Mr. E. 2003: Manifest Lessons from Ohio’S Bicentennial Celebration

By Keith A. Elkins

In 2003, Ohio celebrated the bicentennial of its inauguration as the seventeenth state of the United States. It incited citizens from eighty-eight counties to celebrate the two-hundredth anniversary of Ohios heritage.

In his memoir, author Keith A. Elkins, known as Mr. E. to his fourth-grade students, tells of how, inspired by his states momentous celebration, he discovered an opportunity to animate his original puppet production, G. C.s Loose Caboose Revue. In 1999, leading up to Ohios bicentennial celebration, Elkins began his enterprise to inspire children with a sense of state history, civic pride, and civic virtue.

Mr. E. 2003 combines Ohios statehood with the lessons Elkins learned during his involvement with its bicentennial. It includes inspiring explanations, comparisons, and quotations related to Ohios past and present and the heartfelt moments that Elkins experienced in learning about the varied history of his state.

Follow Elkins as he discovers that Ohios statehood signifies more than any nickname, slogan, or establishment might suggest.

Go to MrE2003.com for more information about Mr. E. 2003: Manifest Lessons from Ohio's Bicentennial Celebration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462048922

Keith A. Elkins

Keith A. Elkins has taught fourth-grade and special-needs students at public schools for the past eighteen years. He and his wife, Diana, have been married for more than twenty years and are parents and grandparents. They live in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Book preview

Contents

FOREWARD

PREFACE

1999

2000

2001

2002

January 2003

February 2003

March 2003

April 2003

May 2003

June 2003

July 2003

August 2003

September 2003

October 2003

November 2003

December 2003

2004

2005

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BIBLIOGRAPHY

To the Taylor High School

Graduating Classes of 2011 and 2012

"The history of what man has accomplished

in this world, is at bottom, the history of

the great men who have worked here"

(Thomas Carlyle 1795-1881).

FOREWARD

Of the making of many books there is no end, said Koheleth, and yet he also said that he sought to record and arrange many proverbs, so that the people might learn wisdom. In every age and in every culture this task is the same: someone who loves wisdom begins to collect and record the sayings of the wise, and then he offers the collection to all who will meditate on them. Practical wisdom, or the lack thereof, is always revealed in the sayings that we choose to live by, be they recorded in a book or simply written in our hearts.

As we would expect, many of the proverbs collected by Koheleth are concerned with the meaning of the human experience of grief and mourning:

It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting, for death is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to heart.

Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of countenance the heart is made glad.

The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of the foolish is in the house of mirth. (Ecclesiastes 7:2-4)

These are hard sayings indeed, even for people of faith, but you are holding in your hand the memoir of a person who embraces and recommends such paradoxes. His memoir is a record of an encounter with grief, and it is intended to honor the dead, so if you would rather not dwell in the house of mourning, you will probably want to avoid reading it. If you do read it, however, you will find that it confirms the paradoxical truth that by sadness of countenance the heart is made glad.

A wise man once said, Grief is partly constituted by the desire that what one believes or takes to be true should not be so. This saying comes from a lecture of one of my former professors, a person who had a tremendous influence on my thinking, and at whose passing I found myself grieving. When someone close to us dies, like a teacher or a father, we are confronted with the fact that what we have lost can never be replaced. We take offense at the idea of a substitute. No one can ever be to us what that particular person was to us. No one can ever mean to us what that person means to us. As we go through life, he will always be missed. So we are filled with sorrow, and the sorrow endures.

But in grief we feel more than just sorrow. The emotion is like no other. Grief is always in a state of rebellion against death. In grief we have this sense that something has happened that ought to be corrected. Our emotions refuse to accept the event that has taken place. In grief we cannot be happy with anything but the undoing of what our loved one has experienced, and the undoing of what we have experienced. We have this sense that it ought not to have happened. And one of the most important things that we have to decide in life is whether grief is a reliable guide to the truth about life. Does our grief tell us how things really ought to be, or is it just an impossible desire, a failure to accept the reality of death?

Whether we find it reasonable to believe that death should be undone depends on our understanding of the nature of the universe. If living and dying are ultimately governed by chance, then it is reasonable to believe that nothing can ever be undone. But if living and dying are ultimately governed by providence, then it is reasonable to believe that everything can be undone and made new again. If life is in fact created, then there is no reason to suppose that it cannot be restored. Everything that is logically possible must be possible for God.

In recent years, much has been made of the connection between mourning and magical thinking, and magical thinking has been construed as nothing more than a psychological disorder typically brought on by the experience of loss. For people of faith, however, the associations and connections which are made in magical thinking will always be a potential mode of knowledge. It is true, of course, that people sometimes fall into delusions and make connections that have no basis in reality, but it does not follow that magical thinking is always or even usually misguided. Indeed, if the world is in fact created and governed by a loving Father, then the world is in fact a magical place, and those who fail to recognize the mind of God in it are themselves suffering from a kind of delusion that prevents them from seeing the enchantment and significance of their own lives. Perhaps the grief that follows the loss of a loved one has the power to set us free from such delusions, if only temporarily.

This memoir is a grief observed, but it is also a mystery revealed. If you happen to know the author personally, as I do, you will probably be interested to hear how he interprets his life, and you will probably be inclined to trust him. I, for one, find him completely trustworthy. But if you do not happen to know the author personally, then you might find what he has to say in this memoir rather distasteful. There are at least two reasons for a potentially negative reaction. First, he writes in a mode that is absolutely transparent and presumes that the reader is inclined to trust him. Not many authors have the courage to write in such a mode autobiographically, for not many readers are inclined to trust self-revelations. Second, what he has to say is rather old-fashioned and moralistic. He seems to be out of touch with the present generation. His topics concern the virtues of fatherhood, patriotism, honor, gratitude, authority, citizenship, respect, responsibility, and religion. To write in praise of such qualities requires the willingness to be regarded as just another grumpy old man. But wisdom often wears the face of a grumpy old man. We might consider Socrates, for instance, and the fate he suffered. What drives people to such ends? To some it appears to be arrogance. To others it appears to be humility.

Saint Augustine required converts to spend some time meditating on the different ways that God’s providential care had been present and active to them personally over the course of their lives. In the Confessions we can observe Saint Augustine himself engaging in this form of meditation at great length. And Saint Teresa of Avila recommended that we keep a written record of the various favors and blessings that we have received from God. As people of faith have always found, this kind of record helps us to appreciate just how much God loves us. The idea is that in the ordinary events of our lives God is repeatedly revealing his love to us, and that he wants us to recognize his love for us and remember it with confidence, especially when life becomes difficult and he begins to seem unjust or unmerciful. Such tests of loyalty are the only way that friendship can be preserved and perfected, and friendship is partly constituted by a firm trust in the good will of another. As the wise old saying goes, Charity thinketh no evil.

Most memoirs that are widely read are written by people who are rich and famous, while the memoirs of ordinary people are largely ignored. Literary critics even tell us that these efforts should never be published. Faith tells us, however, that each and every person has infinite value in the eyes of God, and that by sharing our personal stories with others we can celebrate the goodness of God as it is revealed in our lives. From the very beginning, people of faith have recognized the spiritual value of this communal exercise, regardless of their literary skill. And this is the spirit in which this memoir is written. The author is simply offering you an account of his life—his activities, performances, travels, inspirations, premonitions, devotions, readings, whims, experiences, injuries, feelings, emotions, values, attitudes, sentiments, pleasures, pains, encouragements, discouragements, priorities, missions, quests, joys, anxieties, virtues, vices, aggravations, dreams, doubts, accomplishments, struggles, insights, honors, awards, successes, failures, prayers, and interpretations of mysteries—not because he thinks it contains anything exceptional, but simply as a testimony to God’s love, and as an invitation to recognize the magic and the mystery in your own life. Whether you will be inclined to accept this invitation will depend mostly on what kinds of limitations you antecedently place on possibilities.

Cincinnati, on the Feast of Saint Martha

July 29, 2011

Tracy W. Jamison, PhD

PREFACE

All Americans—living by an honest motto of respect for the heritage of their homeland—are invited to share in this expressive reflection of one citizen’s involvement in Ohio’s 2003 Bicentennial Statehood celebration. As an elementary school teacher, I am practically known as Mr. E.—an abbreviated title bestowed upon me by the delightful children I have encountered over the past two decades. For young children, the title helps relieve the tension of an unfamiliar teacher on the first day of school. Nevertheless, familiarity soon breeds contempt. Into the first week of any new school year, the precious angels begin to mutter clever references and variations of Mr. E. such as Master E., Misery, and Mystery. Consequently, the precocious cherubs chalk up a lesson on homophones and proper nouns as their initiation into my classroom. As a professional musician and entertainer, Mr. E. has served as an appealing moniker in a variety of venues from libraries to theme parks. Be that as it may, the epithet of Mr. E. designated a more enchanting impression after the events of Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration passed into history. The lessons I learned from Ohio’s past and present were measured and manifested through heartfelt moments of magic and mystery.

man-i-fest \ adj. [from manus hand + —festus struck] (14c) 1: readily perceived by the senses and esp. by the sight 2: not obscure or hidden (Mish, 1984, 724).

One of the most satisfying duties of my teaching career has been relating Ohio’s noble and ignoble history to fourth-grade citizens. My own examination of history provided a means to ponder the margins between mastery and futility; misery and bliss; mystery and enlightenment. As historian George Santayana wisely observed, those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it (1924, 284). More than 200 years of human activity in Ohio have contributed to the heritage of a state with the fitting distinction: The Heart of It All. The state’s more recent travel slogan—Ohio, So Much to Discover—promoted the essence of the former motto just the same. Indeed, my own bicentenary chronicle recounts much of what I discovered at the heart of it all—before, during, and after Ohio’s celebrated year of 2003.

bi-cen-ten-a-ry \ bī-’sent-ěn-er-ē \ adj (1872): BICENTENNIAL \ n (1883): a 200th anniversary or its celebration (Mish, 148).

From the cradle to the grave, humans measured time by remembering significant events in their lives. The average child enjoyed the annual version of a birthday celebration. The average adult enjoyed special anniversaries and also planned goals for the future in order to measure or realize success. Søren Kierkegaard, the nineteenth century existential philosopher, proclaimed, Life can only be understood looking backward; but it must be lived looking forward (1843/1996). In my early 20s, when the illusions of youth were more dynamic, I began looking forward in life by using a five-year strategy to measure my goals for success. The reference point for beginning any new five-year course was often ambiguous, since I would occasionally exceed my goals sooner than expected through some satisfying achievement or exploit. I have experienced success and failure. I have learned a great deal from my failings. After 50-plus years of living and learning, I have come to respect the frustrating brevity of life. Three-score and ten or 70 years will only allow for the possibility of a dozen or more five-year plans. How much more could an aged man achieve with 100 such plans? Given the progress of medical science in the twenty-first century, there is the remote possibility that I could celebrate my 94th birthday during Ohio’s semiquincentenary celebration in 2053. Nevertheless, the start of a five-year plan in 1999 also initiated my ambitious enterprise to provide an account of Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration in 2003. Additional momentum for the undertaking came from the Buckeye state’s organizers and leaders who remembered Ohio’s past with a vision of the future.

As early as 1995, the Ohio legislature commissioned a group of 51 members of the Ohio Bicentennial Commission to begin working on specific directives as described in Ohio Revised Code, Section 149.32. The goals of the commission were comprehensive—to promote, encourage, and coordinate the commemoration and celebration of the bicentennial anniversary of Ohio’s admission to the union; determine if there were any sites within the state that were especially appropriate; ensure that appropriate observances and exhibits were held; receive any proposed plans and programs by political subdivisions or representative civic bodies; and submit to the Governor, the Ohio Historical Society, and the members of the General Assembly its recommendations for the Ohio Bicentennial celebration. A 16-member Executive Committee Ex-Officio was established to guide the body at large.

Ohio’s leadership demonstrated an admirable confidence and vision in 1995 when they began coordinating Ohio’s 2003 Bicentennial celebration—eight years ahead of the actual event. Certain members of this esteemed group—along with many other respectable Ohioans—endorsed my own path toward Ohio’s Statehood celebration through brief points of contact and lent illustrious support to my personal and civic participation. These contacts were greatly appreciated for the inspiration they provided along the way. Their optimism was commendable in light of the anticipated and the unexpected events that subsequently affected the state, the nation, and the world.

From an early age, I exercised my own confidence and vision in diaries, journals, letters, articles, meditations, plays, song lyrics, vows, and works of art. Over the years, I strived to develop an abiding sense of responsibility for my attitudes and behaviors. Within the following chronicle of my bicentenary experiences from 1999 to 2005, I have attempted to provide the most logical and inspiring explanations, repetitions, comparisons, contrasts, illustrations, examples, statistics, quotations, opinions, inductions, and deductions—lest the result be labeled a boring abuse of history.

Ideas have consequences. Money, reputation, power, health, security, conflict, suspense, and self preservation all provide a fund of objective and subjective impressions for anyone to examine. So do moral character, sagacity, and good will. Therefore, it seemed appropriate to include sensational events and thought-provoking issues as a means to capture a particular state of mind in relation to the spirit of the age. Supported with such anecdotes and illustrations, Mr. E. 2003—Manifest Lessons from Ohio’s Bicentennial Celebration was written to inspire other patriotic citizens with an ideal Via Pulchritudinis or way of beauty for honoring their own beloved heroes, heroines, and homelands in the spirit of truth and goodness. I believed my integrity qualified as much as the least examination of my betters. In one other respect, I earned the qualification, since Ohio’s 200th anniversary celebration was the third such event that I experienced in my life and times.

During America’s Bicentennial in 1976, I witnessed the patriotic and proud view of history in my hometown of Washington Court House, Ohio. I was preparing for my senior year of high school when our nation celebrated 200 years of liberty and justice for all. For more than two decades, I was an official resident of the small community. The humble little house on Fairview Avenue—adjacent to the county fairground’s main entrance—established the memento of my birth place in Fayette County. Historically, Fayette County, Ohio was settled by Virginia Veterans of the American Revolution. Readers will likely recognize the historic namesake of America’s first President, George Washington, and famous French military leader and statesman, Marquis de Lafayette. Lesser known namesakes included my own maternal and paternal ancestors from Virginia who participated in the settlement of at least two south-central, counties in Ohio—Lawrence and Adams.

In 1988, the city of Cincinnati commemorated 200 years as The Queen City of the West. At that time, I laid claim to five years as a settler on the west side of the sprawling metropolis. From my personal journaling throughout 1988, I acknowledged several relevant events—the July opening of Cincinnati’s Sawyer Point Park at Bicentennial Commons; a summer drought that involved some tardy cicadas from the previous year’s cyclical invasion; the beginning of my final year of undergraduate study; and the death of my dear grandfather in December. Cincinnati’s Bicentennial year also evoked memories that imparted a deeper understanding of such virtues as loyalty, perseverance, and dignity. I was fortunate to gain as much insight from one year’s recollections.

In the course of motivating others to generate their own bicentennial experiences at the start of the 2002/2003 school year, one fourth-grade student presented me with a text compiled in 1988 by The Cincinnati Historical Society. From the Introduction to The Bicentennial Guide to Greater Cincinnati: A Portrait of Two Hundred Years, author Geoffrey J. Giglierano motivated my ambitions even more.

Those who accept the notion that they and the communities where they live have no history hold a sadly mistaken view of their own communities—and of themselves. Perhaps The Bicentennial Guide to Greater Cincinnati, with its histories of well-known figures and ‘everyday’ men and women can begin to demonstrate that every place is an historic site, every person is a unique and historic figure. (1988)

Indeed, my focus on Ohio’s Bicentennial event directed my path to historic sites, unique figures, and memorable experiences. More momentous, the uncertain outcome of a short daytrip to Chillicothe, Ohio on March 1, 2003 stimulated a positive desire to make other journeys to signature locations across the state. My impromptu travels following that significant day in March brought me into simple and extraordinary situations—each energized with a magical quality and existential essence. Moreover, the death of my father on August 20, 2003 transformed the priority, perspective, and balance of my previous bicentennial designs. A constellation of thoughts and emotions associated with my father’s death subtly changed the direction of my narrative for children toward a more contemplative interpretation of Ohio’s Statehood celebration.

A labor of love, this chronicle of Ohio’s 2003 Bicentennial cultivated my obligation and duty to honor America’s forefathers of all stripes for their courage, integrity, and sacrifice. All the same, I was compelled to reveal a more-than-likely, providential interpretation of the joy and sorrow that I encountered on my gratifying pilgrimage during Ohio’s year-long celebration. At the heart of it all, Ohio’s Bicentennial was more than any story, saying, symbol, slogan, motto, or geographic location. The Bicentennial of Ohio was a state of mind in the dash of life with so much to discover. This state of mind—born from fatherhood and patriotism—was older and more majestic than any particular place or time. When all was said and done, my singular chronicle of Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration evolved from a storybook treatise of history to a passionate validation for a particular order of patriotism—where goodness is the only true success and all things are possible with God.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to thank the following individuals who contributed to this chronicle along the way: Martha Bladen, David Hudepohl, Polly Miceli, Sherry Burdick, Three Rivers Local SD, Jim Gillum, Phil Meyer, Curt Curtis, John G. Piper, Leonidas Lipovetsky, Richard E. Dumont BA, BAPh, MA, PhD, Momma Jo, and my extended family. I would like especially to thank Tracy W. Jamison PhD for reinforcing my journey in faith and reason. And last but not least, to my better half, Diana, for demonstrating the prudence and patience of a saint.

PART I

THE MAGIC

1999

An old English proverb endorsed the rugged individualism of American living for more than two centuries—every man’s home is his castle. Another enduring motto typified the perpetual optimism necessary for decorating the interior of every American castle—one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. All the same, most Americans presumed that owning a home was essential for realizing the American Dream. In 1998, my wife and I began to imagine the dream of owning a home. After living in an apartment complex for nine years, we finally gained the opportunity and the means to rent a two-story house with an attached two-car garage. From October 31, 1998 to October 31, 1999, we enjoyed the all-hallowed fantasy that we built a house for ourselves and our two children on the cul-de-sac of Copperfield Lane. My teaching salary allowed me to turn down house painting jobs and relax more than usual. I was quite eager to enjoy a pseudo-sabbatical after several years of arduous employment and study for my family’s welfare. Indeed, the Copperfield residence was a satisfying place for everyone in the family. The two-car garage was a special luxury during the winter of 1998/1999—it parked two full-size cars out of a cold, southern Ohio winter. During the spring of 1999, however, the two-car garage became a marvelous two-room studio that prompted my dormant, right-brain, artistic qualities to flourish with a growth spurt that established the number 99 as a significant theme for my eclectic sayings and eccentric ambitions. Altogether, my peerless American dream/theme integrated certain expressions of the liberal arts, the fine arts, and the technical arts. The chronicle I made of these illustrations from 1999 reflected a manifest priority to balance my imaginative perspectives with Ohio’s upcoming bicentennial celebration in 2003.

Constellations and Interpretations

The creation of several original works of fine art in 1999 provided the main impetus for getting involved in Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration. However, the death of my grandmother in May of 1999 was the initial event that ignited a blaze of motivation and magic for my bicentenary enterprise. Tillie Ethel Tolle outlived her husband—Guy Conway—by more than a decade. All the same, the loss of my grandfather in December of 1988 had a tremendous impact on my identity since I related more with his character traits than either of my parents up to that time.

Significantly, Grandpa Tolle passed away on the feast of St. Nicholas during my final semester at seminary. Philosophy and education were my full-time pursuits for six years at seminary—in conjunction with my nine-year, one-month, and three-day interval as a gas-station manager. Both vocations provided a thorough education. However, the death of a saint had a profound way of educating a surviving soul who refused to let go. As the poet, John Donne (1572-1631) wrote, No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main (1624/1987, 87). Grandpa’s death on December 6, 1988 coincided with my younger sister and brother’s common date of birth on December 6—six years apart. I always conceded a coincidence for the interesting constellation of dates, but I very often begged to argue a more providential interpretation.

G. C.’s Loose Caboose Revue

Eight years after the death of Guy Conway Tolle—during a December holiday break from teaching in 1996—I immortalized his spirit in my first-ever, original, hand-sculpted, puppet character. This special icon became G. C. Gutenberg and bore the striking resemblance to my grand paternal hero. Moreover, my role as newsletter editor for the Cincinnati Area Puppetry Guild (CAPG) from 1998 continued to enhance my eclectic eccentricities into the summer of 1999. Editorial writings for the CAPG newsletter, Puppet News, eventually motivated my enthusiasm away from puppet performances toward a literary enterprise involving character sketches and plots. To me, a puppet was simply a thought in the hand. As such, G. C. Gutenberg epitomized the thoughts and talents of an engineer, inventor, teacher, philosopher, poet, playwright, minstrel, gardener, carpenter, caretaker, peacemaker, and leader of G. C. Gutenberg’s Loose Caboose Revue on The Union Picnic Railroad (© 1996, Elkins). Indeed, several tracks of my life converged throughout the course of 1999 to influence my subsequent bicentenary direction.

In a more nostalgic sense, the two-room studio on Copperfield Lane merged my right-brain, artistic visions into a two-dimensional, symmetric symbol—Route 99. This special interstate insignia characterized a course of human conduct for G. C. Gutenberg and The Loose Caboose Revue. The prospects of a highway and a railroad within the same setting had great potential for moving characters and plots in a positive direction. My artistic enterprise was still under construction in 1999, but it offered me access to some bicentenary possibilities for 2003 and beyond.

01.jpg

Man the Symbol Maker

The familiar form of the ubiquitous interstate-insignia suggested for me an omnipotent conventionality for honoring a noble way of life. To my way of thinking, the emblem expressed a Via Delorosa or way of discipleship. The pastoral song lyrics of Slow Train Coming and Highway 61—by the Delphian folk singer, Bob Dylan—complemented the eclectic ponderings of a puppeteer working on the railroad and Route 99 all the livelong day. A journal entry summarized the alliance between two road-weary, vagabond troubadours: Dylan and Gutenberg walked that road—that way down Highway 61—where a slow train was coming up around the bend. Many other symbols, signals, and signs advanced the way for G. C.’s Loose Caboose Revue to roll the Union Picnic Railroad into the future and tell the story of Ohio’s past.

You can mislead a man,

You can take hold of his heart with your eyes.

(Dylan, 1979, B1)

Signs, Signals, and Symbols

As an artist, teacher, and philosopher, I am also a symbol maker. My perceptions were developed quite early in life by the necessity to create signs, signals, and symbols for a younger deaf sister. The abstract concepts of language, thought, and reality were better communicated through visual and artistic means of understanding. Devotion to my deaf sister’s needs led me to a Cincinnati seminary for earning an Associate of Science Degree in Sign Language Studies. An elementary education certification followed my Bachelor’s degree in Religious Studies to enhance a more contemplative perspective on language, thought, and reality. Consequently, sign language, seminary, and school teaching helped me realize and develop a stewardship of the eyes. With such faculties, I learned to appreciate subtle messages that the lamp of the soul was capable of communicating without words.

Fred McFeely Rogers—better known as beloved television personality Mister Rogers—was a wonderful master of expression. His development of puppet props to promote goodness and values to children in a syndicated television broadcast for over 30 years was an important model and inspiration for my work as teacher and entertainer. I came to realize how a symbolic fraternity existed between G. C.’s Loose Caboose Revue and Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood™. G. C. Gutenberg shared a kindred spirit with King Friday while The Union Picnic Railroad held a strong association with the neighborhood trolley in Mister Rogers’ Magic Kingdom™.

Orphans and Widows

An eclectic parade of characters developed from my childhood role models and heroes. Will Rogers and Roy Rogers were in good company with Fred Rogers as noble and spirited models of truth, goodness, and beauty. My intriguing puppet characters—Fred, Will, and Roy Wiseman—were the triune or triplet reflection of the Rogers namesake in G. C. Gutenberg’s entourage.

Another symbol—not apparent in my brief inventory of G. C.’s revue—was inspired by the historic account of the orphan trains in America from 1850 to 1925. Children of struggling immigrants living in New York City were placed in orphanages to avoid poverty and exploitation. Social agencies made it possible for children to be adopted by Midwestern families along a thriving railroad system established across the beltway of America. G. C. Gutenberg’s little red caboose developed into a home for wayward and abandoned orphans at the end of the Union Picnic Railroad line. My patron, Saint James, provided the calling for the entire enterprise—Pure and undefiled religion is this: to visit widows and orphans in their distress… (1:27, Scripture quotations from the New American Standard Bible—NASB).

The Union Picnic Railroad

During the summer of 1999, a pioneering spirit prompted me to build a prop for animating the overall theme of G. C. Gutenberg’s adventures on the Union Picnic Railroad. If G. C. Gutenberg was to run a caboose on a railroad, then he needed a locomotive. Production of the icon was enhanced from a broken lawnmower and a recycled carpet tube. The 12-inch high-wheels on the back of the lawnmower base seemed to be a fair-size scale for G. C.’s 20-inch puppet height. And the carpet tube appeared to have the appropriate dimensions to match the mower base as a boiler. An added fifth-wheel gave the rolling vehicle its ability to turn on a dime.

With a manifest vision, I began my summer obsession to build Engine 99 on Copperfield Lane. The open garage door to my studio allowed neighbors and passersby to witness its construction. The mailman on his delivery route enjoyed the daily additions and became the one person I needed to impress the most. He was intrigued by the 1960s Apple™ computer keyboard which replaced the boiler in the cab. He was especially delighted by the 1953 Chevrolet hubcap which graced the front of the boiler like a bow tie. But of all the cosmetics, the royal crown was the golden bell which chimed a lovely melody with the pull of its ringer.

From my ardent efforts, G. C. Gutenberg acquired the ideal prop for showcasing the changes of civilization—using a plow from the agricultural revolution, a steam engine from the industrial revolution, and a computer from the information revolution. The social security of widows and orphans in the midst of the greed and poverty through each revolution provided the animated momentum for scripts and stories—including one for Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration.

Seizing the Day

My original intention in 1999 was to create a children’s book that would illustrate the characters from G. C.’s Loose Caboose Revue as they retold Ohio’s history through the Bicentennial celebration of 2003. A plot was outlined that would take G. C. Gutenberg, two young children, and a magical caboose back in time to complete an Ohio history assignment. My inventory of characters provided comprehensive coverage of relevant historic personalities. Illustrating the characters in two-dimensional form could be accomplished with caricature drawings. I realized how the story line must stand on its own merit. The project would become the means to launch my endearing characters into the world of children’s literature and any other possibilities available. Carpe Diem! What else could an artistic and eccentric grown-up do with a collection of original dolls that occupied space and needed to earn their keep?

Seizing the Pen

The title jack-of-all-trades; master-of-none is a figure of speech referring to someone capable of several skills—though not exceptional at any particular one. The moniker accurately described my skills in 1999. I slavishly accepted that I was not a true master of anything in particular although my diplomas from various schools of higher learning were hard-earned and honorable. The ambition to become a writer was the latest skill added to my notable inventory of trades. Nevertheless, I approached the task with the same determination and perseverance as ever before—I gave it my all.

Personal letters, journal entries, and published articles from 1999 to 2003 reveal the magic and enchantment of the puppet trade as it related to my plans for Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration. My writing efforts from the years preceding 2003 complement many wonderful events during 2003 and beyond. Moreover, the abbreviated reflections I made by seizing the pen (a tool considered mightier than the sword) reveal my ambition as an eccentric reporter, my orientation as an eclectic writer, and my self-imposed status as jack-of-all-trades. Reaching 40 years of age in 1999 gave me pause to reflect a little deeper about my identity and state of existence.

Journal Entry: May 1999

To be old and wise you must first be young and stupid.