I am in a Scots-Irish band. We call ourselves Angus Dubhghall. We took the names of two ancient Scottish chieftans, men who were heroes, yet were feared. We’ve been playing locally (that would be Northeast Louisiana) for a while, but this year we will be performing at the Northeast Louisiana Celtic Festival. You can see a photo of our band on this link http://nelacelticfest.org/ (go to performers). I would be the one with the Confederate cap on and playing guitar. Tom McCandlish plays the bodhran and is the lead singer, and his beautiful wife Mary plays the fiddle. We’ve really built quite a song list, and I’ve written a couple of originals. I hope to expand that list of originals. In addition to Scots-Irish music, we can also do a Confederate Civil War music show. Write me if you’d like more information about the band.

Sometimes I think my gifted students need a boost. Like other kids their age, they struggle with image at times. I wrote this nonsense poem as a performance piece to try to cheer them up. It worked! They laughed and had a grand time over it. Yet, as you know, there’s always some truth in humor. Next entry will be on my reading and signing I had at the Ouachita Library last night.

The few, the ignored, the under-funded,
The neglected, the ones administrators know
Will pass the standardized tests,
We are the gifted.
Someday, we nerds will rule the world
We’ll have the last laugh,
We’ll receive the accolades, the money,
We’ll be the employers who will chuckle
When the underachievers of today
struggle to read their employment form.
Yes, we are the gifted, the brightest,
The best of the best!
Don’t you dare lump with the rest.
We’re the creators, the problem solvers,
The scientists who find the cure,
The geniuses who win jeopardy,
The tricksters who you should fear
Because we’re smart enough to not get caught.
We are the gifted.

The first week of school—you think you’re ready for it, but you never are. At least in my district, Morehouse Parish in Northeast Louisiana. This year the disorganization seems worse than usual—not enough desks, student schedule problems, room needs (like Internet hookup and enough electric plugs and air conditioner not working). My students have, to their credit, been well behaved, but 4 of my 6 classes are large, and the other two are my gifted students. Administrators, looking only at numbers, have once again cheated the brightest kids in our school by combining ENG I and II in one class, and ENFG III and IV in another. This amounts in teacher lingo to 6 different preps for lesson plans. Administrators must assume that any class below 20 is an easy class.

As you probably know, Gifted kids have IEP’s, thus each student is to be worked with individually, but with such an arrangement, it is very difficult to do so. I am gifted and AP certified, but even with my massive brain and problem solving tendencies, I’m going to have serious difficulties serving the gifted kids like I should and want to. I don’t know what they were thinking by such an arrangement. It’s like teaching summer school—for a whole year. If I sound frustrated, you are quite right. I must do some research on this topic. Why can’t academics receive the attention that football gets in our district? Don’t they want/see how important the gifted kids are and will be?

Probably not. But I do.

From the sources I’ve looked at, America has the largest reported prison population in the world. These sources argue that we have become a punitive nation. According to the Department of Justice (see http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/bjs/prisons.htm), as of June 2005, we have 2,186,230 prisoners in Federal or State prisons or in local jails. (I’m not sure if this number includes the “secret” CIA places and military prisons, etc.) I couldn’t find the number of prison facilities in the U.S., but I do know it is a growing number. Seems to be on its way to becoming big business. I hear people say, “America is the freest nation on earth,” but when I look at prison statistics, something doesn’t make sense. It’s too easy to go to prison here. And since 9/11, it seems to have gotten easier. We’ve replaced morality with “law.” Even the media sometimes talks like a Puritan official. Anyway, here is an excerpt from Oscar Wilde’s poem, “The Ballad of Reading Gaol.” I believe Wilde knew something about prison, and this quote certainly gives us something to think about.

“The vilest deeds like poison weeds,
Bloom well in Prison air.
It is only what is good in man
That wastes and withers there.
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair.”

Here are the lyrics to a song I wrote based on a true account of a prisoner in Point Lookout. I sing it in the key of D.
The song is called, “Cry, Little Artillery Man.” I recorded a speech I made about Jane Perkins at the Louisiana State Convention of the Daughters of the Confederacy. This song is recorded on that CD. You can order the CD from me at rickeyp@bayou.com.

“Cry, Little Arterllery Man”

VERSE 1

Lincoln built a prison
He called it Point Lookout
To the barren sands of Maryland,
He sent soldiers of the South.

They fenced us in with water,
And unmarked deadlines,
50,000 came here,
14,000 died.

There’s a thousand ways to break a man,
And the Yankees know them all,
They kept us cold and hungry,
And tried to make us crawl.

They shot us out of meanness,
And starved us out of spite,
We buried our dead in the sand,
And prayed for them at night.

CHORUS

I’m here at Point Lookout
With all these men in gray,
In frostbit feet and ragged clothes,
With the South so far away.

Abandon hope, ye who enter here,
This place that God has cursed,
In this cold hell at Chesapeake Bay
Lincoln’s devils drive the hearse.

VERSE 2
On a hot July morning,
I heard a baby cry,
A crowd of soldiers stood and cheered,
A few men even cried.

We called him Little Artillery Man
Though there were no cannon there,
We named him for his mama,
Like us, imprisoned there.

Her name was Jane Perkins,
A proud Irish girl
She taught school in Virginia
Till Rebel flags unfurled,

When war came in 61,
Her world changed overnight
She cut her hair, dressed like a man
And signed up for the fight.

CHORUS

So cry, Little Artillery Man,
Wake the men in blue,
Let the Yankees hear your voice,
Make them hear the truth,
Cry, Little Artillery Man,
They’ve taken your mama from you,
Here at Point Lookout,
Babies are prisoners too.

VERSE 3

She fought with Lee for three long years,
With the Danville Artillery,
Till the Yankees took her prisoner,
And sent her here with me.

When you were born, they took her away,
And shackled her in chains.
In Washington, tortured, abused,
She learned there’s many kinds of pain.

When the Yankees were through with her,
Your mama was set free,
She walked back to Virginia,
To the Danville Artillery.

They say she died at Petersburg
Before the war was done.
She fought for the South, and she fought for you,
For you, her only son.

CHORUS

So cry, Little Artillery Man,
Wake the men in blue,
Let the Yankees hear your voice,
Make them hear the truth,
Cry, Little Artillery Man,
They’ve taken your mama from you,
Here at Point Lookout,
Babies are prisoners too.

(End slowly)
Lincoln built a prison
He called it Point Lookout

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.