clippings like “B-r-r-r-r. Knit a sweater to keep Sammy warm.” A task which they promptly accomplished. They also knitted piles of wool socks, hoping to hear from their own “Sammy” soon so that they could send him some, wherever he was.

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