Traditionally, Morehouse Parish gathers all their teachers together on the first or second day teachers report to work. That was today, and we had the best speaker I’ve seen in the five years I’ve been at Bastrop High School—LouAnne Johnson, author of My Posse Don’t Do Homework that was made into the movie, Dangerous Minds (1995) and starred Michelle Pfeiffer. As a speaker, it was obvious she was nervous, but her presentation moved us like no other speaker has. She is sincere, passionate, and savvy on political and social issues. She loves kids, she is witty, she is talented, and she was well prepared. She definitely has the heart of a teacher and she won our hearts today. If you check her website, http://members.authorsguild.net/louanne/index.htm you can see that she is one very busy woman.

Johnson is a committed writer as well as a committed teacher. In addition to Dangerous Minds, she has written, Vigilante Grandmas, What Happened to the Man I Married, Making Waves: a woman in this man’s navy, Teaching Outside the Box, and The Queen of Education. (These last two books are a “must read” for teachers). My life is richer for having heard her speech. From her words, I could see into her heart, and it made me want to be a better teacher.

I teach gifted English at Bastrop High School in Morehouse Parish. Teachers are to report tomorrow (August 10) for their first day, which will I’m sure be filled with meetings of all sorts, introductions of new teachers (no, I won’t send them notes warning them about anything. I haven’t even considered the idea!) and if we’re lucky some time to work on our room. Our school just built a new library, and the old library was carved up into two new classrooms and an upstairs teachers lounge. I received one of the new rooms—the only problem is that the contractor has not finished his construction, so my room is a wreck. No construction workers were there today. I don’t know why. Yet, with a new teacher wanting to get into my room, I had to move five years of materials (Have I really been at BHS that long?) from room 205 across the hall into 202, the room that looks like a tomb recently attacked by grave robbers. Although to be honest, Room 205 that I left is not in much better shape. It needed painting when I moved in five years ago, and despite my requests for painting, etc. nothing was done.

The good thing about my new room is that it is bigger and I will have LOTS of bookshelves! No more piles of papers and books on the floor! Gifted kids need and usually desire access to lots of books, and through the years I’ve formed several class sets for them. I just inherited some more boxes of classics from a teacher who will retire soon. I hope to get some more for them. The room should make research and group project work a little easier for them and for me. I have a decent library of a few thousand volumes at home, so as a fellow bibliophile, I understand their love for books.

Anyway, Friday, we are to have the big District meeting of all the teachers. Insurance companies and other sutlers will assemble tables in a giant flea market along the school’s halls, calling out like carnival hawkers to have teachers register for free drawings of giveaways (mostly junk, which I’ve never won) and try to set up appointments to take away some more of the little money teachers in Louisiana receive. I think the district gets some kind of commission from these sales, though I’m not sure. The good thing about Friday is we will be treated to a MacDonald’s breakfast, and after the other schoolteachers leave the high school, treated to a luncheon. Kind of a last meal before the savages (I don’t know what’s getting into me—I mean students!) arrive. When the administrators pass out materials in these first meetings of the school year, I’m always curious regarding what new duties we will have, what form of moving rocks will be added to our schedule, and what new rules will be placed on us. But, it’s all about the kids, right?

Sure.

The kids will show up Monday. In spite of my working my rear off to get my gifted certification and AP certification, it seems my schedule will be the same as last year. I really am a believer in public education, but many times I don’t think those in charge have it together. Often I feel like Steiner in Willi Heinrich’s Cross of Iron. Steiner was a German corporal on the Eastern Front and he was a good and loyal soldier, but he knew Germany was losing the war. He blamed much of his troubles on the officers. If you like historical fiction, this is a must read. In our case, accountability has passed from the student to the teachers who receive the blame for low scores, failures, etc. If you want some REAL insight into the world and dynamics of teaching, read Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man, in which he reflects on his thirty years of teaching in New York City.

There’s a lot of bad press on teachers these days. I’m glad I’m at a school where the administrators are reasonable and understanding. Many of my peers are not that lucky, constantly getting chewed out over violation or interpretation of rules and policies. Yes, administrators often blame teachers for many problems with the students in this apathetic age. But we teachers know where the real problem is. We know.

I’m a writing book junkie. I can’t help it, especially if the book is written by an author I know and respect—one who can really write. Like biographies, I use these books mainly for motivation. I know I need to study them more, but time crunches keep me from memorizing the author’s brilliant phrases about writing, following suggested activities, and using the books as private tutors like I should. Between teaching, performing in my Scots-Irish band, and my own creative writing, there’s not many windows of time for that. However, I do use them as reference tools and do exercises or follow prompts as I have time. I tend to mark what I read by highlighting or underlining anything I may need to come back to. I also scribble questions and notes to myself in the margin. I have also found that these books lead me to other authors and some very good books that I need to read. Anyway, here are several books on the craft of writing that I have read and found most helpful.

Seducing the Demon: Writing for My Life by Erica Jong.
Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing by Margaret Atwood
The Spooky Art by Norman Mailer
On Writing by Stephen King
The Lie that Tells a Truth by John Dufresne
Techniques of Fiction Writing: Measure and Madness by Leon Surmelian
The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood
Writing from Personal Experience by Davidoff Kelton
Writing for your Life, edited by Sybil Steinberg
Writing Horror, edited by Mort Castle

Like Christianity, the Islamic religion has been plagued with extremists and cruel practitioners who use “religion” as a pretext and justification for their crimes against humanity. In the early days of my intensive reading, I read many religious texts. I’ve read the Koran (English translation), the Book of Mormon (along with several of their other sacred texts—Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, etc.) and I’ve read the complete Bible (old and new testaments in several different translations) and I’ve translated the New Testament from Greek into English. Reverence for one’s sacred book as a guide seems to be an essential element for a meaningful religious experience, and surprisingly, the organized (often very disorganized) form of the religion differs from the picture given in the sacred book.

However, like Christians who fail to read and follow the spirit of the Bible, many followers of Islam have gotten off track. In fact, it’s so extreme that it’s gotten weird. I think one reason I so enjoyed the movie, Kingdom of Heaven, was because of the theme of possible harmony between the religions. Now, I know that we have hardly proved ourselves innocent in this conflict. Yet, the car bombs and the suicide bombers and the injury and destruction that results does not help world opinion. The intense violence only seems to be escalating. I read, or perhaps heard on NPR, one writer who described suicide bombing as the crack cocaine of terrorism.

Even in the 18th century, some of our poets (who are the true prophets of society) sensed that the Islam of the extremists is not the same Islam that helped bring Europe out of the dark ages through its accumulated and developed arts, texts, and sciences. For example, Thomas Moore (1779-1852), an Irish poet and friend and biographer of Byron, wrote some lines that are fitting on this topic. The lines come from a narrative poem of Moore’s entitled, Lalla Rookh: an Oriental Romance (1817).

“One of that Saintly, murd’rous brood
To Carnage and the Koran giv’n,
Who think that through unbelievers’ blood
Lies their directed path to heaven.
. . . .
Just Allah, what must be thy look,
When such a wretch before thee stands
Unblushing with thy sacred book
Turning the leaves with blood-stained hands
And Wresting from its page sublime
Creed of lust, and hate, and crime.”

As it turned out, Monday, July 31 was my last night in Charleston. My daughter, Rachel, had rented a room at a beach hotel. I drove through the Isle of Palms to that Holiday Inn on Ocean Blvd., and I noticed the island has had explosive growth since I had lived there. I literally didn’t recognize it. As I looked at row after row of very expensive houses, I had to ask myself, “Is there really that man people in America with so much money?” Erica Jong points out that most writers can’t make a living without teaching or editing, etc. I guess I must get used to the disparity of my meager living to that of others. It wasn’t that I envied the folks in those fine houses, I’m just truly surprised there are so many of them. Jong says that writers can only be “people who can live in cold-water flats and like it.”

After we found my daughter’s room, I walked the beach with my grandson, Mason Alexander Shelby. I was proud of the fact that my daughter married into a family with blood ties to Robert E. Lee and the Jefferson Davis family both. When he was born, I felt like my daughter had borne a Confederate Messiah. We are the only members of our extended family with curly hair, and we both returned from our walk on the wind-blown beach with wild hair. It was an interesting experience to have the whole family laughing at our looks!

We gathered the crew together and went to Coconut Joes for food and drinks. As we waited on the restaurant’s upper deck, I had a banana daiquiri, then I switched to Coronas. My eyes traced the ocean’s horizon. The ocean has a hypnotic effect upon me. It made me want to drag out my Jimmy Buffet books (yes, he does write) and sing “A Pirate looks at 40.”

There was a musician that night. He sang mostly crowd tunes with a sincere but nondescript voice. After the meal of course was when I received the phone call from my mother saying I needed to get to Oklahoma. With that phone call, my Charleston trip and euphoria effectively ended.

Monday, July 31 in Charleston, SC: My Civil War Tour

Today, I went on the Civil War Walking Tour, conducted by Jack Thomson, Civil War historian and author of Charleston at War: The Photographic Record. This little expedition was one of my best adventures on my Charleston trip. Charleston is a symbol of the heart of the South. When one learns of this city, he learns much more than he or she intended to about the War Between the States, or as some Southerners phrased it, “The War of Northern Aggression” or “The Late Unpleasantness.”

I found parking around 8:00 am near the Mills House Hotel where the tour was to start at 9:00. (It was a fancy place as my redneck ancestors would say. Room rates range from $99.00 a night to $350.00 depending. It first opened around 1853. You can see and read about the hotel here: http://www.millshouse.com/) Slightly depressed that my vacation was nearly over, I sat in the hotel courtyard by a fountain. The couryard was filled with lush plants. I brought my camera this time, and I intend to have a link to the photos posted soon.

We gathered in the hotel lobby. The tour began with a lecture and a viewing of photos. Our tour guide was Jeff Zimmerman, a co-worker of Thomson. I found him to be civil and knowledgeable, just as Thomson had assured me he would be. We had about twenty people in our tour group. Thankfully, all were civil and interested in the tour. I managed to strike up a conversation with a few of them during slow moments. Some were from up north. Jeff picked up on the fact I knew some things about the Civil War and we had some interesting exchanges. The fact I was a gifted English teacher interested some of my fellow walkers, and I was able to share some things I teach my students that they won’t learn from the history books. By the end of the tour, I had converted some to not liking Lincoln and appreciating the South more. The walk was said to take two hours—it actually was two and a half. I guestimate that we walked three miles in that time.

I was refreshed by the tour, I received many ideas for stories, and I was surprised the time passed so quickly. I would highly recommend Thomson’s tour if you visit Charleston.

You can read a little of this tour at www.civilwartours.com. Thomson’s email is thomsonj@bellsouth.net if you want to write him. During our phone conversation, I found him friendly and anxious to talk about Charleston. If you’re looking to learn about the War Between the States in Charleston, you will find him a very knowledgeable fellow. The tour is $17.00 per adult, and children under twelve are free.

Next entry will be on my last night in Charleston.

Well, I’m on the road to Oklahoma to do my sonly duties and help my parents out some. I’ve heard a couple of metereologists talk of the heat wave and the “dog days” of summer. I decided to try a poem about the dog days and how they affected two crazed lovers. Let me know if this first draft is working. I SHOULD be able to post again Friday night.

Even Lovers are affected by these dog days,
Those hot and sultry Canicular weeks
Between July and September,
When Sirius, the Dog Star,
Rises and sets with the sun.
The Romans whispered its brightness
Heated the earth, and drew out our madness,
Causing men to sweat at midnight
Broiling bodies by day,
Boiling their blood by night,
Scarring sensitive souls
Stirring languid, listless libidos.
Lives stall in discomfort,
Stagnation and inactivity,
The earth tilts strangely,
The air is thick with moisture,
And venomous, agitated serpents creep about.
The sun’s rays pierce us
Like Eros’ poisoned arrows,
And we stumble onward with a
Crazed look in our eyes.
At the great council,
Our body language is specific and clear,
Someone should muzzle us in these hot days,
Like the Ancients did their dogs.

This morning I was on the road by 7:15 Eastern Standard Time. After a thirteen-hour drive, I returned to Monroe. The drive was a no-brainer, I-26 to I-20, then straight to Monroe, arriving at 8:30 p.m. Central Time. According to my trip odometer, I drove a total of 1809 miles on my Charleston trip. It was a great vacation/business trip. Unfortunately, I also spent a lot of money enjoying it. We Louisiana school teachers can’t do things like that too often.

While in Charleston, I pitched my book to several individuals, museums, and stores, as well as the Charleston Public Library. Most I talked to seemed interested in Stories of the Confederate South, but they all seemed more interested in my children’s book that Pelican will publish next spring, Jim Limber Davis: A Confederate Orphan in the Confederate White House. I think I’ll have a very busy year promoting that one. As far as Charleston goes, I fell in love with the area again. I think I’ll save a few dollars and stay there for a whole month next summer. I want to continue talking of Charleston in this blog for a couple of entries. Yet, for now, I’m tired from my trip and I want to read some more of Erica Jong’s, Seducing the Demon: Writing for my Life. I’ll be in Oklahoma with my parents tomorrow and won’t return until Friday night if all goes well, so nothing more will be posted till then.

Well, it seems my Charleston trip has suddenly been cut short. My mother is going into the hospital for a test that requires her to be knocked out for a while. Obviously she’ll be too loopy to drive and take care of my diabetic father who just had a stroke a while back, so I’m leaving my beloved Charleston tomorrow morning at first light for Monroe. (12-14 hour drive). Then I’ll spend the night there, wash some clothes and be off to Oklahoma sometime Wednesday. I’ll take Mother to the doctor for this inpatient business, spend the night, make sure she’s okay, and then be back on my way back to Monroe on Friday. Ah, the duties (and as Jong says, “the perils”) of primogeniture.

I plan on returning Friday because this Saturday I have some out of town band business I must attend to in Mississippi, so I’ll have a short drive and will spend the night in a hotel. Must figure out how I can contact my friends in the area so we can get together for a couple of hours. I’ve learned that while traveling there’s no guarrantee of having wireless service, thus I can’t promise when I’ll post on my blog again. I still have much I want to say about my Charleston trip.

Fort Sumter II

When we docked at the island fort, after receiving behavior from the rangers, we disembarked. I meandered through the fort, poking my head through the gun-holes and sighting down the barrel toward the detained Egyptian ship we had passed. I know the detained Egyptian sailors on board may be pissed, for they are truly victims of legal issues beyond their control, but imagine how the hundreds of arrested Northerners felt during the War Between the States when Lincoln suspended the right of Habeas Corpus. (Shades of Patriot Laws!) He really did that. In all, Lincoln arrested about 13,000 IN THE NORTH under martial law. It seems he was not open-minded about some things. I think 200 of them were newspaper editors who criticized him. Here’s a site where you can read Lincoln’s and Secretary of State Seward’s proclamation of that sad decision:
http://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/index.asp?document=425

Of course, my view from the fort could only be partial. Fort Sumter was once much higher, with three levels—now it has only one. A good bit remains considering it was first pounded by the Confederates, followed by an extended pounding by the Federals, then by years of neglect, then remodeled a bit when it served as a WWII fort. I thought about the 400 or so Confederates stationed here during the war, and wondered how they stood it. I strolled through the museum, found a water fountain, then climbed as high as I could legally. I studied the sailboat regatta/beach party. I wandered through the tiring tourists. Within ten minutes of disembarking, some had already made their way back to the ferry. I stepped outside the fort to the smoking area, then because it was low tide, I strolled the beach. Returning inside the fort, I pestered the ranger with more questions. He seemed eager to talk, and as I said, was fairly knowledgeable. Five minutes before departure time, I joined the other passengers on the ferry. As we sailed back to the National Monument dock, I reflected on the trip, and I noticed that I hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the Tennessee worker and the rangers. That’s really not like me. I tend to be more gregarious and initiate conversations, but I guess at times I need introspective days like that, returning to that solitude that a writer must have.

I’ve got more words than I can put down tonight, more things I want to say about my Charleston trip. I’ve had a good bit of solitude the past few days. Maybe it worked.