A stranger becomes a friend
I didn’t know him. He was a stranger until a few weeks ago. We have never met faceto-face. And yet I know him almost like I had known him all my life. Make that both of our lives, because we come from the same era.
It’s amazing how words can link two persons, words not uttered in person but those on a printed page. Words, when placed one after another, can create a picture — make that pictures — which brings into focus scenes of events, personalities, disappointments, joy … yes, scenes of people in such broad, yet delicate personal strokes which etch pictures, pictures that are so recognizable that the events, the personalities, the people they describe come alive.
Such was my experience several weeks ago when I was loaned a book that introduced me to a person, a man whose written words etched a picture, make that pictures, which invaded my thought process after just a few pages.
Have you experienced such word pictures as you pursued written words of others? Sometimes the pictures are foggy, or crinkled, or fractured … but there are other words which introduce you to the author. You feel a closeness to the experiences his or her words create.
Such is the experience I experienced (I repeat myself) as I walked through the sentences in the book. Their author became a living person, a person whose life unfolded before me as I experienced, through his wordage, his early life and through his life. Perhaps I should explain so you can compare my experience with those you have felt as you trod through memorable sentences, and pages.
The book I read had a most unusual name, “The Grape Toned Studebaker.” If that isn’t enough to grab attention, there was a picture of an old purple pickup sitting in the middle of a field of ready-tocut hay. At the bottom of the book cover was the name of the author.
Turning pages in the book which, by the way, contained 188 pages, I found a collection of short stories and essays. Published by Dog Ear Publishing, an Indianapolis firm, the book had a copyright date of 2012. I learned the author was born in Texas in the early 1930s. He grew up in the challenging dust bowl days and experienced the sacrifices of World War II. After a time in the oil fields and college days, he ended up in New Mexico where he met Leah, his wife to be.
After a long and successful life, he retired and they made their home in Siloam Springs. Always enjoying writing, he decided to concentrate on writing about experiences and memories of his life. His writing grew and his columns appeared in many issues of the “Herald Leader” weekly newspaper. The book was an outgrowth of encouragement from writers and friends. Compiling them resulted in the book publication.
There are at least 70 essays, most of which occupy less than two pages of print. Written in an easy, readable style, they reflect his many and varied memories from a great early family life, continuing through many changing and challenging experiences, varied as a life provides. Reading one essay at a time, it’s easy to read awhile, then put the book down and come back later for another dose of laughter. Occasionally, a tear will form in the corner of the eye as the reader shares a poignant experience of the author, Louis Burl Houston. By this time the reader will “know” Mr. Houston personally.
The changing American culture through the past 80-some years is reflected in his essays, always with a stress on moral family values, good times, funny times, sometimes sad events, all of which can help old timers, like myself, relate even closer with this man through his descriptive wordage.
Titles of the essays are many and varied, such as “Warts and the Three-Legged Dog” and “Along Came a Spider,” “The Joy of Good Deeds” and “A September to Remember.” His stories talk about flat tires, cats, his first job at age 12, his aunt’s tea cakes, etc., etc., and, yes, one eye popper, “Elvis Ate My Hamburger.”
After moving to Siloam Springs, for 15 years he drove back and forth to Bentonville to work in the county’s computer department. Later he aided many counties in the state with their computer problems. He drove a school bus, was a substitute teacher, and all the while worked with his writing. More recently, one essay reflects on his hospital experience after suffering a heart attack.
Finally, his words reflect on his feelings and adjustments of an age that brings new experiences. Perhaps that, coupled with his recollection from the late ’30s, the ’40s and ‘50s grab my attention.
A few times I have thought about writing about those early years, their good and sometimes sad events, those times as well as challenging days in a weekly newspaper and print shop. But putting them on paper — I confess I don’t have the discipline to write such memories; I lack a way with words that a reader would enjoy reading and, finally, I’m just plain lazy.
An epilogue reflecting on one’s past is a challenge; reliving good times, and others, sometimes causes a person to think about putting a few words on paper. But to get out pencil and paper? That’s another story. Why not get out a tape recorder and begin talking? Or in today’s world, how about a selfie movie that would be something children or grandchildren could watch?
Perhaps, just maybe, such recorded or written memories might someday bring a chuckle, possibly a tear, and a thoughtful pause for a second generationer or perhaps even a stranger. Even if you didn’t have a dog with warts, or watch Elvis eat your hamburger, or enjoy tea cakes made by Aunt Sally, it’s worth a shot, don’t you think? Miracles can happen. I wish I wasn’t so lazy.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.