docMay 2013 - LSU Alexandria
download 
Report Transcription
May 2013 - LSU Alexandria
JONGLEUR RUELGNOJ Jongleur is Louisiana State University at Alexandria’s undergraduate, interdisciplinary journal. The journal is staffed entirely by LSUA students. Jongleur accepts submissions in poetry, creative fiction and non-fiction, academic literature, and visual arts from students at LSUA. A special section is reserved for individuals presenting in the LSUA Annual Conference in the Humanities and for individuals that were invited to attend the National Undergraduate Literature Conference in Ogden, Utah if they were not selected for publication. All submissions to the Jongleur are accepted, regardless of content. However, it is advised that the content should abstain from an extreme derogatory nature. Individual authors and visual artists retain Copyright 2013. Jongleur Louisiana State University at Alexandria 8100 Highway 71 South Alexandria, La 71302 Send submissions to jongleurlsua@gmail.com 2 EDITOR’S NOTES As I sit here building a Table of Contents for the Jongleur, I’m baffled by the notion that I somehow thought I could breathe life into a publication that has been dead for years, how I thought that agreeing to be the editor would somehow garner me prestige, never realizing the tedious task that was involved. However, after sifting through the pages of essays, stories, poems, and photographs, I recall why I was so eager to agree to the task: I love art. I love all forms of art, whether it is the written word, brushstrokes on a canvas, song lyrics, or expressions of people through photography. What I have come to realize from reading the works presented is that this is not a prestigious job. It is an emotional one. I have viewed works of joy and pain that reflect true artistic ability, and I have been moved by the words on the page. I find writing to be extremely therapeutic, and I find I write most when I am troubled, whether it’s through essays, short stories, poems, or lyrics. Writing gives me an outlet to express my emotions in a constructive way so that I might remain a peaceful person. At times, I find myself getting lost in the ink on the page, not really knowing where to start or how I found an ending. However, one thing remains true. The ending is always healing and allows me to provide some closure to whatever struggle I am dealing with at that moment. As I read the words of individuals who submitted their work, I realized that I am not alone in my love for writing. Oftentimes, people express in writing what they cannot say in person. People sometimes feel invisible to others, but, through art, they can express themselves and no longer be invisible. Regardless of how an individual feels about him/herself, one has the ability, through art, to positively affect others. It is my hope that the submissions presented in this publication will touch the lives of individuals and inspire them to channel their emotions through writing. And, if it does, I hope that more individuals will write and submit to next year’s publication so that they, too, may inspire others to achieve greatness. I realize now that the prestige to be gained was not mine, but it belongs to each individual that was brave enough to submit their work and allow others to share the joy and pain inscribed on the page. So, thank you! It has been a pleasure and a rewarding experience to read the works presented and to be a part of a population who has made themselves known through art. —Brandy R. Williams 3 JONGLEUR We fear our highest possibilities. We are generally afraid to become that which we can glimpse in our most perfect moments under the most perfect conditions, under conditions of great courage. Maslow TABLE OF CONTENTS COVER Tory Parks HEADNOTE Peter Maslow POETRY Not in Kansas Anymore Brandy R. Williams The Unspoken Motto Brandy R. Williams Cajun Dance-hall Colton Brister 7 A Message from the Heart Abigail Holden 8 Searching for You Jennifer Lonix Answer to Naomi 8 Brandy R. Williams American Farmer Colton Brister My Louisiana Home Colton Brister 11 11 12 Strong Women 13 Keisha Swafford 9 Reflection 14 Kristin Lea Curtis 10 Wondering Watery Eyes Chase Nugent Roots 10 Colton Brister 4 16 The Storm 16 Beryl Seiss Sykes America, America Beryl Seiss Sykes Ghost Fair 26 Chris Crawford 17 My Sister, My Sister Beryl Seiss Sykes Warped Mind 27 Brandy R. Williams Ancient Knowledge Brandy R. Williams 18 27 Tiny Fingers 28 Brandy R. Williams PHOTOGRAPHY M&M’s 28 Allison Kirtland Dickenson Park 19 Christina Walker Roses 29 Allison Kirtland Butterfly 20 Christina Walker Irontail 30 Allison Kirtland Buzzing Around 20 Christina Walker Dive 21 Christina Walker Lily 21 Christina Walker Concrete Angel Allison Kirtland 31 Guardian Angel Allison Kirtland 31 Old Glory 22 Christina Walker FICTION Houston Nights 22 Christina Walker The Becoming Chase Nugent Apple 23 Megan Lewis The Night the Lights Went Out Brandy R. Williams Drink Me 23 Megan Lewis Duplicity—Chapter One Brandon Pitchford Rose 24 Megan Lewis New Constellations Jason LaCombe Crane 25 Chris Crawford 5 32 64 55 50 NON-FICTION FOREIGN LANGUAGE An Examination of Value: Deconstructing the Reasoning of Friedrich Nietzsche 67 Kyle Krebsbach SPANISH City at Night 71 Randall Johnston Invertir ahora es una Gran Oportunidad 139 Joseph LaCaze El Amor es esencial en la vida Laura Cunningham LSUA CONFERENCE Pearl Harbor: The Beginning to an End Brandy Marshall 144 Los Fines de Semana en Spring Bayou Donovan Clark 76 Hola Padre! 149 Christopher Cather Bonnie and Clyde: A Personal and Criminal History 98 Anna Heaven Smith Juego de Preguntas Christopher Cather Time is Fleeting: Andrew Marvell’s Carpe Diem Motif 116 Brandy R. Williams 150 FRENCH NULC CONFERENCE Une réservation 151 Alejandra Rubio Reflections of the Past: Yusef Komunyakaa’s Use of Concrete Imagery in “Facing It” 124 Brandy R. Williams L'hôtel Californie Amber Normand 153 Qui suis-je? 154 French 1001 Students Starved Mind, Starved Spirit: “A Hunger Artist” 132 Randall Johnston 6 148 POETRY Not in Kansas Anymore Brandy R. Williams Twisters spindle top, whiz through cornfields; a dark, hazy wall follows. Brick—it stops me every time, forcing me into the uncomfortable crevices of my mind, where helmets clash and slam his body into dirt. Stopped on the one-yard line. Call “Red rover, red rover—” but we all fall down. Ripened grain thrashes air; twin’s dance, left and right, a trail of destruction in their wake; shutters swing to and fro before shattering. Rip from her mother’s arms a child, toss her into a field of flying cows. The awning falls, collapses the roof. Heel click, heel click, heel click; I’m not in Kansas anymore, and there’s no infant home. They found her three days later, breastfeeding under a broken frame. 7 The Unspoken Motto Brandy R. Williams The restless man in the corner— The one who graced my view, Wore an evening shadow— His eyes, a daunting blue. An Answer to Naomi Brandy R. Williams Pale, dingy, Army green— Poetry hides… Starched and freshly pressed. In the nail He wore the garment with graceful pride— On the cross, piercing the fleshy patches His medals clipped to his chest. Of His healing hands. In the crown Faded memories of days since past Of thorns puncturing His skin Flicker through his mind. As blood drips Beaten, battered, bag of bones— Into His kindred eyes. They hurt, they slip, they grind. In the blood pelted lashes To His back and sides. One foot in front of the other— In His watery eyes He stumbles, failing to fall. As He lifts His head crying, For it is the unspoken motto— “Father, forgive them, A soldier must stand tall. For they know not what they do.” Poetry hides… In the love Within His blood that set me free. 8 American Farmer Colton Brister He spends most of his days on his tractor, Either plowin’ the fields or harvestin’ his crop; He’s not looking to make a whole lot. From sunup to sundown, He works all day long and hardly ever complains. Except for the few times when it doesn’t rain. Always humble and never proud, He’s seldom one to ever get loud. From his bronzed neck To his callused hands To his mud-covered boots, He’s never really changed much over the years. And so it goes, Another day in the life of an American farmer . . . A real hero. 9 My Louisiana Home Colton Brister Roots Colton Brister My Louisiana Home Is in The rice and crawfish fields. My roots, Are anchored Firmly in The soil and land. My Louisiana home, Is far From the coast. Strongly attached To tradition. Where an honest day’s work Means, A job well done. It is in The mighty pines And rolling hills, Way up north. Where we Learn to love and respect God’s creation. My Louisiana home, Is not on Bourbon Street. And no matter Where I go Or what I do I always know my roots. My Louisiana home, Is in The marshes and prairies All around. My Louisiana home, Is where I am found. 10 Cajun Dance-hall Colton Brister Fiddles, accordions, washboards, triangles, and a guitar. A jig, a polka, reel, waltz, or a two-step, Take your date by the hand out on the dance floor. And in their ear, whisper in broken French, Empty promises and sweet nothings. Live bands or an old jukebox, Cold beer and hot boudin. From the Texas state-line to the mighty Mississippi, In small towns and big cities alike, It’s the same every Saturday night. A Message from the Heart Abigail Holden For love can stand all things. Like a rose blooming from winter’s hard ground. And love can wait patiently, Like a star waiting for the sun to come out. Pack lightly but don’t leave in haste. Time is love that you cannot replace. Always be thankful and thoughtful and true, And do unto others as you’d have done to you. Learn from the past and live for today. Hope in tomorrow and you’ll find your way. Learn with wisdom and work with grit, And you’ll overcome all of it. Take these words and keep them close to your heart, And know that one day we’ll never be apart. 11 Searching for You Jennifer Lonix Looking for you. I could not find you. Wanting your touch on my skin. You would not answer or let me in. Longing for you . I could not find you. Searching, and you were nowhere to be found. My heart was in despair. Needing you. I could not find you. My heart burned . My blood Churned . Nothing but you. I could not find you. Searching everywhere even in the parks. Searching everywhere long after dark. Then, I saw you. I no longer needed you. My heart was on the mend. On the mend because I found him. 12 Strong Women Keisha Swafford We are soft and feminine, We get the emotional baggage, Pretty and stylish, The periods, the cramps, We are strong in heart, But that is only, We keep going on and on, A small fraction, We persevere... Of who we are, Women are dependable, We can be anyone we want! Loving, and caring, We're independent, We keep our men going, We can be doctors, When times are rough, Lawyers, teachers, We are very tough, Journalists, surgeons, Accountants, soldiers, There are all kinds, The world is our oyster, Of beautiful women, And we are the pearls, In the world... All shapes and sizes, Love fills our souls, Different personalities, We are so full of life, We make up a good, We shine like diamonds, Part of the world, In the night sky, We may rise and fall, We go through a lot, But through it all, We get the worst end, We stand up tall. Of breakups and heartache, 13 Reflection Kristin Lea Curtis “…she dreamed she was a pen, dancing across a page…” I forgive you for angry words I forgive you for poisoned lies I forgive you for crippling fears For acting completely dead inside I forgive you for contempt and malice I forgive you for bitterness and deceit I forgive you for making me feel unworthy Always begging for approval at your feet I forgive you for debilitating depression I forgive you for not attempting to be strong I forgive you for being too weak to fight it For giving up and in to it all along I forgive you for innocence lost I forgive you for making a waste I forgive you for empty hands and pockets And complacency in the face of fate I forgive you for dreams shattered I forgive you for procrastination 14 I forgive you for goals unrealized And for a serious lack of motivation Most of all I forgive you For genuine love not shown For burying it deep inside you Too afraid to let it go I gaze into the mirror At my teary-eyed reflection I’ve been given a new view of life One full of joy and self-actualization I’m glad I came to this crossroads And found the strength to journey down The narrow road I should have taken Many years ago now But I can’t think about time wasted I can’t dwell on shame and guilt I have to keep moving forward Or risk again becoming still 15 Wondering Watery Eyes Chase Nugent Wondering watery eyes fixed on her single white shoe, the sniffling little miss with the hat and gloves to match sulks behind her singing kin. The Storm Beryl Seiss Sykes The storm has passed through my life but I am not destroyed. The storm has bruised me with situations and circumstances because they came upon me another and another and another until I had no time to recover. The storm has cut and hurt me to my very bones. I have cried and cried and all that is left is my groans. The storm has knocked me down. My legs are shaky, my bearings are off the mark, yet getting up is the task presently before me. It may look like I am just staying down but no one sees the struggle, the strain I’m putting out just to try and stand. Because of the effects of the storm in my life, I am in no condition to examine my surroundings, no condition to check outside my inner boundaries. The people, the places, and the situations that normally have my attention seem to be out of reach for me as the present time. For a brief moment I wished the storm had just destroyed me with one lick, but now that I am standing, I am glad that it only passed by and did not stay until I was completely destroyed. To someone looking from the outside, it may appear that complete destruction was achieved, but 16 they would have to get into the storm area and as they reach out to attending to the immediate needs, it is only then that they notice I am still in the battle. The storm did a lot of damage. Even though the storm is over, all is not calm. The sun is not yet shining and although it is still dark around me, I can now see color in the storm. The colors though not a rainbow remind me that day light and even sunshine is beyond the darkest storm. America, America Beryl Seiss Sykes I mourn, I cry, I hurt, but nothing eases the pain; How could something like this happen, who from this tragedy gains: How could this happen? Why did this happen? And the questions remain . . . We never saw this coming! It took us by surprise! Had we built so much trust in someone or something that had no way of protecting us? And of course we thought it would never happen here, not to us! Faith, hope, and trust built on the wrong foundation will crumble. We became lax, laid back, puffed up. We are the dreams that others dream of. And yet America has been touched. We have been wounded. The very essence of our world has been shaken. But. . . this is not the end. God is Alive and we are Blessed. We must refocus our faith in God again, our only deliverer. 17 We must fall on our knees repenting to God for having turned our backs on Him, forgetting from whence our blessings came. Our true strength and protection comes from him. God will protect his people. But are we still His people? America, America God has shed his grace on thee. America, America who can compare to thee? My Sister, My Sister Beryl Seiss Sykes I see your tears behind the mask, But look out my sister it’s falling fast. I too get angry with God sometimes, How can He allow such lengthy hard times? How can He not give me the strength I need? Surely He knows it’s upon Him that I feed. CAN HE NOT SEE MY TEARS! CAN HE NOT FEEL MY HURT? CAN HE NOT FEEL MY PAIN! When will my joy return? When will the true me again begin to show? Sister, My Sister, may I help carry your load, until this trial is no longer a task, just a memory in the past. 18 PHOTOGRAPHY DICKENSON PARK, Christina Walker 19 BUTTERFLY, Christina Walker BUZZING AROUND, Christina Walker 20 DIVE, Christina Walker LILY, Christina Walker 21 OLD GLORY, Christina Walker HOUSTON NIGHTS, Christina Walker 22 APPLE, Megan Lewis DRINK ME, Megan Lewis 23 ROSE, Megan Lewis 24 CRANE, Chris Crawford 25 GHOST FAIR, Chris Crawford 26 WARPED MIND, Brandy R. Williams ANCIENT KNOWLEDGE, Brandy R. Williams 27 TINY FINGERS, Brandy R. Williams M&M’S, Allison Kirtland 28 ROSES, Allison Kirtland 29 IRONTAIL, Allison Kirtland 30 CONCRETE ANGEL, Allison Kirtland GUARDIAN ANGEL, Allison Kirtland 31 FICTION The Becoming Chase Nugent “One more push, one more push.” Doctor Trevan’s neck was thick from time in the gym, and his hands hardened from ranch work he had done as a kid growing up in Eastern Texas. The young mother mustered up all her strength to force out the child she had held inside of her so reluctantly ever since the line turned blue in her ex-boyfriend’s bathroom. “Just get this thing out of me. Please, I can’t take no more of this. I don’t care . . . I won’t let it kill me too dammit.” Trevan thought to himself, she’s delusional. Must be all the meds. “Good push, almost there, almost…Hey hey, a baby boy and quite a head of hair. Let’s get this little guy all cleaned up.” “Just give him here and leave us be.” “What you gonna name him Miss?” asked the nurse who had been busy monitoring the baby’s vitals and inventorying drugs at the same time. “Ugly, I’m gonna call him Ugly.” It appeared as though the nurse was going to speak, but then she turned her eyes back to the monitor and then to the floor slick with amniotic fluid. 32 During his first few years, the boy’s mother had him on a home schooling regimen she found on a late night infomercial. But her efforts had had mixed results. By the age of 10, the boy could barely even write his name legibly, but he did have a remarkable knack for reading, sometimes consuming entire novels from cover-to-cover in one sitting. He was a master of selfentertainment and more often than not completely forgot he had a mother. From the moment he could walk among the large clumps of uncut grass that grew over his head, he had fallen in love with the geese that landed in his neighbor’s pond or the occasional beaver that damned up the pond or the snake that whipped through the water. If you asked him, he could describe every song of every bird dwelling in the high grass of his yard. He was not completely forgotten by his mother. Every day when the bullfrogs began their calling and the sound of the crickets rose in a shrill buzz, his mother came to the back door and called for him. “Get some dinner before I stop feeling sorry for you and feed it all to the cats instead. What you doing out there all day there anyway? Sticking your little pecker in a stump hole? You know an armadillo’s gonna bite if off one day and then it spit back atcha cause it don’t ease his appetite none.” The boy never responded. He learned long ago that’s what she wanted. She wanted back talk so she could beat him with her fists. That’s why she home schooled him to begin with, to hide the remnants of her rages. All too often, the boy’s silence was enough of a defense to shield off his mother in her tirades of righteous indignation. When she looked at the boy, she saw the only man she ever loved leaving with another woman in his arms. She saw the blue of her lost love’s eye in the boy’s eyes and hated him for it. 33 This boy was the reason he left. He was the reason she would never love again. She slapped him across the face. He didn’t chew with his mouth closed. He had his elbows on the table. He stared off into space and didn’t eat his soft-boiled eggs. These slaps were nothing new. The boy had come to accept them as he accepted every other aspect of his life. Happiness was reserved for the deer racing through the forests, not for boys who drove their own fathers away. The day after being slapped with the bottle with the black and white label and with a liquid the color of the neighbor’s dark honey was on the table. Never could the boy recall ever actually being told where he should sleep. He most enjoyed the closet in the hallway. It made him feel like some famous explorer holed up in a cave for the night trying to find shelter from the storm raging outside. He would lay in his closet and wonder what his friends in the trees were doing, wondering if the squirrels were storing up enough acorns to last the winter or if they were going to be hungry like they were last year. Years passed with no change in the routine. Though his voice grew deeper and his shoulders broader, his mother still beat him. The physical pain lessened, but the emotional strain still hit. Anyone who believed that names and faces never hurt you didn’t know much about words, thought the boy. The boy held no concept of hate. It was an emotion locked away in all the books he never read and movies he never saw but dreamed one day he would. Hate was as foreign an emotion to him as a mother’s love, but something in him began to change, a feeling rose in his stomach like nothing he had ever known while sitting and enjoying the Robin’s song as it whisked among the trees, its colors flashing with every ray of sunlight that its tiny body met. He struggled to understand this purest of all human emotions and yelled out, “The song, the song must stop.” The singing did stop and the boy heard the floorboards squeak at uneven 34 intervals as his mother stumbled her way down the hall to face one of her many demons head-on. With each misjudged step, his mother takes toward his door the boy felt a burning in his stomach. The fire fills his limbs with the heat of the river Styx and when his mother reached the door, he burst through. Fists, blood, and screams become all that he could see as everything took on a reddish hue. The hate pours from him .No words, just tears - no remorse, just satisfaction - no songs, just silence and a limp body splayed out on the floor slick with her blood. He knew that he had one person who knew his name, the one person he had talked to and had occasionally said something back. He found some plastic sheeting among the mountain of bottles and cans his mother had acquired through her unwavering dedication to self-medicating. He yanked the sheet free, and the pile tumbled into the yard filling it with a jumbled mess of glass and aluminum. It was, he thought, a horrific collage of what used to be her life. He and this mess were all that she had ever made. Garbage and anger were her legacy he thought. Before he made the last wrap and cut her off completely from the world she had hated, he stooped down and kissed her on her lips. They were cold and oddly firm, already showing a slight bluish hue. He wished that they had loved each other. The last wrap the boy made with a surgeon’s care. He tossed her onto his shoulder and lurched toward the forest. It was silent. He was aware that no birdsongs greeted him, but he knew it was night. But still it was silent. Even the screech owl was quiet. . He dumped his mother into the stream and watched her float down stream like some strange kayak that has lost its driver on the last set of rollers. He begins to dwell on the silence of the forest. Even the air has grown stagnant and no leaves rustle to halt the ringing in his ears. 35 He tried to convince himself that it was nothing and that he had the whole rest of his life ahead of him. He made his way past the bottles recently strewn across the yard and into his new palace of solitude. He stood in the doorway for a moment and soaked in the neutrality of the air, an air that had no sign of joy floating on the drafts, and more importantly, no more anger suffocating all that crossed its threshold. The years passed. He became self-sufficient and kept away those prying eyes in search of his mother and himself as well. The silence of the forest had continued since the day he tossed his mother in that hidden stream and she floated out of his nightmares. He yearned for the connection he once had with the trees and the finches perched within them. Hours upon hours, he would sit in tears amongst the leaves and the silence. That burn deep in the pits of his stomach was still aflame. He told himself that he would never would he have pounced on his mother if he had known the forest would somehow become his prey as well. But he had to kill to live and so the deer and the rabbits became wary. The silence in his life was deafening. His own heart became the rhythm of his day. As time passed, the solitude became more and more of a burden for the young man. He spent long nights alone, sometimes saying a word out loud—sonofabitch, damn, and hell—just to make sure he still existed. He spent his time matching the rhythmic squeak the old rocking chair with the “glib, glub” of his aching heart. He wanted to be remembered, to have his name spoken with loving and gratitude. He did not want to be a hermit. The dreams came slowly at first, dreams of the boy strolling his way down crowded avenues, the sea of friends parting ways with a tip of the hat or with the motion of a red tipped finger sliding across a glossy lip. Everybody he knew, but more importantly, to everybody he 36 was known. The young man lay in a restless tumble night after night, aching to fall asleep so the dreams of his beloved world would come once more. “The world will love me,” he would say after pulling himself up from a sleepless night and into his chores. Hours upon hours, he would spend hoeing the garden or mending the fences or remembering his dreams and all the joy they entailed. These dreams were slowly hatched into a plan, and the young man quickly went into action on gathering the essentials for the journey into a world he had only known through the few movies and magazines. He was an expert hiker, and he knew his way around a campsite. He spent one last restless night spent wanting his dream world and then decided to emerge from his cocoon of silence and enter into a world that he did not know ant that did not know him. He gathered what he assumed would be the essentials for a scene he had known only through the pictures forever locked away in his heart. All the clothes he could gather from about the house, a toothbrush, a few old dog eared soft backs he had already read a hundred times before, gloves, a beanie, and a Zippo lighter that was once owned by his father, the man whose name was inscribed on it, Donald Isaac Coutee. Food and other necessities could be picked up on the road, funded by the knot of cash the young man had pulled from underneath his mother’s mattress. He had room for one more trinket, one more thing that makes up the life of the nameless. He reached to the shelf above the spot where his mother usually drowned her tears in a sea of sloshing amber filth and grabbed his old Elvis 45, quickly placing it in his sack and cinching it up tight amongst his other things. It was afternoon by the time the young man was through with gathering his things, and more importantly, his thoughts for the journey, but he waivered in his decision to flee with night growing so near. The forest he would never fear, but the wilderness that lay just beyond the 37 waning outline of a drive that was only traversed by the high stepping delivery boy so scared of the path that he kept his package hiked high and his knees quivering low. The forest was silent, ripping the breath from the young man’s chest, forcing the rucksack to come toppling down in a clatter upon his weakened frame. His sobs were the only murmur that pierced the muteness of the scene. He was not discouraged so he picked himself up and continued. A watercolor of red, orange, and blue streaked the sky and the young man knew that night would be upon him soon. Finding a spot only a few feet off the forgotten road, he hauled down the pack that almost crushed his dreams only a little while ago and began to unpack for the night. A few pails to cook dinner, a lantern for a novel that he could easily read in pitch black, and his sleeping bag were the only things he would need on this night. This night would be different from the countless others he had spent in wanting to pierce the silence. Gathering enough tinder to last through three nights the he opened some canned peaches from the bottom of his rucksack and sprawled out on his sleeping bag. Lying there surrounded by the blackness, he became comforted. The crackle and hiss of the green tinder added percussion to the silence he had never experienced, a tone to the hush that could never be broken. Awake with the first light and he was off, unconcerned with the dreamless night but oddly fixated on the still smoldering embers that didn’t survive the rigors of the night. The forest was breezy, and the rustle of leaves was at first a welcome change, but the leaves seemed to hiss and the welcoming vibrato of years past was gone. Up ahead is a pair of hundred-year-old live oaks leaned back to back like two slumbering. Covered in moss and every other form of muck, the branches appeared to be so intertwined that if the wood were still any good then it would have been hell just getting the two trunks apart and onto a truck. 38 The forest was silent once again. Alone in his thoughts the young man trudged forward, happy to be free of the hissing leaves. Concerned with dreams of the city, he lost track of himself. The oaks whipped suddenly and a cougar roared as it sprung from their branches. He wove his way through the gauntlet of trees, squinting, more from the fear of seeing something terrible slashing dripping fangs toward his neck than out of some heroic determination. He freed himself from the falling timber, one last tendril whipping across his face, drawing a fine thread of crimson around the corner of his mouth. Brushing himself off on the outside, while still reeling within, the traveler gathered his things, cursing a god he never knew and who surely never knew him. The remnants of the path stretched out before him now for as far as he could make out through the layers of brush hiding his very presence from any fellow wanderer, but sadly he only recalled stories of days spent wandering the forest in search of the ones he lost. Never once could the young captive recall leaving the property for any matter. His mother had never mentioned the outside world and it had been as if it never existed. All her needs were met by couriers with brown paper bags and late night callers usually with nothing but the same possessed look in their eyes. As the young man increased his stride, so did the droning that came from what seemed to be inside the trees. He wondered if he had knocked his head and thought that he better sit for a minute. A slow drone seemed to come up from the ground too, filling him with the dread of things to come. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to decide whether he should continue into the world he never knew or return to the one he has always known. The droning grew, becoming thicker and more resonant with every sob. Tears pooled in the crusty slash still stinging from the struggle before. 39 The silence in his head invited the sadness back into his heart, and the young man felt the lure of sleep. He entered into the world of sleep, hoping for dreams to replace the silence once again filling his broken heart. The next morning a ringing in his ears woke him. He brushed the dust from his ragged garb and flicked a rather large clot of mud that had somehow formed in the wound still aching across his cheek. The sting of the wound began to inflict new pain. A sense of failure came into his mind -smoky and grey- consuming all hope. Fearful of this new pain and frantic for the remedy he ripped open his rucksack and snatched the old Elvis 45 from its sanctuary. He jumped to his feet and spun around until he faced due east and he could watch the hue of morning red across the faded cover. He planted his feet and hugged the record. As the embrace grew tighter and his stance became firmer, he began to drift, remembering how he would dust off the massive old record player. Once the tubes had warmed sufficiently and the humming from deep within the beast reached an enjoyable warmth, the concert would begin. It was always the same when it came to choice of music, the old Elvis 45, tattered and worn but always crystal clear. Nothing mattered during the time he spent dragging that needle back to the first groove, wanting to hear Elvis just one more time. The sounds cascading from the hulking beast did not inspire him to dance. Time was lost to him in these moments. This record and the love it sang of he prized above all other things. Not even the forest had more influence. The record and its memories allowed the new pain to subside, and a wash of hope to begin to trickle once more. Content he repacked his things. The forest began to thin. The wind wisped past his ears and with every hastened step the leaves began to come alive once more. He began to see the dim vision of a road peeking from just between the foliage ahead. A screech owl wailed. The boy thought it sang with a sadness that could surely be heard for miles. Shaken, but 40 not in the least bit deterred, he gathered his thoughts once more and began to push back the last green fingers that have sheltered him from life for so long and into a world he had never known. Journey He stepped out on the dust track road that wasn’t much more pronounced than the path he just left. A joy washed over him, filling his limbs with a warmth that went surging through his veins. The rutted road shone with such a hue that you would have sworn it was paved with gold. He topped a hill only to find a somewhat rag-tag looking family wedged in a ditch off the right side of the road. The old Chevy they were driving had as many colors as a Jackson Pollock and appeared to be assembled with nearly as much haste. From what he could make from this distance was there were four of them, a mother, father, and two young sons. How they came to be there was a mystery to him. Barefoot all, the boys were shirtless, and the husband had nothing covering his chest except for his tattered overalls and a thin film of grime that had accumulated most likely from his struggles with the truck. The wife was as straight and prickly as the pines that jutted up form fifty on either side of the road. A speck of fear entered into the boy’s conscience as he neared them, but the fear was quickly subdued by the eagerness he felt in his heart. Breaking into a pace that would quickly close the gap between him and the family, but not so quick as to imply that some sort of lunacy tagged along with this lonely traveler, he headed toward them. All four of them brought the black of their hollow eyes to his raised hand, but no one raised theirs in return. Undeterred, he continued up to the battered heap, wedged so far in the ditch that the roof was no higher than a park bench. “Y'all need any help mister?” he asked the father. 41 “Not unless you know how to work miracles. This heap shit out on me as I was coming along just a l’il ways up there, and I lost control of the car. I guess it’s better I got this big bitch in the ditch rather than upside one ‘a those big old pines there thou.” The grimy man chuckled as the boy struggled to find what was funny. “Maybe I can help the kids push while…” “Push? What the hell you gonna push for? Y'all could sit back there ‘til you’re blue in the face pushin to your lil heart’s content, but until I get this motor running we ain’t goin nowhere.” “You think once you get the motor going you’ll be able to drive it out if we push?” the words now not coming out so confidently. He was visibly shaken by the man’s harsh tone. It’s a tone he’d known before, a tone he knew a thousand dreamless nights when he lay awake listening to his mother. “Somebody,” said the father, “hop up in ‘ere and turn that key over. Give it a little gas when she gets fired up, or this big bitch’ll die again.” The woman climbed down into the cab of the truck and twisted the key twice. “Hold it Hold it Hold it!” said the man. “This goddamn hose came off and it’s spraying shit everywhere. Alright, try it again.” A couple more turns and the truck roared to life. The woman pushed the gas pedal harder. “Goddammit woman,” said the man, “I said a little gas. You’re going to blow it up and then we won’t even have to worry about getting it out of this ditch.” The woman eased off the gas and moved over to let the man in. “Now what we going to do here is push her out the same direction she came in. All you get up here and when I gas it start pushing like you got a pair.” 42 They all lined up along the buckling hood of the truck, the boy taking up ranks in the spot right in front of the old man. “Y'all ready?” he asked. Without a reply, the old man gunned the truck, revving the engine until it popped and roared. As the dust and gravel flew, the truck began to lurch backwards, slowly inching its way to solid ground and freedom. With one last push, the truck leaped out the ditch. They all were covered with little shining brown globs from head to foot. “It’s about time,” said the man. “I thought for a second there I was going have to let the ol lady drive and get out and push myself.” Throwing the rumbling beast into neutral and leaving it to idle, the old man jumped out the cab and started eyeballing the heap to see if any new damage would be readily apparent. Banging on a few rusty panels as clods of mud fall to the ground he made a complete lap and without a word of satisfaction or discontent, completed his futile inspection and began eyeballing the boy once more “What’s your story boy, you some kind of hobo or something?” “No sir, not at all, as a matter of fact I grew up not far from here.” Eyeballing the young traveler even harder now because there was nobody in these woods he didn’t know, the old man grew suspicious of this face he’d never seen. “So where you headed to then boy?” “I’m trying to make it to the city by nightfall, but I’ve got everything I need in case I have to campout a couple of nights.” “Well I’m going tell you right now, anybody that claims to be from these parts should know that the city is fifty miles from here. Hell, it takes us damn near two hours to get there in this old jalopy.” 43 “I didn’t know sir, it’s just been that I’ve never…” “That’s enough of all that, luckily were heading that way now, and I think the best thing for you is to hop up in the cab with me and the Mrs.” Without another word, the boy took off his pack and tossed it in amongst the heap of kids and empty cans. Without a backwards glance, the boy hopped in the cab, slamming the creaking door against the forest, a motion he thought that he thought he never would make but that now felt right. Minus the occasional blast emitted from a tailpipe that had rusted in two somewhere beneath the frame years back, the ride was silent. An air of distrust crowded out everything else in the cab and it made the boy grow weary. His first group of friends already had grown tired of him and he didn’t even know why. The winding, pine flanked dirt road somehow grew into a stream of vehicles flanked by massive, smoke gushing eighteen-wheelers on either side of the car. He remained in deep thought while on the silent drive into the city. Dreams of all his new friends welcomed him. He hoped they would be different from the family in the truck that couldn’t love anyone but family, if even that. The city was coming into view now in the distance. Slender buildings were silhouetted against a grey sky. The boy thought that the vision had an odd cemetery like feel to it, and that went against whatever the boy had ever imagined the city to be. The closer they crept, the more the buildings began to take shape, losing their morbid outline and easing his dread. “Where you plan to get out boy?” asked the old man as he took one last drag of his Pall Mall and discarded it into the road without a second thought. “I guess this is as good of a place as any,” said the boy. 44 The man whipped the truck onto a side street, brakes squealing and tailpipe booming. Kicking open his door and shaking the children loose from his pack, the boy turned to the already slammed door as the wife dangled her elbow from the open window. “I really appreciate the ride Mister, oh, I didn’t get y'alls name, mine’s…” Without a second look, the old man floored the car and was soon gone. The streets became a blur to the boy when he felt tears well into the bottom of his eyes. Not enough tears to sob, but more than enough to hurt. Gathering himself and wiping his eyes, the boy began to walk in no particular direction other than it was the one that he was facing. As his vision cleared, the sheer size of these towers forced him to steady himself as he strained to see the tops of the structures. Slowly losing his infatuation with the skyscrapers, as there just were too many, he began to notice the people that had been passing him all around, flocks of people, just as in his dream, but there were no open arms. He wondered if he was in a bad part of town that he’d read about. He moved on, wandering street after street, finding only prostitutes and the shadowy outlines of characters more down in their luck than he. In the wake of these towering structures, the sun dropped quickly. The night filled him with a dread once more. An alley strewn with the day’s rubbish and all shapes and sizes of plastic drinking containers reminded him of home, so he cleared out a spot in the rubble and attempted to relax. New sounds were all around him now, motors revving, and women shouting. It all melded into a new song in which he’d never experienced. The sounds filled him and before he knew it, sleep had come once again. He was awakened by the sharp blow of a steel toe boot coming into full contact with his ribs. 45 “Gimme all your money kid, I ain’t got time for this bullshit.” A bearded man with dirty khakis and matching cap stood towering above him. The boy struggled to catch his breath but his ribs hurt and he couldn’t muster up the words to save himself from another kick. “I said where’s it at kid?” The man’s fingers were thick and square, with callouses rough as sandpaper. He grabbed the traveler and rifled through his pockets until he found what he was after. He quickly strode into the darkness and to whatever demons he must face. Once again, the boy felt the tears begin to well up in the bottom of his eyes, worse than ever before, but he would not give the world the satisfaction of hearing him cry. The pain in his side nearly dwarfed the pain in his heart. It felt as if every breath was a stiletto driven into his lung. All he could do was lay there. There would be no more sleep tonight. His instincts wouldn’t allow that. As the concrete alley took on a reddish hue and the tops of the buildings came into sight, the boy lifted himself from the muck and hoisted his pack, quickly being reminded by the sting in his side of his troubles the night before. What was he going to do? He didn’t have any money and his food would run out soon if somebody didn’t steal that from him too. Out in the street it was much the same as yesterday, a stream of people all flowing in the same direction but all going separate ways. The more he wandered aimlessly among the mute denizens of this city, the more he began to realize the depth of his mistake. With each step, his sense of failure grew, and desperate thoughts began to fill his mind on how he would become known in this sea of the nameless by the time he made it to the next block. Collapsing on a park bench and letting his thoughts drift into the first light of a sinister plan, he began to hear the voices of children drifting with the wind from somewhere nearby. 46 “Red rover, red rover, send JIMMY right over!” Then laughter and cheers filled the air. This joy only fed the hatred now budding for the city all around, their giggles only ringing in his ears and causing more pain. Without a second more of thought, the boy raised himself from the bench and headed toward the joy in hopes of snuffing it out. The Fall Tracing the joyous sounds to a grade school on the next block, his eyes blazed red as the heat that filled his heart. Their lives were not his. They had mothers and homes and warm beds. Someone whose soft hands held them. He saw a can of gasoline tucked against the side of a garage across the street from the school. He took the stairs two at a time and burst through the front doors, but silence was the only thing that greeted him. He thought to himself that the children must all be at play. The smells of bubble gum and gasoline filled his nostrils. Door after door he flings open only to find emptiness. He wasn’t there to sacrifice the class gerbil. He wanted someone to see him, but all the rooms were empty. Reaching a door covered in smiley faces and rainbows, he tossed them to the side and rushed in. He found an old record player. He thought that it had had probably played “Row Row Row Your Boat” so many times it could most likely recite it by heart. Down the hallway, he hears the clanging of dishes mixed with moans of discontent - it must be lunchtime. The sounds of high-pitched voices floating on the air reminded him of the screech owl and the forest and the warning they held for him. Memories began to flood his clouded mind as he rushed toward his pack, wrenching at the buckles and tossing all else to the side until he reached his prize. Grabbing the Elvis 45, and without a backwards glance, the boy grabbed the record player and the can of gasoline and ran toward the double 47 doors where the noise was coming from. He propped open the door to the nearest classroom and plugged the record player in. He lifted the needle and placed it onto the record with a surgeon’s care. He turned up the volume on the record player as far as it would go and doused himself with gasoline. His eyes blurred and began to sting from the fuel dripping from his hair, The adulation of the crowd “I LOVE YOU ELVIS!!!!! WOOOOOOO, YEAH!!!! WE LOVE YOU ELVIS!” roared from the speakers and into the empty hallway that acted like an echo chamber. He could see the king taking the stage and the crowd adoring him with every shake and twist. “ELVIS, ELVIS, ELVIS!” They chanted. Someone knew him and loved him. He as somebody and no one could ever deny his existence. A woman in a khaki shirt and blue pants, a star clipped to her waist emerged from the Ladies’ Room. She stopped and unbuckled the strap of her holster. The boy smiled and flicked the Zippo lighter that had once been his father’s. As soon as the first chord of “Don’t be Cruel” played, the Zippo flamed. The crowd noise built like a swelling tide of adoration but he young man stepped back from record player as to protect it from the destruction he was about to reap on himself. “You stupid sonofabitch. I’ll shoot.” The guard was serious. The boy smiled at the officer and thought that she must have been pretty once, before whatever pain had etched itself into her face, carving there a sculpture devoted to the power of endurance. “I won’t hurt them,” he said. “You sure as hell won’t,” she said. “ELVIS, ELVIS, ELVIS!” The tiny speakers crackled from the strain. 48 His vision blurred more, and more sobs welled up from his aching depths. With a “whoosh,” the flame leapt from the lighter to the clothes that drooped over his thin frames. His pain ran too deep for the flicker to be of any further joy. All around him flashed the glorious hues of red and orange, taking him into their loving arms and comforting him like no one else could a smile crossing his charring face at last. 49 The Night the Lights Went Out Brandy R. Williams George stood in the checkout line awaiting his turn. It was Wednesday. He played the lottery every Wednesday. He looked down at his ticket to make sure he marked the correct numbers: 1—his lucky number; 5—the age he was adopted; 12—the month he was born; 26— the day he was born; 32—the age he met his wife; 36—the age he became a father. He played the same numbers twice a week, every week. The line slowly moved up. A crashing noise distracted George. He glanced out the window, debris flew through the air. Hurricane Debra was set to make landfall in less than 24 hours and the affects could already be felt inland. Several tornadoes had touched down during the night and the earlier part of the day farther south, but no damage had been reported in McAlister yet. The sky was black except for the gas station lights. George moved up; it was his turn. “Good evening, Sarah. I’ll take my usual,” George said, handing her the ticket. 50 “You pick them same numbers, George?” she asked. “Yes, Sarah. Same as usual.” “How many times you pick them same numbers?” she asked. “Twice a week, every week, for the last five years.” “That sounds about right. I knows you done picked the same ones every time since I been here. And, still, you can’t hardly rub two nickels together, but you come and buy this crap. Nothin’ but a waste of money that you could spend on that wife and kid of yours.” “Some of us dream,” George said. Sarah grabbed the ticket and ran it through the machine. The machine was running unusually slow. Finally, the printer chirped to life, and the ticket started printing. A loud boom echoed in the background, the sky lit up in multiple flashes, and, then, darkness—complete and total darkness. Sarah reached under the counter and grabbed the flashlight. “That sounded like a transformer,” George said. “Sorry everyone, but I have to close up the store when power’s out. Sorry, George, guess you gonna have to get that ticket next time.” “I guess it’s okay. One time shouldn’t hurt. Besides, I should be getting on home to the family, especially with this weather. Need any help before I leave?” “No. We got battery backup for the alarm system. I’m just gonna lock up, set the alarm, and head home myself.” “Take care of yourself. It’s nasty out there.” “You do the same. Stay dry.” George wrapped his jacket around him and ran across the parking lot into the pouring rain. His 1995 red Ford Escort had since turned pink from age. He found the key but the old lock 51 was difficult to turn. He jumped in the car, completely drenched, and cursed himself for still having an old clunker that required a manual key. When he won the lottery that was going to be his first purchase—a new car with a clicker. Didn’t matter what kind of car, just one with a clicker. He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and ran across the lawn. He walked in the house, soaked from head to toe, and already Margarite was hollering at him. “I know you didn’t just walk up in my house soaking wet? Get out those clothes right now!” “Did you see the weather out there? It’s like a monsoon or something.” “I saw the weather, and I still don’t want you getting my floors all wet! I’m not gonna spend all day cleaning this house just so you can dirty it up the first five minutes that you home.” “Okay, okay! Bring a dry towel, please, and I’ll get out of these wet clothes.” George stripped his clothes, dried off, and went to take a quick, warm shower. The freezing rain had chilled him to the bone. He put on some fresh clothes and headed to the kitchen for dinner. “What’s for dinner?” “Sandwiches. The power keeps flickering.” “Sandwich sounds mighty fine. I’m not that hungry anyway.” George scarfed his sandwich and a glass of milk. “Where’s Bobby?” “Upstairs playing’.” “I’m going to check in on him and then go to bed. This weather got me feeling awfully run down. Besides, I have an early morning and since the weather will probably still be bad, I need to leave early.” 52 “Okay. I’m a cleanup these dishes, and I’ll be up in a minute.” George slowly walked up the stairs. His body ached all over. He peaked around the corner, and Bobby was happily playing with his cars. “Daddy! Daddy!” he said, running over and wrapping his arms around George’s legs. George reached down and kissed him on the head. “How are you doing, buddy? Daddy missed you today. I love you, Bobby.” “I love you, too, Daddy.” “I know you do. It’s time to pick up your toys and go to bed. Daddy’s not feeling so good so he’s going to go to bed early.” “Okay. I hope you feel better by Friday cause you promised you’d take me to my game.” “I will, so long as I feel okay. Goodnight.” “Night, Daddy.” George headed off to his room, his body aching more and more with each step. He downed some Tylenol and dropped into the bed. George woke early the next morning feeling slightly better. The fresh smell of bacon and pancakes wafted upstairs, and he figured Margarite had felt bad about snapping at him last night. George got dressed and headed down for breakfast. “Smells good. I’m famished,” he said. “I figured since you didn’t eat much last night. Got to send my man off with a hearty breakfast.” George wolfed his food so fast that he barely had time to savor the flavor. “Well, thank you. That was delicious,” he said, smiling and patting his stomach. “You’re welcome. Have a good day at work, and stay dry.” “I’ll try,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Did you grab the morning paper yet?” 53 “No, I hadn’t made it that far. I think it’s still on the porch.” “Okay—I’ll grab it on my way out.” “Be careful. See you tonight. I love you.” “Love you, too, hun. Give Bobby a hug and kiss for me. I didn’t want to wake him up this early.” George looked through the closet and put on a fresh jacket. Stepping out onto the porch, he popped open the umbrella and picked up the newspaper. He ran out to the car, his legs soaked from sloshing in puddles. He cranked the car but nothing happened. He tried again, but a constant winding was the only noise it made. He glanced down at the paper and could barely make out the headline through the plastic wrap. He ripped off the plastic and read the headline aloud. “42 million dollar lottery winner—1, 5, 12, 26, 32, 36.” 54 Duplicity—Chapter One Brandon Pitchford An ear piercing bell rang at the end of sixth period. Brandon leapt up suddenly scared after his dream had abruptly ended. The bell only worsened his migraine. He opened his bluish hazel eyes rather widely as he rubbed his head looking for his book sack. He rubbed the bridge of his rounded nose as he felt his body come back to life. He yawned and stretched. His mouth was wide and would have been good for speaking his mind if he weren’t so shy or scared. He brushed his bangs to the side and was ready to leave class but a student slapped his back and startled him further. “Wake up faggot,” an older male student jeered and then walked away laughing. Unknown to this fellow student, Brandon was homosexual and took comments like that offensively. But he didn’t let it bother him that time, despite the numerous occasions it had previously. He had just come out officially only a week before this day. Most of his friends 55 seemed accepting, at least he hoped. The idea of rejection or disagreement about his sexual orientation weighed heavily on him. He sighed; regardless, he had to get to his next class. Brandon gathered his things and was out the door in a hurry. The craving for more sleep in his next class kept him going. He jolted past innumerable students and then waltzed down the stairs. His mind was locked in a race of disoriented thoughts that couldn’t be focused upon nor made clear. His thoughts were full of odd images, none clear or familiar to him. He tried to ignore his thoughts, and at the same time ignore this small group of students whispering and pointing at him. Brandon suddenly snapped out of thought when he heard someone shout “Farm Equipment!” behind him. Brandon turned to find one of his friends, Jack, rushing up from the gym. Jack called him that nickname since Brandon’s last name was close to pitchfork; most people Brandon knew commonly joked about that. While one of his cousins would jeer back about shoving a pitchfork up their ass for the remark, he had a calmer sense of humor for it. Jack was more muscular compared to Brandon, a year younger, with straighter blonde hair, and wide blue eyes above a round nose. He usually had a smile on his face, an amiable sort. “Hey Jack,” Brandon solemnly replied but tried to form a tangible grin, “You scared me.” “Oh sorry, just hyper right now,” Jack said elatedly. “School’s almost out! But, you don’t look that excited. What’s up?” “My head hurts really bad; it’s been like this all day…” “That sucks,” he said sympathetically. Jack raised his eyebrows and tried to give a brief, compassionate stare. “I hope you feel better!” Jack smiled and waved and he walked up the stairs Brandon had just come down. Brandon sighed, while attempting a smile. 56 Brandon took a right from the water fountains and headed down the hall to his seventh period class, his favorite: Art. After an agonizing walk, he stepped through the doorway into the multicolored art room and ventured towards the class’s central table. He threw his things onto the ground, plopped himself in the chair, and laid his head down onto the cold table, forgetting the fact that the teacher wouldn’t want him “sleeping” in her class. While his mind was still in a daze, he felt a sudden tap on the back of his bony neck. He raised his head to find his best friend and practically his brother, Parker, above him. Parker was white but tanner than Brandon. He had a lean muscular build, dark brown curly hair, pointed nose, and brown attentive eyes. “You okay dude?” Parker asked with casual concern when he saw his friend’s facial expression. “I don’t know,” Brandon said, “my head’s been aching all day. It just hurts for no reason… A migraine I guess. I just can’t wait to get home and maybe sleep on the couch or something.” “So I guess I won’t be able to come over after school?” Parker said with a tone mixed with pity and disappointment. “There’s always tomorrow and I can just call you later.” “No, never mind, it’s all right,” Brandon assured, “I’ll feel better later. Besides, we still got to beat that high score on—” He paused and rubbed his head with both hands. His vision suddenly but briefly blurred and almost faded to black. A ringing sound droned in his ears. “Oh…ugh…my head feels worse…” He tilted side to side in his chair and appeared ready to faint. “Okay, you are feeling really bad!” Parker hesitated, “Go, go tell Miss Andries so you can check out or something.” His eyes widened as he helplessly stared at his friend in pain. 57 Brandon slowly attempted to stand and walk. But when he tried to take a step, he clutched the side of his head and nearly fell to the floor. Parker held him up as they walked together to Miss Andries’ desk. Brandon was moaning in pain, which alerted the teacher as they approached. She quit shuffling through a grade book and innumerable papers to inquire about his condition. “C-can I have a check out slip? I need to call my mom.” He tried to formulate more reasoning for the slip but he only stuttered. Miss Andries quieted him with her hand and nodded. She quickly probed her desk for this slip that, according to the rules, must be filled out and brought to the school office before someone could have a parent check them out. She flipped her long black hair from her face, and she removed a slip from the depths of her desk and handed it to Brandon. He gratefully smiled, the best that he could, and eagerly took the slip. His vision briefly blurred again and the ringing came back for a few moments. He staggered toward the nearest desk and dropped the slip upon the desk’s surface. He grabbed a pencil from his pocket and attempted to fill out all the tedious and unnecessary, bureaucratic details. But he had trouble even doing that. His hands trembled anxiously, his whole body shivering as if he was freezing. His vision began to blur again. He scribbled his name upon the paper but lost hold of the pencil before he could finish the rest of the slip. The pencil rolled off the table onto the floor as Brandon abruptly fell out of his seat. Unfathomable whispers were ringing in his ears. “Brandon!” Miss Andries shouted as she hurried to and hovered over him. Parker stood next to her confused and scared. The teacher told Parker to call the office through the intercom. The other students peered curiously at the situation unfolding before them as Parker ran towards 58 the intercom speaker to hit the “call” button below it. But a scream from Brandon paralyzed Parker at the intercom. The most unimaginable and spontaneous anomaly occurred. Brandon let out that agonizing scream, and his opened mouth and eyes glowed blindingly white. Within this terrifying scream a more powerful flash resonated out of his eyes and mouth. A bolt of lightning spawned from his cranium and thunderously struck the ground before him. Brandon fainted and collapsed but appeared unharmed from this bizarre bolt of lightning. The ground quaked as a tremor shook the school. Then a pillar of molten rock tore through the ground where the thunderbolt struck and began to curve. A marble column that resembled a column from ancient Greece sprouted from across the molten rock pillar and curved toward the smoldering pillar. Metal pipes and tubes, presumably from the school’s plumbing, rose with the columns. Together, the two columns formed an arch over the art room floor. A humming and spiraling blue vortex formed in the center of the arch and hypnotized the trembling class. Random gusts of wind from the anomalous arch blew papers and other light-weight objects all over the class room. The students stared in awe at this arch that a socially awkward and quiet boy conjured from his head. A few students made a brave attempt to approach this rift for a better look while a few terrified students ran right out the door. “What is that?” Miss Andries inquired loudly out of fear, so astonished by and ambivalent about the rift before her. The students whispered conjectures to each other about this arch and rift. Parker stood petrified with confusion and fright. The arch before him was massive and the monotonous humming sound was reverberating. The humming suddenly changed tone as odd shapes formed in the spiraling magical light. 59 An enormous reptile creature slowly stuck its shovel-shaped head out from the fiery blue rift within the arch. It stopped moving forward at its neck and sat there breathing heavily, as if purposely letting everyone bask in its presence. It drooled ravenously as its narrowed eyes stared redoubtably into each student’s very being. And then, the beast opened its maw and spoke. “A portal from Imaginium has finally opened!” The demonic beast’s voice echoed in the classroom. “Infurek Naym le prazzed!” As the reptilian monster roared, the students cringed fearfully. The ground had a slight tremor from the power of its roar. “The barriers of natural law and science are broken! Two realms are directly connected!” And with that brief speech, the beast flew from the portal and crashed through the ceiling and flew into the sky. Every time the spiraling light in the portal would flicker, other beasts and creatures would emerge. Each let out a roar or furious cry at the students. A few of these fearsome creatures reminded the students of Brandon’s own drawings. They never thought to see these creatures as a reality. These demons flew or ran out of the art room, either through the hole in the ceiling or through the class room doors. Students hid or stayed as far back as possible from these creatures and the rift; the beasts blocked the doors as they passed through. Students cowered in the back of the classroom. Yells and screams were heard nearby from staff or other students that were chancing upon the monsters. The students, yelling out at random, knew that nothing could be done to protect or save themselves. Parker ran to Brandon, who was lying unconscious on the floor, and attempted to pick him up and drag him from the portal’s sight. But as he grabbed hold of Brandon, the portal made a noise and released one last beast that landed heavily on the floor and cracked the tiles. 60 It stood stiff and loomed over the classroom with its impressive height. The creature was robotic, or like a cyborg, with many metal parts but with an occasional exposed organic part. The cyborg appeared as a metallic lizard with a long sharp tail whipping side to side. Its metal armor plates glistened in light from the portal, and the cyborg lizard had metal wings furled above hollow cylinders that resembled jet engines. The cyborg tapped its claws together as its reptilian eyes judiciously scowled at Parker. Its eyes were fully reptilian. The metallic lizard bent down, face to face with Parker. “Rage, rage!” The cyborg screeched and hissed with an echoing metallic tone. “Raven, rage!” It exposed its ivory teeth and licked them with an aluminum tongue. With wide eyes, Parker gaped at this demonic cyborg and quaked with debilitating fear. The metal lizard with a single claw effortlessly pushed Parker aside from Brandon and laughed. The cyborg reached its metal claws down and was about to clutch Brandon by the throat when someone suddenly leaped from the portal and shouted at the mechanical creature. The cyborg turned, arching its metal brow. Someone that appeared to be human was standing with a group of friendlier looking alien men. They all aimed peculiar but sophisticated weaponry at the cyborg. The leader of this group was heavily built with pinkish skin. He had large bald, shiny forehead and was dressed in some type of heavy looking plated armor. He aimed some sort of pistol and shot at the cyborg several times. Flashes of light launched from the pistol’s barrel. The bullets of light did not affect the metal demon; however, it angrily roared as if it were merely annoyed. The cyborg unfurled its mechanical wings, and the jet engines blasted fire outward and the mechanical creature quickly levitated. The cyborg flew out of the school through the fissure in the ceiling. Any other creature left in the room also departed; either out the 61 damaged ceiling or through the classroom doors, as if the cyborg had some form of innately known authority. The man and his friends that accompanied him relaxed and lowered their weapons. Some took deep breaths and sighs of relief. “Is everyone all right?” the beefed up bald man questioned attentively, inspecting the students for any wounded. “My name is Beck. My comrades, the Emissaries, and I come in search of a Brandon Pitchford and his closest and most trusted friends. We are not here to hurt you. We are on your side…despite our appearance.” A bird-like humanoid standing next to Beck said, “We just came at the same time they did…” He had a lion’s tail that would slowly curl side to side. He wore dark leather pants and a jacket. He had no wings, but he had mighty arms that sheathed a massive hammer behind his back. “That must be Brandon over there,” the bird man pointed his claw to Brandon’s unconscious body. “Uh, right,” Beck said rubbing his glistening head. Two of his followers approached Brandon and sat beside him, gazing stupidly at him. “We need cooperation from you all so we can really help you,” Beck continued. “Your lives and your world are in danger.” The students were too scared to respond to him. Most of Beck’s comrades or soldiers weren’t human which was unsettling. One of soldiers close to looking human had yellowish skin, tall pointed ears, and appeared to be elf-like. Beck’s men appeared friendlier compared to the demons that came out of the portal earlier. But despite their claims to be allies, the students were too frightened to even speak. Even Parker, Brandon’s best friend, was scared to admit he was one of the people Beck and his men sought. 62 Then one of the other worldly beings who resembled a crab in the face said to Beck “Let’s move on from this area, sir. Obviously no one here is truly his friend.” At that, Parker screwed up his courage to reply. “Wait!” he shouted. “I’m…uh…I’m like his best friend. A brother practically. Does that count to you? What do you want from me?” “Thank you for stepping up,” Beck greeted Parker with a smile. “We can’t explain the entire situation at this moment but please know that the situation is dire and we need help from you, thanks to your being close with Jyra’s Chosen. Please, for the world’s sake come with us.” Parker believed he had no choice, so he agreed informally and timidly approached closer towards Beck and his comrades. “There must be more,” the bird man said to Beck as Parker examined the portal. “Maybe a relative, someone that could be just as powerful…” “We should spread out and search for them.” Beck said, and then ordered his comrades off to search, in hopes for more “allies.” As his troops left, Beck knelt above Brandon placing his hand upon Brandon’s unconscious head. Parker stood idly by, wondering what awaited him and Brandon. Parker felt a sense of doubt and distrust among these otherworldly beings who claimed to be friends. He then heard a distant shriek in the halls of the school that gave him a chill of foreboding. “This doesn’t look good…” Beck said studying Brandon’s head as he lay unconsciously trembling on the floor. 63 New Constellations Jason LaCombe Scattering the sunlights on this planet’s long day, the waves leave my eyes clouded and stinging. The body is soon gone from my sight; it sinks in the unknown depths as I turn and swim away; nowhere to go, no land in sight, no stars to guide me in this day sky, not that I would recognize their patterns from this place anyway. It's so far away from anything I’ve ever known, far away from anything anyone has ever known. Human blood has never touched these waters before this day, yet I see it floating up seeming so dark against the luminescence of the creatures swaying beneath. Her sinking, bleeding, fresh corpse no doubt attracted them and I shouldn’t have paused to watch since I don’t know how the creatures will react, but I couldn’t help it; there’s nowhere to go as far as I can see no matter, so I watch them feed. I had to kill her. The creatures look like slime with eyes, many small eyes, each mostly formless, sinking then bulging from underneath the outer coating of slime that holds in the full contents of each creature. A few at a time, each presses against her body and shudders, then waves; most are small enough to fit in a sink, some are ten times that. When they move from against her there are holes and shredded flesh and muscle, bits and blood floating away. One creature moves near me only minutes later as her flesh dwindles and her bones are beginning to show, circles under and around then moves away; it is among the largest. It surfaces a dozen feet from me and forms a part of itself into a node, and pushes that into the air for a moment; it sparkles softly and looks dry in this alien atmosphere. The node is suddenly gone with a splash and I breathe deep. When I look back at her slowly sinking bones and bits, the creatures are all gone. 64 I hear my stuttering voice, the air weaving my words into lost signals echoing through the layers of low clouds and filtered suns. My body is floating just waiting for death here. It’s been a week I think, though I truly do not know any more. I’ve tried drowning but I can’t bring myself to do it. I scratched my arm until it bled to let blood in the water, hoping the creatures would come for me. They didn't. Where I am now, at night the depths seem to glow, and I hear soft murmurs sometimes. There are other small creatures but none are interested in me. Not yet. My voice echoes strangely in this air. The suns do not burn my skin, despite the long hours of this planet's day. I sleep occasionally on my back, dreaming sometimes of sinking, sometimes of waking up to a whale breeching the water in the distance. I don't dream of land; I guess even my subconscious knows that I'll never see it again. There are flying animals that seem to float. I think they follow the suns since I’ve not seen them at night, just like I’ve seen no land. The thought of land is intoxicating each time the memories enter my mind, as it’s been years since I set foot on the ground of home, or of any planet, any asteroid, any moon. And of course there's nothing that I want more now than land. Even stations orbiting planets and moons felt like some sort of home, something like solid ground; it's been so long that I’ve been floating through the emptiness of space on ships and shuttles. Here I float in some unknown water, tread, sometimes swim just to stop. Why did I have to kill her? There are patterns in my eyes as the water pushes against me. Floating has become my home, maybe it always was. Maybe this is home, this place where I have created new constellations. 65 I know nothing of what will become of my body. That’s all I’ll be soon; no hope of escape or repentance, no redemption, no stories told of my bones or of what happened to crew. I break into quivering, coughing, choking sobs, thinking of the land. The water is slowly killing me; my skin is useless and has begun to slough off in sheets. I can’t keep my eyes above the water and its waves. Only the sky waits for me to disappear; it feels I am poisoning the faint purple glow of this water with my presence, my withering form; the water is pushing into me, my mouth, my eyes, through my flesh. I can see the constellations and they are all the colors and shapes of her. I’ve named each and every one, every star is named after her. Why did I kill her? I can't even remember now. My eyes are so clouded, my memories are all of this place, these suns. I remember dreaming of the creatures from the sky descending and pecking upon my eyes, in my mouth, my ears. I dreamed that I remembered the creatures returning her from the ocean floor, her swimming up to greet me and smile, her teeth the color of the glow; it was haunting, it is haunting, and I can feel it upon my back, seeping through my skull into the backs of my eyes, that color, her teeth. No stories of my bones and how they sank, only the sound of my voice hanging in the ears of the creatures trailing the hollow clouds that follow the suns, my flesh filling their guts. My throat is tightening. My lungs are filling. With each breath, I utter her name in case it’s my last; yet, not the sky nor the stars answer or hear. I fall under the surface and I can feel a glow enveloping all; I hear the murmurs and the calls. I hope there are echoes of her name forever in the wind. I hope my bones will rest near her in the depths of this end. 66 NON-FICTION An Examination of Value: Deconstructing the Reasoning of Friedrich Nietzsche Kyle Krebsbach 19th-century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche delves into the epistemological question of the relation between truth and language in his work which, as translated in English, is titled On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense. In order for a language system to function properly, when speaking a language and using specific words, a speaker affirms that what they are speaking is true, for if it were not true, the language would not communicate the message in question effectively because the sender and the receiver would be using two different discourses. However, by addressing the idea of a metaphor, Nietzsche creates a contentious and logically fallacious argument that language cannot be true since language is manufactured by society; people agree upon words in order to expedite the communicative process, establish meaning, and create an effective means of communication. Therefore, to the receiver, the use of language would not be effective because the communicated idea would not be intrinsically true despite the 67 speaker's inherent affirmation that their message is true. Nietzsche's assertions about language cannot be true (true meaning factual, in this case) since they do not follow the rules of logic by violating the principle of non-contradiction. 20th-century German philosopher and translator Walter Kaufmann translates Nietzsche's description of truth as follows: A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms—in short, a sum of human relations which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically, and which after long use seem firm, canonical, and obligatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins. (Kaufmann 46-47) This assertion by Nietzsche states that all language is, in essence, an illusion – not real – and that language creates a barrier between what is physical, what is the universe, and what is language, what is human understanding, through the use of language; language cannot ever be “true” because it does not fully represent the physical, concrete referent to which words refer and blames metaphor for this disassociation with the original concept for any specific word. Kaufmann translates this argument as follows: Every word immediately becomes a concept, inasmuch as it is not intended to serve as a reminder of the unique and wholly individualized original experience to which it owes its birth, but must at the same time fit innumerable, more or less similar cases—which means, strictly speaking, never equal—in other words, a lot of unequal cases. Every concept originates through our equating what is unequal. (Kaufmann 46) 68 This paragraph shows the contentious and fallacious nature of Nietzsche's argument. Nietzsche is also inadvertently accusing himself of presenting a scenario to his reader which is a lie, but which the reader presumes to be true, since in order for language to be effectively used as a communicative tool, the speaker has to implicitly affirm the truth in what is being stated. Nietzsche asserts that words are used to equate what is unequal (a more or less accurate definition of metaphor). However, in Nietzsche's description of truth, Kaufmann translates a metaphor about a coin. Essentially, by saying that truth is a “mobile army of metaphors...” and metaphors are lies, Nietzsche insists that truth is in fact a lie, which is invalid. Nietzsche's circular reasoning creates dissension in his argument – circular reasoning being a form of deductive fallacy, in which a set of premises may be true, but if their conclusion is false, then they deny the principle of non-contradiction and thus cannot be claimed as a valid argument, such as the penguin fallacy, which states the following: Statement 1: Penguins are black and white. Statement 2: Some old television shows are black and white. Fallacious Conclusion: Therefore, some penguins are old television shows and some old television shows are penguins. Considering this fallacy is mainly for entertainment purposes, it is meant to be laughed at, but as with all humor there is an element of truth, in this case through the demonstration of fallacious logic. Neitzsche's claims launch a dangerous attack to language, especially creative language that utilizes literary devices, such as poetry. For example, one can consider the following excerpt from a poem by William Carlos Williams titled To Waken an Old Lady: Old age is a flight 69 of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. If we approach this from Nietzsche's view of metaphoric language, it would be simple to state that old age is not a group of birds. This is one of the “unequal cases” Nietzsche was referring to in his definition of concepts. His assertion that when one equates the unequal, the action removes us further from the “original experience” would insist that this poem will cause people to understand the concept, the original experience of “old age” less. However, in the case of creative language, the opposite of this becomes true. Williams offers a new perspective to old age as he understands it. In this arena, literary criticism becomes a struggle for dominance over the author. It is as if Nietzsche is saying to his reader, “Look here! The poet is wrong! And by providing evidence that he is wrong, I am right! Therefore, I must be the most effective communicator!” This notion is completely childish because it relies on simply condemning the works of others when his own work is intrinsically flawed. Taking the poem above by Williams, when one analyzes the poem, it becomes clear that an argument can be constructed against the idea that metaphoric language is a lie and that it in fact gives another perspective at looking at a particular subject. Works Cited Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. The Portable Nietzsche. Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Viking. 1954. Print. "true". Oxford Dictionaries. April 2010. Oxford Dictionaries. April 2010. Oxford University Press. 27 October 2011. <http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/true?region=us>. 70 City at Night Randall Johnston Poetic theory provides the reader with a set of guidelines for understanding the art of poetry. The poetic philosophy of Percy Brysshe Shelley begs the reader to look beyond the surface of the poem: “It is impossible to read the compositions of the most celebrated writers of the present day without being startled with the electric life which burns within their words” (Mason and Nims 575). A poet’s choice of words transcends the desire to simply tell a story. Attention to the poem’s composition allows the poet to incorporate any number of poetic elements into their work. The presence of the poetic elements adds layers of connotation to the poem in addition to the words’ denotation. T.S. Eliot presents a view of poetics that somewhat contrasts with Shelley’s opinion on poetics: “Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality” (577). Eliot argues that poetry must be more than an infusion of words with raw emotion; it is essential that a poem have a sense of focus or perspective (577). Robert Frost’s poem “Acquainted with the Night” unites the conflicting poetic theories of Shelley and Eliot. Frost’s poem is imbued with connotation through the poetic elements of 71 assonance and alliteration. The synthesis of symbolism with assonance and alliteration allows Frost to transform his city-at-night into a symbol for Man’s “darkest hour” and bring the reader on a journey through that “darkest hour” to a hard-won sense of personal redemption. A hasty reading of the poem leaves the reader with the impression that Frost is simply documenting one of his many nighttime strolls through the city (Mason and Nims 55). According to T.S. Eliot’s theory of poetics, Frost’s use of perspective as he describes the narrator’s journey is enough to label the work as “poetry.” Shelley’s theory of poetics elevates Frost’s poem beyond the denotation that it is a nature poem through the use of symbolism, assonance, and alliteration. The symbols in Frost’s poem include “rain” (2), “city light” (3), “city lane” (4), “watchman” (5), “houses” (9), “luminary clock” (12), and “night” (14). Frost opens the poem with a symbol, “night” (1) and bookends his poem with the same symbol in line fourteen. Frost’s narrator proclaims, “I have been one acquainted with the night” (1). The use of the past tense implies that the impending journey through the symbolic city is a common event. The narrator’s eyes are said to be downturned as he walks the streets. The downturned eyes carry the connotation of an individual who is burdened by some past occurrence. It’s almost as if there’s a weight bearing down on the narrator that prevents him from looking ahead to future possibilities. Throughout the narrator’s previous journeys, the “rain” (2) seems to have been a constant companion whose presence suggests that it is symbolic of some outside influence that repeatedly prompts the narrator to embark on his introspective journeys. By using “rain” (2) as a symbol for an outside influence—guilt—Frost incorporates assonance and alliteration into his poem: “I have walked out in the rain—and back in rain” (2). The repeated “r” sound passes the lips smoothly without the need for clicks or pops (Mason and Nims 158). The easy smoothness of the “r” implies that guilt is something that comes easily to the narrator. Assonance is also 72 present in the frequent use of “rain” (2). The high-frequency vowel sound created by “ai” hints at the vitality and speediness (Mason and Nims 149) with which the feelings of guilt symbolized by the “rain” (2) assail the narrator. Further use of symbolism adds a sinister connotation to the poem. The narrator is said to have “…out-walked the furthest city light” (3). In a literal sense, lights provide a sense of protection at nighttime. The lights that the narrator passes on his journey heavily imply that his reflections on some event—the burden hanging on his shoulders—take him into darker territory. The use of “saddest city lane.” (4) adds support the interpretation of the narrator’s reflection on a tragic event. The “watchman” (5) symbolizes the human conscience; the symbol’s role as an authority figure suggests that the narrator’s burdensome event is something that violates the basic social mores. The narrator himself is “unwilling to explain” (6), lending further credence to the taboo nature of the narrator’s plight. Frost imbues the symbol of the “houses” (9) with two connotations. A house may act as a dwelling or a place full of warm memories. Thus, the first connotation carried by the house in line nine is that of a sanctuary of pleasant thoughts. The second connotation carried by the house relies on Frost’s omission of any streetlights in the rest of the poem. The “…city light” (3) which is symbolic of the social norms and values that influence human thought and action, does not exist beyond the houses in line nine. Therefore, the houses also serve as symbols of the narrator’s basic humanity. Alliteration in line seven is used to indicate the narrator’s desire for the sense of warmth and humanity symbolized through the “houses” (9) at the border: “…stood still and stopped the sound of feet…” (7). The repetition of the fricative “s” sound connotes a sense of pleasure for the “houses” (9) that the “cry” (8) echoed over. 73 The narrator’s burden—the unspoken event and its consequences—drove the narrator’s introspection into savage, perhaps even violent territory. The “interrupted cry /.” (8) that echoed throughout the cityscape implies that the narrator was reminded of someone affected by his past actions. Frost includes alliteration in line eight: “...far away an interrupted cry.” The highfrequency vowel sound, “a”, suggests that the narrator is eager to be reminded of the consequences of his past actions. The denotation of the sudden cry provides an adequate foundation for the connotation of a violent element within either the narrator’s previous actions or present train of thought. However, the use of alliteration also indicates that the narrator desires to be reminded of how his actions in the past affected others. The narrator’s desire provides him with an incentive to deal with his dark thoughts rather than ignore them. While Frost is adept at imbuing his poem with an overbearing sense of darkness, the final two symbols within the work provide the reader with a sense of levity. The past burden that weighed the narrator down finally brings him to “an unearthly height,” (11). Frost seems to imbue line eleven with the connotation that the narrator has reached wit’s end, or the deep end. A literal reading even suggests that the narrator is considering mental suicide, a release of the social norms and taboos that prompted him to reflect on the past rather than sweep it under the rug. A final reflection proves to be the narrator’s path to redemption: “One luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right” (12-13). The denotation in line twelve is that the narrator is looking up at glowing timepiece; this timepiece is the moon. However, the connotation is that the illuminating clock with a seemingly neutral alarm is the voice of reason. The concluding line, which is a repeat of the first line, suggests that the voice of reason has given the narrator a moment of rational thought in which to examine his actions. Rather than dwelling 74 on the moment in time during which the hypothetical event occurred, the narrator is allowed to look at how his actions affect the future. The poetic theories put forth by Shelley and Elliot act as the basis for the interpretation of a poem that seems, at first glance, to be about a simple walk in the city. Shelley’s theory holds that the true meaning of a poem can be found between the lines. Due to Frost’s reliance on symbolism, alliteration, and assonance, it is Shelley’s theory that is intrinsic in interpreting the poem “Acquainted with the Night.” The poetic elements Frost incorporates allow the reader to grasp the connotations of each line. An understanding of the connotations provides a basis for identifying the symbols throughout the poem. The connotations and symbols allow the reader to apply Eliot’s theory of poetics to Frost’s poem. Elliot’s theory holds that a poem must have a sense of focus. The focus of Frost’s poem emerges by reading the poem with its symbolic and connotative meanings in mind: a search for redemption. The guilt-burdened narrator engages in a period of introspection that brings him to wit’s end or possibly suicide, only to be redeemed by a voice of reason. The voice of reason offers the narrator redemption by begging him to consider the far-reaching effects of his actions that led to his introspection. Therefore, the poetic theories of Shelley and Elliot provide the reader with a framework for an analysis of Frost’s work. The analysis, conducted in accordance with both poetic theories, allows the reader to gain a deeper understanding of Frost’s poem. Works Cited Frost, Robert. “Acquainted with the Night.” [1928]. Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry. 5th ed. Ed. David Mason and John Frederick Nims. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2006. 54. Print. 75 LOUISIANA STATE UNIVERSITY AT ALEXANDRIA CONFERENCE FOR THE HUMANITIES Pearl Harbor: The Beginning to an End Brandy Marshall Pearl Harbor was more than just a loss for America, it was a turning point for Japan and World War II. If Japan had not initiated a surprise attack on America, then America might have never joined the war. The United States helped Britain and other allies throughout the war, and even increased manufacturing production for defense and preparation for possible attack, however, the United States did not intend to officially declare war on any axis nation in the immediate future. Japan gave the United States the justification to fight, and Japan would constantly relive that mistake until its surrender on September 2, 1945. There is a theory that the progression for the attack on Pearl Harbor began when Secretary of State Cordell Hull gave an ultimatum to the Japanese after they asked to have a meeting with President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Japan stated that they would cease to occupy more land in China, but not evacuate land it already occupied, if the U.S. would lift the embargo 76 against Japan and assist Japan in obtaining more supplies from the Dutch East Indies. Hull tendered a counteroffer on November 26, 1941: Japan had to remove itself from China completely or no agreement would be met.1 In the meantime, Japan sent out a previously organized naval fleet from the Kurile Islands towards the U.S., in case Hull and Roosevelt refused to bargain. Japan was prepared no matter what answer they received. The reason Japan chose Pearl Harbor was not a mystery: the Pearl Harbor base and the Pacific fleet had less than acceptable defenses and it was the only refueling and repair station in Hawaii. Although Pearl Harbor had the important role of supplying, refueling, and repairing ships and planes, it was insufficient in its purpose because the base had only one entrance in and out; Naval defenses under the command of the 14th Naval District were negligible and inadequate for defense; defense planes were reported to be at the base when, in truth, they were not; communication was incomplete and air reconnaissance was not conducted; and many ships and soldiers were taken from the Pacific fleet months before the attack on Pearl harbor to fight in the Atlantic, making the fleet considerably weaker.2 These weakened defenses of Pearl Harbor made the base the perfect target even with the small precautions that were enforced. The bases only entrance, which was also used as the exit, forced ships to move in and out of the base in single file, making them a perfect target for the Japanese. However, Admiral Husband Kimmel, the commanding officer at the base, made sure training was performed under these undesirable conditions, especially in the dark without signal lights of any kind; the channel being blocked was always at the back of his mind.3 Communication was also a problem, especially on the island of Oahu, which could not conduct 1 Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “October 29: Pearl Harbor.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA October 29, 2012. 2 Kimmel, Husband E. Admiral Kimmel’s Story. Chicago: Henry Regenry Company, 1955. 1-22. 3 Ibid 13 77 air reconnaissance, thus allowing the possibility of enemy planes to come in the island’s air space undetected. Planes were scarce; 180 flying fortresses, B 17's, were reported to be on the island and 100 patrol planes after a request for flying defense. In actuality, twelve B 17’s were on the island of Hawaii at the time and only six were in flying condition; there were never any patrol planes on the island.4 But the last and most important disadvantage to the Pacific fleet and Pearl Harbor was the absence of one-fourth of its fleet, which was sent to fight in the Atlantic May through April 1941, all trained and equipped marines, several small transports, small craft, one aircraft carrier, three battleships, four cruisers, and eighteen destroyers were detached from the Pacific fleet. Kimmel believed that the Japanese received knowledge of these defects, which gave them more incentive to concentrate on Pearl Harbor. The 14th Naval District was responsible for defenses in Pearl Harbor and was negligent to the job. It was not the Pacific fleet’s job to protect Hawaii, but to protect the vast Pacific Ocean.5 Taking away massive forces from the fleet left it almost defenseless and inferior to the Japanese navy. Kimmel was the main reason Pearl Harbor had any fighting chance at all. Pearl Harbor might have suffered much more damage than it did if it was not for Kimmel’s strict orders to be in constant preparation for attack. He ordered all ammunition for the guns on the ships to be in ammunition ready boxes next to the appropriate guns at all times; a sufficient number of trained personnel for these guns was to always be on board to run the guns if necessary; finally, all double bottom and lower deck compartments were to remain closed at all times unless a job required them to be open. Since Kimmel was so strict on the orders, they were 4 5 Ibid 13-14 Kimmel, Admiral Kimmel’s Story, 21-22. 78 meticulously met. On the day of the attack, the U.S. response occurred within four to seven minutes of the first bomb because of these orders.6 Although Pearl Harbor’s defenses were low, it is necessary to understand why they could not have been prepared much sooner for the attack even with the precautions that were enforced. The United States had been successful in decoding Japanese military messages before, and it was a mystery as to why the military had no prior knowledge of a Japanese attack on the U.S. There are two different reasons that should be addressed and proved or disproved: either President Roosevelt knew of the attack and did nothing in order to push the U.S. into the war, or it was the genuine surprise that the Japanese intended. Some, including Kimmel, believe that Roosevelt knew about the surprise attack but allowed it to happen so the U.S. had a reason to join the war. Roosevelt needed support from citizens to formally declare war and at the time, before Pearl Harbor was attacked, American opinion was still split. Some supported the war but most wanted to stay out of it because no one wanted to relive WWI. Many Americans still remembered the sense of loss and despair that followed the war, and if Roosevelt really wanted the country to enter the current war, it seemed plausible the he would not try to prevent a Japanese attack; after all, he was passing policies and drafts to build a better defense for America. Admiral Kimmel introduced his book with the theory that the attack on Pearl Harbor was intentional and that Roosevelt purposely provoked the Japanese. Kimmel quoted from Secretary of War Henry Stimson’s diary, “The question was how we should maneuver them into firing the first shot without allowing too much damage to ourselves. It was a difficult proposition.”7 Pearl Harbor was not specifically identified as the target, but it had become obvious that the United States was looking for a direct way into the war. By taking away a massive chunk of the Pacific 6 7 Ibid 18 Kimmel, Admiral Kimmel’s Story, 1. 79 fleet, the U.S. was able to divert its important fighting ships and planes elsewhere if Pearl Harbor became the intended point of attack. A Japanese coded message revealed the design to sever all peace between Japan and the U.S. on December 7, 1941. Washington was given till 1:00 a.m. to decode the message and then pass it along to possible targets, including Pearl Harbor. The message was not completely decoded until 1:30 a.m., and by the time it reached Pearl Harbor the attack was already over.8 Admiral Kimmel believed that the powers in Washington were careful to make sure that the warning messages from Japan were not sent to Pearl Harbor in time.9 Kimmel published his standpoint because he felt it was his duty to insure that the incident of Pearl Harbor would not be repeated and blamed on the military again.10 His belief on the matter could have been to solely erase the blame on himself and the military who fought on that fateful day; the evidence presented in his book have not been confirmed as completely factual. R.J.C. Butow, in his article about Roosevelt’s response to Pearl Harbor, stated that there is no actual archival evidence to support the supposition that Roosevelt wanted the attack to happen. Roosevelt was not intentionally coaxing Japan to attack; the problem was that he could not find a viable way to appease Japan without them attacking the United States. Butow debunks Stimson as a suitable source for evidence of the conspiracy. Butow issued many reasons for his dismissal of the source: Roosevelt did not like any of his cabinet officers to take notes while having meetings and Stimson had to write about the meetings using his memory; sometimes Stimson waited until the day after to record what transpired between the president and the 8 Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “October 31: Pearl Harbor the Attack and Response.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. October 31, 2012. 9 Kimmel, Admiral Kimmel’s Story, 2. 10 Kimmel, Admiral Kimmel’s Story, 2. 80 cabinet; and Stimson left it to his secretary to type up the material, which Stimson never edited.11 Many have used Stimson to help prove Roosevelt’s intention of going to war, but in truth, Japan had made a policy of force in the beginning, listing the routes to their eventual domination; attacking the U.S. was already on their operation lists. The U.S. was going to be attacked whether Japan was provoked by Roosevelt or not. Operation Magic had the job of intercepting Japanese diplomatic and military messages to help prevent a surprise attack; although they were receiving messages, they were not receiving any threats on the U.S. from Japan. Most of the messages dealt with foreign relations, and none of the intercepted messages pointed to an attack on Hawaii,12 which was sound because Japan intentionally meant for the attack to be a surprise. Secrecy was consequential and if any information was revealed to the United States, it would have been detrimental to Japan’s upcoming plans to attack Pearl Harbor. On September 24, 1941, telegram No. 83 was intercepted. By October 9, it was translated and brought concern to Operation Magic. It stated that a Japanese agent was to divide the waters of Pearl Harbor into five areas, and then to report on the types of craft in the navy fleet in the Pacific. A practical military official would understand this to be a bombing grid, but the message was seen as Japan trying to encourage the agent to better condense his reports with as much detail as possible; the Japanese were known for their attention to detail. If they were wrong, Magic staff members believed the Pacific fleet could handle an attack.13 It was due to skeptical thinking and casual dismissal of the message that led to the destruction of Pearl Harbor. 11 Butow, R.J.C. “How Roosevelt Attacked Japan at Pearl Harbor: Myth Masquerading as History.” Prologue Magazine 28, no. 3 (1996) National Archives (accessed November 12, 2012). 12 Ibid. 13 Butow, “How Roosevelt Attacked.” 81 The beginning of the terrible battle initially started with a United States patrol ship, the destroyer U.S.S. Ward, during a patrol. At 6:45 a.m., on December 7, 1941, the first shot was fired from the destroyer upon a submarine that looked like it was trying to get past the naval patrols.14 The shot landed at the base of the conning tower of the mysterious submarine, and the tower disappeared.15 Kimmel stressed the importance of Ward’s message concerning the attack on the submarine in United States waters and how it might imply the presence of an enemy fleet.16 It was believed to be a mistaken identification due to many false sightings of enemy submarines, and if it was not, that U.S.S. Ward was more than capable of taking care of the problem. Kimmel regarded this nonchalant view of the situation and retaliated with the fact that none of the other alarms had reported gunfire and bombing upon submarines.17 After the alarm from the U.S.S. Ward, the navy and army returned to their normal duties until relief arrived. As things were settling down, a massive blip was spotted at the radar station. It was the largest the radar had ever detected and was believed to be a malfunction. However, the radar and the controls were tested and found to be in working order.18 A private called in the report and it was pushed aside because the planes were believed to be the B-17’s ordered for the defense routines at Pearl Harbor that morning. Soon after a report, regarding the first strike by the Japanese, would be sent as a radiogram stating the attack was not a drill. 19 The surprise attack Japan wanted was achieved with great success. A memorandum was sent to the President detailing the damage.20 The first planes to attack the harbor, 189 in all, flew from the flight decks at around 6:00 a.m. and a dive-bomber began the attack at 7:53 a.m. 14 Millis, Walter. “A Very Unfortunate Thing.” In This is Pearl: The United States and Japan - 1941. New York: William Morrow & Company, 1947. 345-373. 15 The shots also caused the first deaths of the war in the pacific. 16 Millis, This is Pearl, 350. 17 Millis, This is Pearl, 350. 18 Ibid 352 19 Appendix A. 20 Appendix B 82 Hawaiian time.21 The first objective for the bombers was to destroy American defensive aviation. The hangars at Wheeler and Hickam Fields were attacked;22 Hickam was the most vulnerable because that morning the planes were parked outside of the hangars, wingtip to wingtip, in order to prevent sabotage.23 Backing these bombers were forty torpedo bombers, with fifty horizontal bombers behind them in case the torpedo bombers failed. Lastly, there were 45 fighters to defend against sporadic opposition, which might reach the bombers. These planes assailed Pearl Harbor in mere minutes to cause as much initial damage as possible without much thought on returning to the carrier because another wave of 171 planes - 54 horizontals, 81 divers, and 36 fighters was less than an hour behind them.24 The damage done to the aircraft on Pearl Harbor by the first wave of planes was immense, and the second wave did not have much left to destroy. Ford Island Air Station was in shambles; the Marine Field at Ewa was destroyed by constant dive bombing and strafing; at the Kaneohe Naval control base, 27 of the 33 PBYs had been destroyed by the end of the second attack, Wheeler Field lost 42 planes and Hickam Field lost mostly B-18s, the B-17s were not completely destroyed and four were still left serviceable.25 The naval fleet did not fare much better. There were eight battleships anchored at Pearl Harbor: three were sunk, one was grounded, one was capsized - the Oklahoma, and the others were badly damaged;26 all of this was accomplished within the first thirty minutes of attack. After the first thirty minutes, the stunned Pacific fleet began to revive. The squadron at Haleiwa was able to get four wingmen airborne and Wheeler Field and the Enterprise were able 21 Sanson, “October 31.” Millis, This is Pearl, 354. 23 Sanson, “October 31.” 24 Millis, This is Pearl, 355. 25 Millis, This is Pearl, 335-356. 26 Sanson, “October 31.” 22 83 to get a number more airborne. The ships opened their anti-aircraft guns within four to seven minutes of the attack; the Army used machine guns, rifles, and even pistols.27 The Japanese lost about 30 planes.28 Monaghan, a destroyer, was told to join Ward, and managed to attack and sink a Japanese submarine that got through the harbor.29 Soon after these small retaliations, the second wave of Japanese bombers and horizontals arrived. The Americans were more alert when the second attack came. Their anti-aircraft shooting was more on target and ready, but the second wave still managed to finish what the first wave did not. The few ships that were saved or salvaged were bombed heavily. By 9:45 a.m., the Japanese planes were departing, and the attack had been completed. Although the Japanese believed they had crippled the United States, they were sorely mistaken. The most important features of Pearl Harbor, i.e., the base, docking facilities, and the exposed oil storage, were not destroyed; this allowed the base to recover quicker than if those facilities had been incapacitated.30 The United States was able to repair the damaged ships and planes and later used them in the war against Japan. If Japan would have completely annihilated the base at Pearl Harbor, then the U.S. would have been hindered for months or more. President Roosevelt was outraged by the attack and issued a statement to Congress on December 8, 1941 to officially declare war on Japan. He stated that Pearl Harbor was a “date which will live in infamy,” and that the lives of the Americans lost and the damage done to the United States military must be countered with a defensive American response. Roosevelt was willing to prosper in victory no matter how long it took. His last paragraph was by far the most potent: “I ask that the congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan 27 Millis, This is Pearl, 361. Sanson, “October 31.” 29 Millis, This is Pearl, 361. 30 Ibid 363-364. 28 84 on Sunday, December seventh, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.”31 The Japanese were successful in stirring up the United States, however, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, the creator and initiator of the Pearl Harbor attack was doubtful that this was a victory for Japan. He was not confident that Japan could when a prolonged war with the United States involved. When asked his opinion on fighting the U.S. months before the Pearl Harbor attack, he replied, “We can run wild for six months or a year, but after that I have utterly no confidence. I hope you will try to avoid war with America.”32 When General Hideki Tojo was promoted to minister of war, Yamamoto’s concern was soon to become truth. Yamamoto had no choice but to fight the U.S. once Tojo decided to attack. Yamamoto bombed the Pacific fleet because he knew it would be the only way to cripple the U.S. He quickly realized his mistake once the U.S. retaliated. The Japanese won many territories in the war, and in 1942, after initiating war on the United States, they won a great deal more and gained a tremendous amount of confidence with all the victories. Their downfall was evident, for their winning streak was about to be halted by the U.S. While Japan was busy obtaining territory, the U.S. was boosting production in its factories: ships and planes were being made by the thousands. Soon Japan would feel the sting of a wounded nation. The U.S. would come back at Japan with twice the force Japan used at Pearl Harbor. The United States’ first morale boosting operation was in April 1942 when a successful surprise attack was carried out in the form of an air raid on Tokyo. After this small victory, the U.S. continued to push the Japanese back, winning battle after battle. The U.S. won the first 31 Appendix C. Chan, C. Peter. "Isoroku Yamamoto | World War II Database." World War II Database: Your WW2 History Reference Destination. http://ww2db.com/person_bio.php?person_id=1 (accessed November 25, 2012). 32 85 battle in The Battle of the Coral Sea and the Japanese experienced their first loss. It was the first battle in history with two opposing aircraft carrier forces that used complete air attack without the opposing ships seeing each other.33 One aircraft carrier and many other smaller Japanese ships were sunk; the U.S. lost more ships in this battle, but was also producing more ships than the Japanese and able to replace them quickly while Japan’s navy kept diminishing. The battle that turned the tables on Japan was the Battle of Midway, which occurred about a month after the Coral Sea. The tremendous success was through a stroke of luck; the United States had just successfully broken the Japanese military code and received an advance message of the proposed attack. U.S. torpedo planes and dive-bombers were sent in reply to the message to fortify Midway. The Japanese lost their four best carriers, which were in the attack on Pearl Harbor, and two cruisers and two destroyers were heavily damaged.34 These two battles forced Japan to turn from the offensive to the defensive, giving the United States time to devise a plan. Afterwards, Island hopping - in which the U.S. moved from Japanese occupied islands using air and sea power to neutralize the Japanese forces - became a new U.S. strategy.35 At the Battle of Leyte Gulf, the largest naval battle fought in United States history, was another lose for Japan. Not the United States navy was superior to Japan’s. Japan became desperate and started conducting suicide missions: the Kamikaze attack. Japanese pilots would intentionally aim their aircraft into U.S. ships. The maneuver sunk one aircraft carrier and damaged many other ships. The Japanese would continue to use this strategy until the end of the war.36 33 6-9. Henry, Chris. "Introduction." In The battle of the Coral Sea. Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 2003. 34 Sanson, Dr. Jerry, “November 2: The Pacific Theater.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 2, 2012. 35 Ibid 36 Sanson, Dr. Jerry, “November 7: The Pacific Theater.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 7, 2012. 86 Once the Japanese had been pushed back onto their own land, their fighting became more intense. More blood was shed while fighting in Japan than any other battle involving the U.S.; Japan fought harder once the realization of defeat set into its soldiers. Two impending battles occurred while the United States occupied Japan: the Battle of Iwo Jima and the Battle of Okinawa. The first battle, Iwo Jima, occurred because the United States needed Iwo Jima as a base. U.S. fighter planes could not fly as far as the bombers they protected.37 The Japanese were not willing to give up the island easily; they used many underground defenses in which the U.S. was forced to use flamethrowers to push the Japanese out. Explosions could be heard within the tunnels because the Japanese were collapsing them as they ran further in. It took almost a month for the U.S. to capture the five-mile long island because of these tactics. The bloody battle cost twenty thousand lives, from that, seven thousand were Americans.38 The battle of Okinawa is described as being the bloodiest battle between the U.S. and Japan. The 10th Army of the United States was ordered to invade Okinawa - it was the last amphibious landing in the war. Continuous firing was targeted at preassigned points and once they landed, the lack of Japanese opposition, besides an occasional artillery shell, was perplexing. The entire landing had been initiated and completed with incredible ease, and the minimal opposition struck the soldiers with a suspicious mindset. An infantryman stated, “I’ve already lived longer than I thought I would.”39 The Japanese were getting the reactions they wanted and used the U.S. troop’s confusion to issue a counterattack with everything they had left: Kamikaze attacks, underground fortifications, and the last battleship in the Japanese navy. 37 Sanson, “November 7” Ibid. 39 Appleman, Roy Edgar. "Bombarding the Beaches." In Okinawa: the last battle. Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Dept. of the Army, 1948. 72-74. 38 87 The death toll was monumental and had records of the most casualties besides Stalingrad. Both commanding generals died in the course of the battle: Simon B. Buckner by gunfire and Ushijima Mitsuru by Suicide.40 The Japanese navy became extinct and the severe losses alarmed the Emperor causing him to suggest surrender to the premier - former general Tojo. The U.S. demanded unconditional surrender and the premier would not accept that condition. His stubbornness would soon be met with the most devastating bombing in history at the time. The United States could not fathom fighting much longer. They had successfully defeated the Japanese and yet Japan was still resisting. Roosevelt had passed away on April 12, 1945 and left Harry S. Truman to take over the role as president. Truman believed that it was time to put an end to the war, and he happened to have a weapon designed for such a task: the atomic bomb. There were two bombs available for use and both or dropped on Japan. Truman gave the Japanese a chance to surrender by August 3, 1945 and if they failed to comply, then he would issue the order to drop the bombs.41 The Japanese refused to yield, so the release of the bombs was put into action. Hiroshima was attacked on August 6, 1945 and the second bomb landed on Nagasaki three days later.42 Around 80,000 lives were lost in Hiroshima and another 36,000 in Nagasaki on impact. The total number of deaths skyrocketed by the end of the year due to lingering radiation. The Japanese finally accepted the terms of surrender with one circumstance, the emperor was to stay in position but under the control of United States commander General Douglas MacArthur. On September 2, 1945, almost to the day of the beginning of the war - September 1, 40 Prados, John. "Battle of Okinawa — History.com Articles, Video, Pictures and Facts." History.com — History Made Every Day — American & World History. http://www.history.com/topics/battle-of-okinawa (accessed November 1, 2012). 41 Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “November 12: The Manhatten Project.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 12, 2012. 42 Prados, “Battle of Okinawa.” 88 1939 - the Japanese formally surrendered to the allied powers on the U.S.S. Missouri in Tokyo Bay. It took the U.S. almost five years to defeat the Japanese after the pivotal attack on Pearl Harbor, and Japan realized their mistake the instant the U.S. retaliated. On December 7, 1941, the United States suffered a deafening loss, one of the most memorable days in war history. The Japanese presumption that involving the U.S. was a properly advised decision ended up being the worst mistake they could have made. Battle after battle against the Japanese began to work in America’s favor. Japanese morale lessened as the U.S. sailed closer and closer to Japanese shores. In the end, the Japanese almost lost everything while the U.S. prospered in being the main ally to end the war. In the movies Tora! Tora! Tora! and Pearl Harbor Yamamoto is quoted, “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and filled him with a terrible resolve.” Even though the quote cannot be confirmed, it is the most appropriate statement to describe the U.S. response to Pearl Harbor. The U.S. was a force that Japan underestimated; the Japanese sealed their fate on the Day of Infamy. 89 Appendix A 90 Appendix B 91 92 Appendix C 93 94 95 Bibliography “Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto: Japan’s Best Admiral in World War 2, Who Planned the Attack on Pearl Harbor.” World War 2 Insightful Essays. (accessed 25, 2012). Appleman, Roy Edgar. "Bombarding the Beaches." In Okinawa: the last battle. Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Dept. of the Army, 1948. 71-77. Butow, R.J.C. “How Roosevelt Attacked Japan at Pearl Harbor: Myth Masquerading as History.” Prologue Magazine 28, no. 3 (1996) National Archives. http://www.archives.gov/ publications/prologue/1996/fall/butow.html. (accessed November 12, 2012). Chan, C. Peter. "Isoroku Yamamoto | World War II Database." World War II Database: Your WW2 History Reference Destination. http://ww2db.com/person_bio.php?person_id=1 (accessed November 25, 2012). CINCPAC. "Radiogram Reporting the Pearl Harbor Attack - December 7,1941." National Archives and Records Administration. http://www.archives.gov/historicaldocs/todays- doc/?dod-date=1207 (accessed November 10, 2012). Henry, Chris. "Introduction." In The battle of the Coral Sea. Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 2003. 6-9. Kimmel, Husband E. Admiral Kimmel’s Story. Chicago: Henry Regenry Company, 1955. 1-22. FDR Presidential Library. “Memorandum to the President - December 7, 1941.” Our Presidents. http://www.fdrlibrary.marist.edu/archives/pdfs/pearlharbor.pdf. (accessed November 10, 2012). Millis, Walter. “A Very Unfortunate Thing.” In This is Pearl: The United States and Japan 1941. New York: William Morrow & Company, 1947. 345-373. Prados, John. "Battle of Okinawa — History.com Articles, Video, Pictures and Facts." History.com — History Made Every Day — American & World History. http:// www.history.com/topics/battle-of-okinawa (accessed November 1, 2012). Roosevelt, Franklin D. “Statement from Roosevelt to Congress of the United States.” National Archives and Records Administration. http://www.archives.gov/legislative/features/dayof-infamy/ November 1, 2012) Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “October 29: Pearl Harbor.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA October 29, 2012. Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “October 31: Pearl Harbor the Attack and Response.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. October 31, 2012. 96 Sanson, Dr. Jerry, “November 2: The Pacific Theater.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 2, 2012. Sanson, Dr. Jerry, “November 7: The Pacific Theater.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 7, 2012. Sanson, Dr. Jerry. “November 12: The Manhatten Project.” MPAC classroom 146. Louisiana State University at Alexandria. Alexandria, LA. November 12, 2012. 97 Bonnie and Clyde: A Personal and Criminal History Anna Heaven Smith When studying American history, one of the most important factors that must be observed closely is the people who created the history. During the Great Depression, a time of desperation in America, two people stand out in the criminal history of America: Bonnie and Clyde. More notorious in their death than in life, the history of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow has fascinated Americans and historians for decades. Although many Americans know that Bonnie and Clyde were criminals of the Depression era, lovers on the run, obtaining most of their information from Hollywood films and other misleading information, many are also unaware of the actual lives, personal and criminal, of the pair. The turning point that led Bonnie and Clyde into a life of crime occurred during the Great Depression. The 1930s witnessed an economic disaster unlike any other experienced in America. One unfortunate consequence of the economic collapse was that it contributed to a wave of criminal activity joined in by many including Bonnie and Clyde. The pair grew up under rather 98 normal circumstances for their generation. While they had tremendous love from their families, their parents and siblings never contributed to the wave of crime committed by Bonnie and Clyde, with the exception of a brother of Clyde’s. Aside from having each other, Bonnie and Clyde were joined along their paths to infamy by several others who contributed to their crimes, but gained their notoriety mainly from their association with the pair. There are many distinctive features about the lives of Bonnie and Clyde when observed in comparison to other Depression era criminals such as John Dillinger, George “Machine Gun” Kelly, and “Pretty Boy” Floyd. Though Bonnie and Clyde hardly garnered the attention of the entire United States during their escapades, they have since captured the attention and gained much more notoriety than many other of the Depression era criminals. An interesting characteristic of Bonnie and Clyde’s criminal career is the numerous misconceptions linked to the lives of the notorious criminals, usually largely based on media misrepresentation. Another significant characteristic of the pair lies in the research of a number of scholars who have studied the reasoning behind their criminal activities, namely scholar Claire Bond Potter who developed an interesting view into the psychological aspects of personalities of women such as Bonnie Parker as a cause of criminal behavior. One of the distinctive factors of Bonnie and Clyde seems to be their strange affection or even love they felt for one another. Many people have a muchromanticized vision of the criminals, but this is an aspect that is not entirely false, as their somewhat strange love for one another is described in many aspects, including the poem “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde” written by Parker herself. The impact and legacy of Bonnie and Clyde on American history has contributed to a number of artifacts in America including literature, films, and museums. 99 Before observing the life and crimes of Bonnie and Clyde in depth, it is important to understand factors that contributed to their behavior and action. The same era that witnessed the actions of criminals including Bonnie and Clyde also gave way to a very important occurrence in American history. The Great Depression of the 1930s, which occurred first in the United States and then spread to virtually all of the main industrial powers of the world, was a painful and intense time in history. In America, not only did people have to deal with their personal woes because of the economy, but also with the national crime spree conducted by Bonnie and Clyde and various others which added to their sense of frustration in a time of despair. An article written by author William M. Simpson gives an understanding into the strong possibility of environment and the Great Depression as contributing factors to the activities of Bonnie and Clyde. Simpson observes that, “Accepting the environment-is-everything postulation of most twentieth-century behavioral scientists, the criminal careers and ultimate fates of Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker are not surprising.”43 The “environment-is-everything” theory entails that one’s behavior and actions throughout life are formed by that person’s background, such as where they grew up and their surroundings. Simpson’s theory suggests that because Bonnie and Clyde grew up in a rural setting and a rather poor setting for the time, maybe that background influenced their criminal path. Simpson’s theory seems to provide evidence that perhaps environment does play a very important factor in the eventual undertakings of Clyde Barrow. Considering the fact that Clyde Barrow was raised in a family that was near poverty and the influence of another criminal in the family, Clyde’s older brother, Marvin “Buck” Barrow, Clyde’s criminal endeavors come, as Simpson concludes, no shock.44 William M. Simpson, “A Bienville Parish Saga: The Ambush and Killing of Bonnie and Clyde”, Louisiana History: The Journal of the Louisiana Historical Association, Vol. 41, No. 1(Winter, 2000), 6. 43 44 Ibid, 6. 100 Despite the efforts of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Depression era extended throughout most of the 1930s. Jobs were lost, banks foreclosed, and many people were without food or homes.45 Did these factors fuel the undertakings of Depression era criminals like Bonnie and Clyde? Although it is difficult to determine with any degree of certainty whether or not the conditions of the 1930s had an active role in Bonnie and Clyde’s activities, Simpson’s application of the “environment-is-everything” postulation makes clear that the likelihood is a highly possible. In addition to Simpson’s theory, the environment in which Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow and many other Depression era criminals grew up was different from those of the big cities. Criminals in the Midwestern area of America, people such as John Dillinger and Clyde Barrow, are sometimes described as a modern day Jesse James. Along with the modernization of their lives, they also had the advantage of “cars, machine guns, and other automatic weapons.” Contrasting the big crime gangs of the cities headed by people such as Al Capone, Dillinger and Barrow grew up in and lived in the country.46 This distinctive factor may suggest that criminals such as Barrow were at a disadvantage, but neither he, nor any other Midwestern, country criminals, seem to have limited themselves due to their location. Another important factor that played a part in the criminal lives of those such as Clyde Barrow was their use of small gangs limited only to them as well as the way they stole vehicles, which reflected the manner in which outlaws would steal horses.47 Instead of having mass gangs separated into several cities, Midwestern gangs, such as the “Barrow Gang” consisted only of those who ran with Barrow wherever he happened to be at the time. Barrow was also notorious B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, (A Nostalgia Press Production for Personality Posters, n.d.). 46 B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, n.p. 47 Ibid. 45 101 for his ability to steal vehicles whenever he felt the need, very similar to the stealing of horses conducted by outlaws before the invention of cars. Also, one of the most significant characteristics of Midwestern criminals like Clyde Barrow is their hatred of politics and large businesses. Depression-era criminals robbed banks, an act considered by those who had lost everything because of the banks, justifiable and not criminal.48 Although many were afraid of the Midwestern participants in Depression era crime, others thought of them as providing justice to the cause of America’s despair. The characteristics of Depression era criminals such as Clyde Barrow and those that contributed to the “Barrow Gang” are exceedingly diverse from those of big cities giving them particular distinctive attributes. Clyde Barrow was born in 1909 at Teleco, Texas, and later moved with his family to nearby Dallas, Texas. Barrow was one of eight children born to Henry and Cumie Barrow.49Clyde’s life of crime began before he met Bonnie, but continued and grew in gravity after they met. Bonnie Parker was born in 1910 in Rowena, Texas to parents J.T. and Emma Parker.50 The pair met in early 1930, just before Clyde’s sentencing to Waco state penitentiary for numerous car thefts and small burglaries. Clyde, along with two fellow prisoners, was able to escape from prison with Bonnie’s assistance of slipping a gun into the prison to them while visiting. Freedom was very short lived, however, because Clyde was picked up in Middleton, Ohio less than a week later.51 Clyde was officially entered into Huntsville prison on April 21, 1930 listing Bonnie as his wife, which she was not, and began his sentence.52In early February 1932, Clyde was paroled from Huntsville, he went back to Dallas, back to his family, and more 48 Ibid. Ted Hinton, Ambush: the Real Story of Bonnie and Clyde (Austin: Shoal Creek Publishers, Inc., 1979), 8. 50 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies: America’s Criminal Past, 1919-1945 (New York: Library of Congress, 1998), 22. 51 Ted Hinton, Ambush,10. 52 Ibid, 11. 49 102 importantly back to Bonnie.53Clyde’s prison release marked the turning point of Bonnie and Clyde’s life on the run together; they were never again to return to a normal life without crime. While neither Bonnie nor Clyde’s parents encouraged the life they had chosen, at the same time they did not shun them and they always welcomed their children with love at their few and far between chance meetings. The families of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow were much like many other families living in Depression-era Texas. Bonnie and Clyde’s reputation added to the knowledge that their families had several visits with them while they were on the run could lead to the conclusion that their families somehow contributed to their criminal behavior. However according to an article entitled “‘I’ll Go the Limit and Then Some’: Gun Molls, Desire, and Danger in the 1930s” by scholar Claire Bond Potter, “…relatives of the bandits were usually working people, and with few exceptions, not criminals.”54 Henry and Cumie Barrow, parents of Clyde, owned a gas station in West Dallas where they sold gas, groceries, lunch meat, and Coca-Cola.55 They were upstanding, respectable people within their community despite the disobedient behavior of their children, particularly, but not solely limited to Clyde. One of the few exceptions is Clyde’s older brother, Marvin Ivan Barrow, usually referred to as “Buck”.56 Despite the fact that “Buck” Barrow’s life of crime never compared to Clyde’s, Buck set the example that Clyde followed and eventually surpassed.57 In the narrative Ambush written by Dallas, Texas officer Ted Hinton, the author recounts the story of his personal knowledge of Bonnie and Clyde as well as his chase for the pair and eventual participation in their demise. Hinton relates that the “troubles” of the 53 Ibid, 12. Claire Bond Potter, “‘I’ll Go the Limit and Then Some’: Gun Molls, Desire, and Danger in the 1930s,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 21, No. 1 (Spring, 1995), 53. 55 Ted Hinton, Ambush, 9. 56 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 22. 57 Ted Hinton, Ambush, 8. 54 103 Barrow family occurred from their loyalty to Buck and Clyde.58 While Buck’s criminal activities may have helped in Clyde’s eventual exploits, their degrees of criminality proved to be much different later. Buck, like Clyde, had spent time in prison and in spite of having a prison record also found the love of a woman. Buck married a woman named Blanche Caldwell, who soon after their wedding pushed him to live a crime-free, honest life. After Buck Barrow’s revelation that he had in fact been an escapee at the time of his meeting and marriage to Blanche, he returned to prison to serve out the rest of his time.59 Buck was released from prison on March 22, 1933 and soon after regaining his freedom, he decided to visit his brother Clyde, taking his wife Blanche with him.60 Whatever reservations Blanche may have had about going to see Clyde later subsided. Blanche may have believed that Buck had made a complete reformation because of her influence; however she could not have foreseen the events that would follow after a “friendly family visit.”61 The result of Buck and Blanche’s “visit” led to Buck’s involvement in a Joplin, Missouri shootout resulting in the death of two policemen, several robberies, and eventually his capture and death by July 1933.62 Despite the capture of Buck and Blanche, and ultimately the death of Buck, Clyde did not give up his fast life. The twosome was joined by several others throughout the time when they were on the run who gained only small notoriety primarily because of their association with Parker and Barrow. The involvement of these people also contributed to the misconceptions of labeling Bonnie and Clyde as ruthless killers. The most notable members that made a contribution or fell in by association within the Barrow gang aside from Parker and Barrow themselves were “Buck” 58 Ibid, 8-9. Ibid, 35. 60 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 180. 61 B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, n.p. 62 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 180.183, 187. 59 104 Barrow and his wife Blanche, Raymond Hamilton, William Daniel Jones also known as simply “W.D.”, Joe Palmer, and Henry Methvin.63 These people, as well as several others who did not stay with the pair for long, joined Bonnie and Clyde on and off throughout their criminal actions and contributed to the crimes committed by Barrow and Parker, such as bank and gas station robberies, car thefts, and even murder. Despite the accepted belief that Parker and Barrow were ruthless murderers, few are aware of the contributions of gang members to the murders and robberies connected with Bonnie and Clyde. Of the 12 known victims of the “Barrow Gang”, only six were most likely at the hand of Clyde Barrow, and none at the hand of Bonnie.64Of the first four murders attributed to the Barrow Gang in 1932, Clyde was accompanied by Raymond Hamilton during the first two.65 Of the four murders linked to the Barrow Gang in 1933, W.D. Jones accompanied Clyde during all four. During what is considered the sixth and seventh murders committed by the Barrow Gang in 1933, Clyde Barrow, W.D. Jones, and “Buck” Barrow were all accomplices in the chaotic murder of two policemen; therefore there was no way of knowing who in fact shot the officers.66 In 1934, the first murder attributed to the Barrow Gang was the murder of a prison guard during the raid on Eastham Prison Farm in Texas where Clyde successfully assisted in the escape of Raymond Hamilton and several others. The murder conducted during the raid on Eastham Prison is mostly attached to either Raymond Hamilton or Joe Palmer, not Clyde Barrow.67 Here, it is important to note that according to authors William Helmer and Rick Mattix the tenth and eleventh murders connected to the Barrow Gang of two highway patrol men in Texas were most likely conducted by Raymond Hamilton. Also noted in Ibid, 135-136. L.J. Hinton (curator of the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush museum and son of Ted Hinton) interview with the author, Saturday, October 6, 2012. 65 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 175,177, 178, 179. 66 Ibid, 179, 181, 183. 67 Ted Hinton, Ambush, 119. 63 64 105 Helmer and Mattix’s work is the twelfth murder simply known as being connected to the Barrow Gang.68 Taking into consideration that most of the murders were committed by the Barrow Gang and not specifically by Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker, one can see that the “ruthless killers” were perhaps not that at all. The psychology of Simpson’s previously mentioned “environment-is-everything” theory leads to another interesting idea by scholar Claire Bond Potter concerning the psychology of Bonnie and other women of Depression era criminals. Potter suggests that according to the parents of women who participated in such behavior as Bonnie Parker, they relied on “pseudo psychological explanations” that centered on the love of a criminal man. The very definition of pseudo psychology implies that, in this case, a supposed love for someone was merely a false, misguided infatuation, suggesting that women like Bonnie Parker were merely under a spell of love.69 Potter’s interpretation of gun molls gives the idea that Parker could have been in love with the action, romanticism, and good times rather than Barrow himself. Support for this supposition can be concluded from Bonnie’s strange knowledge that the result of her fast life with Clyde would eventually end in death. Bonnie understood that their time was limited as long as they were on the run, but unlike most, was not afraid of death. Bonnie discussed her probable death with her mother and even expressed it in her poem “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde”.70 In Parker’s poem she wrote, “They don’t think they’re too tough or desperate, / They know that the law always wins; / They’ve been shot at before, / But they do not ignore / That death is the wages of sin.”71 These particular lines in Parker’s poem reaffirm the indication that she knew and was fully prepared to die for the love of her man. The understanding that Bonnie had in knowing William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 200, 211. Claire Bond Potter, “‘I’ll Go the Limit and Then Some’: Gun Molls, Desire, and Danger in the 1930s,” 53. 70 “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde,” 60th Anniversary Collector Edition, May 23, 1934-1994, Vol. 11, 9. 71 Ted Hinton, Ambush, xvii. 68 69 106 her death was imminent suggests that she was in fact under some psychological strain. This theory, however, can be disputed considering evidence of Parker’s love for Barrow also contained in the poem, as well as her refusal to leave Barrow’s side, and in author Hinton’s knowledge of the two and their whimsical romance. Despite the reputable study in Potter’s work, there is also significant information that can lead to the conclusion that Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow were truly in love with one another. Even before Bonnie and Clyde’s criminal career took off, the two had a strong affection. While Barrow was serving his sentence in Huntsville Prison, the two wrote several letters in 1930 expressing their love and desire to be with each other soon.72 One of the most interesting features in the letters is their use of endearing terms when referring to one another. Parker’s terms of endearment are not quite as unusual as those used by Barrow; she refers to him as “baby,” “sugar,” “honey-boy,” and “little darling”. However, in Clyde’s letters to Bonnie he not only refers to her as “baby,” “sugar,” and “honey,” but also as “little wife.” In ending his letters Barrow would indicate more notable language such as “I send all my love to you from your daddy that loves you.” and “Your loving husband.”73 Barrow referred to Parker as his wife and himself as her husband or daddy, despite the fact that the two were never married. Potter’s intellectual analysis also provides information directly related to the use of such endearing terms between lovers. Potter explains that “Unmarried women referred to themselves as “wives”; bandit men referred to their molls as “wife,” “the little girl,” or “the little woman.” and also, “… gun molls signaled yet another kind of erotic inversion by referring to their lovers in public as “Daddy,” a slang term of the day which nevertheless suggested that the uncertain lives of bandit B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, n.p. B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, n.p. 72 73 107 women were compensated for by deep intimacy.”74 Potter’s information gives an interesting perspective into the knowledge that while Parker and Barrow may not have been legally married, they considered themselves to have the type of relationship very similar to that of a marriage. They were loyal to one another, they expressed their love to one another, and in their minds may have considered themselves married in their own way. Potter’s analysis behind the reasoning of using the term “daddy” could apply to Parker in that while she did not have a stable life with Barrow, their profound connection made up for any uncertainty she may have felt. While it may seem generic, the love between Parker and Barrow is most obviously shown in their refusal to leave the other and their dedication to each other. Bonnie stayed with Clyde despite his incarceration in the early 1930s and throughout the rest of their lives when he conducted his various excursions. As referred to earlier, Parker even went so far as to slip a gun into the Waco prison where Barrow was being detained to aid his escape.75 Aside from their separation caused by Clyde’s imprisonment throughout 1930-32, Parker and Barrow were again separated, this time on Bonnie’s account. Parker and Barrow were engaging in car theft on March 22, 1932 when they were followed by police; Clyde was able to escape, but Bonnie was not as lucky. Bonnie was detained in a Kaufman, Texas prison until June 27, 1932.76 Despite this separation of just over three months, Parker and Barrow remained together and she again joined Clyde. Bonnie was again the source of a setback in their criminal careers when Clyde wrecked a car near Wellington, Texas and Bonnie was pinned inside suffering burns from the flames that engulfed the car.77 Despite the obvious setback, Bonnie’s injuries posed for Claire Bond Potter, “‘I’ll Go the Limit and Then Some’,” 54. 74 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 161. Ibid,175-176. 77 Ted Hinton, Ambush, 50-51. 75 76 108 criminals who had to be elusive and quick, Clyde never left Bonnie or gave any indication that he ever intended to abandon her. Just as Clyde could have left Bonnie, she most likely could have left the fast life she was living with Clyde, but she never strayed, and as she made apparent in her poem “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde,” she had no intention of leaving him. In the poem Parker wrote, “Some day they’ll go down together; / And they’ll bury them side by side; / To few it’ll be grief – / To the law a relief – / But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.”78 Parker gave an obvious warning in writing these last lines of her poem that she knew they would not last long if they continued upon their criminal path. She even acknowledged that “few” will experience grief of their demise, presumably their families, but still did not seem to be concerned with the effect their deaths would have on their loved ones. Even in 1934, there was a fascination with the death of the notorious pair and many wondered if they would in fact be buried “side by side.” Regardless of Parker’s wishes expressed in her poem and expressed in her perpetual love for Barrow, ironically they were not buried alongside one another. Parker’s mother did not allow her daughter to be laid next to Barrow, therefore Clyde was laid next to his brother, “Buck” who had experienced a similar fate resulting from his own life of crime.79 The love between Bonnie and Clyde can be thought of as strange because of their strong willingness to stay together and not give into the authorities even if it meant death. Hinton, of the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum, even describes the love of Parker and Barrow as shaming the love tale of Romeo and Juliet, because of their fearless compliance with death.80 Even with the result of their burial destinations, Parker Ted Hinton, Ambush, xvii. Ted Hinton, Ambush, 190. 80 L.J. Hinton interview with the author, Saturday, October 6, 2012. 78 79 109 and Barrow gave every indication throughout their time with each other that they had an enduring love and unfathomable affection for one another that has fascinated people for decades. Bonnie and Clyde’s affection for one another added to their willingness to die before submission gives them an obvious distinction from other Depression era criminals. Other criminals who waged transgression across Midwestern America during the 1930s include John Dillinger, “Pretty Boy” Floyd, and George “Machine Gun” Kelly. During the 1930s, other criminals may have had more publicity than Bonnie and Clyde. However, Bonnie and Clyde seem to carry a special sort of notoriety different from others. As discussed earlier, criminals such as John Dillinger and Clyde Barrow share the commonality of the fact that they were both criminals of the Midwestern part of America and did not commit crimes in big cities. However, in terms of most infamous, Dillinger seems to be the most well known. John Dillinger of Indianapolis, Indiana is described as the “Most notorious as well as glamorous of all the Depression outlaws…”Dillinger’s criminal career consisted of fourteen months of robbing banks, pillaging police stations for guns, shooting his way out of both police and FBI traps, and he even endured being captured twice, even though he escaped both times. 81 Barrow and Dillinger are alike in some of these aspects. Dillinger was also notorious for his use of a wooden pistol as a way to escape from prison.82 While Dillinger may have been more notorious in some respects than Clyde Barrow, there are some distinctive features that set Barrow apart from Dillinger in a different sort of infamy. Throughout Barrow’s criminal career, he always had Bonnie Parker with him. Dillinger was joined by several women during his criminal career, but he never had a consistent, enduring bond with any of them. The women who joined Dillinger during his criminal path were Mary William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies,12. Ibid, 12. 81 82 110 Longnaker, Evelyn “Billie” Frechette, and Rita “Polly” Hamilton Keele.83 Dillinger’s assortment of women obviously sets him apart from Clyde Barrow. Most interestingly, what set Dillinger apart from Clyde Barrow is also what is comparable between Barrow and George “Machine Gun” Kelly. Kelly, whose name was really George F. Barnes, Jr., was born in Chicago and later moved with his family to Memphis, Tennessee. Despite Kelly’s nice upbringing, he had criminal hands in bootlegging and robbery. The most obvious characteristic that links “Machine Gun” Kelly and Clyde Barrow is their attachment to a woman. Kelly married a woman named Kathryn who extended his criminal knowledge.84 Very unlike Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker, however, George “Machine Gun” and Kathryn Kelly were captured without resistance by police and FBI agents on September 26, 1933 in Memphis, Tennessee.85 From previous information, it is obvious that Parker and Barrow were not in position to give up willingly. They were willing to go to their graves before they dared give in to police. George and Kathryn Kelly, however, posed no struggle when they were surrounded and willingly gave up. Another Depression era criminal who shares similar characteristics to Clyde Barrow is Charles Arthur “Pretty Boy” Floyd. Floyd was born in Adairsville, Georgia, but conducted his crimes in the Midwest in states such as Oklahoma and Missouri. Like Barrow, Floyd was sentenced to prison, but later escaped. Floyd, like Parker and Barrow, did not willingly give up; he was shot to death. Floyd was killed October 22, 1934 near Clarkson, Ohio by FBI agents. 86 Also of importance is the significant factor that “Pretty Boy” Floyd and Bonnie and Clyde were the only Depression era criminals to have received national publicity by 1932. This is most likely contributed to the fact that “they were locally known or left calling cards in one form or 83 Ibid, 130. Ibid,16. 85 Ibid, 17. 86 William Helmer and Rick Mattix, Public Enemies, 14. 84 111 another.”87 Bonnie and Clyde’s distinctions as well as some similarities from other Depression era criminals, although not always made them more popular or well-known, has given them special significance that has resonated for years. Bonnie and Clyde’s legacy has provided a source of scholarly research for many historians and scholars for decades. This literature included in many personal narratives written by people who knew or even had experiences with the pair. Some of these books include the narrative Ambush: the Real Story of Bonnie and Clyde by Ted Hinton, a Texas officer, and one of the six officers who conducted the ambush that ended Bonnie and Clyde’s criminal escapades. Another of these books includes My Life with Bonnie and Clyde by Blanche Caldwell Barrow and Esther L. Weiser, Barrow being the wife of Clyde’s brother “Buck” Barrow. These are just two of the many personal accounts of Bonnie and Clyde. Many other narrations are not written upon personal knowledge and interaction with the couple, but rather written from research and exploration of their lives. Films and documentaries have been dedicated to Bonnie and Clyde, most notably Arthur Penn’s 1967 film Bonnie and Clyde featuring Warren Beatty as Clyde Barrow and Faye Dunaway as Bonnie Parker. The story of Bonnie and Clyde again became famous with the release of Penn’s film, providing America with even more Bonnie and Clyde fascination.88Various museums, especially the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum in Gibsland, Louisiana, located just a few miles from the site of the actual ambush, help keep their infamy alive. Upon entering the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum one can expect to be greeted by museum curator L.J. Hinton, son of Ted Hinton. Hinton provides endless details of the chase his father conducted of Bonnie and Clyde that lasted for more than two years. A short documentary film that features the curator himself, footage of criminal W.D. Jones after his capture, and also 87 Ibid, 137. B. Gelman and R. Lackmann, The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook, n.p. 88 112 actual footage of Bonnie and Clyde directly after the ambush introduces the visitor to their story of crimes and punishment in Depression America. After viewing the documentary, one is free to walk about the small museum and look at the various artifacts and pictures on display. Each picture of Bonnie and Clyde, their various tagalongs, their families, and even their victims, features a description of their lives or the events surrounding the pictures. A number of documents tied to the pair are also available to read including letters Clyde wrote to his mother, Cumie Barrow. Also displayed is a variety of newspapers recounting the crimes and eventually the deaths of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, such as The Dallas Dispatcher. Replicas of Bonnie and Clyde’s tombstones can be found next to one another within the museum. Both tombstones bear the same inscription as their real ones: Clyde’s with only his name and date of birth and death, while Bonnie’s is more interesting with the inscription, “As the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew, so this old world is made brighter by the lives of folks like you.” The window frame, light switch, and mirror from the Joplin, Missouri room which was the site of the first and unsuccessful ambush can also be found at the museum. A multitude of other artifacts can be found at the museum including the badge and card of officer Ted Hinton, a Remington shotgun once belonging to Barrow, license plates found inside the car after the death of Parker and Barrow, Blanche Barrow’s prison bible, and most interestingly the authenticated signatures of both Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow on one slip of paper given to man known only as Mr. Brice at Barrow’s father’s filling station. Taking into account all of the contributions the lives of Bonnie and Clyde have made to American history within the last 80 years, one can easily understand the sensational interest that has captured America’s attention for so long. 113 The history of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow will forever resonate in America. The story of Bonnie and Clyde had undergone much exploration by scholars and buffs alike, but most important is the consistent enthrallment of the personal and criminal lives of Bonnie and Clyde has provided people for decades. Despite the famous economic collapse of the 1930s, that gave way to an era unlike any other ever experienced in American history, Bonnie and Clyde gained their place in the history of the time. Although they chose to live the last few years of their lives running from the law and in constant danger, they never lost the love of their families that continuously risked their lives for a chance to see them. Though many that contributed to the crimes of Bonnie and Clyde never gained the notoriety they did, they nevertheless provided for an important part of their criminal history. Not only did those such as Raymond Hamilton, “W.D.” Jones and Henry Methvin contribute to the crimes of Bonnie and Clyde, they also provided for many misconceptions linked to the pair in reference to their crimes. Despite the fact that Bonnie and Clyde could have given up on one another at any time throughout their adventures neither did. This factor is explained by scholar Claire Bond Potter using a psychological explanation of their relationship. However, the fact that Bonnie and Clyde never gave up on one another can also be contributed to the fact that they were truly in love and had an unexplainable affection for one another. Although their notorious love did set them apart from other Depression era criminals, it did not necessarily make them more popular. Criminal John Dillinger seems to have gained more infamy than Bonnie and Clyde, and other criminals such as George “Machine Gun” Kelly and “Pretty Boy” Floyd also share characteristics with the couple. Despite these distinctions, Bonnie and Clyde have carried a legacy since their death on May 23, 1934 that has echoed throughout America for more than 80 years. The personal and criminal 114 lives of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow will forever be of interest to many that seek to know more about the eccentric lives of an infamous couple. Bibliography Gelman, B. and R. Lackmann.The Bonnie and Clyde Scrapbook. New York: A Nostalgia Press Production for Personality Posters, n.d. Helmer, William and Rick Mattix. Public Enemies: America’s Criminal Past, 1919-1940. New York: Library of Congress, 1998. Hinton, L.J. (curator of the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush museum and son of Ted Hinton) interview with the author, Saturday, October, 6, 2012. Hinton, Ted. Ambush: the Real Story of Bonnie and Clyde. Austin: Shoal Creek Publishers, Inc., 1979. Potter, Claire Bond. “ ‘I’ll Go the Limit and Then Some’: Gun Molls, Desire, and Danger in the 1930s.” Feminist Studies, Vol. 21, No. 1 (1995): 41-66. Simpson, William M. “A Bienville Parish Saga: The Ambush and Killing of Bonnie and Clyde.” Louisiana History: The Journal of the Louisiana Historical Association, Vol. 41, No. 1 (2000): 5-21. “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde.”60th Anniversary Collector Edition. (Arcadia, LA), May 23, 1934-1994. 115 Time is Fleeting: Andrew Marvell’s Use of the Carpe Diem Motif Brandy R. Williams Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” is his most famous poem, and it adapts to the carpe diem theme in poetry. Carpe diem is Latin for “seize the day” or “pluck the day” (“Carpe Diem”). The carpe diem tradition dates back to the days of Horace and was made popular in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries (Scruton). It would seem odd to a modern day reader that Marvell chose “To His Coy Mistress” as the title of his poem, especially since the poem implies that the “mistress” is a virgin ripe for plucking. In today’s teachings, the common association with the term mistress is in reference to a woman having an affair with a married man. However, Marvell’s poem does not portray a mistress by modern day standards. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a mistress is “a female patron or inspirer of an art, religion, or way of life” (“Mistress”). Since the speaker is looking to pluck the virginity of the young woman, the definition would tend to lean more towards her religious leanings or way of life in 116 regards to her virginity. Fashioning his poem after Horace’s “Ode 1.11,” Marvell follows the typical scenario of an eager male lover lamenting to his female listener about the shortness of life as a way to convince her to comply with his sexual advances (Scruton). Although Marvell follows the form of Horace utilizing the “seize the day” mentality, the original interpretation of Horace’s poem differs from Marvell’s. The original meaning of Horace’s carpe diem is used to express the notion that one should enjoy life while one still has the ability to do so. In Horace’s “Ode 1.11,” he addresses Leuconoe, urging her to quit exploring astrological lore as a means of determining the number of years she and Horace have left to live (Grimm 313). Since Horace argues that Leuconoe should not look to pagan rituals as a means to predict the future, the inference is that the opposite is true, and that she should live her life in a virtuous manner following God’s law. Horace continues his chastisement reminding her that neither one of them had control over the past, nor do they have control over the future. The poem closes with Horace’s reminder to Leuconoe “that time is ever flying; therefore she should make the most of the present day, without concern for the morrow” (Grimm 313). In essence, Horace tells her to quit wasting her time wondering when her life will be over, but, instead, savor every moment in the present day. Tomorrow may never come, but worrying about how one’s days are numbered is what truly robs the individual of life. In Marvell’s poem “To His Coy Mistress,” he tailors the poem to focus on the carpe diem motif by using time and distance to convince the mistress to succumb to his sexual desires. The poem opens in true romantic form as the speaker tells his mistress of the life they could have, if only there was enough time: “Had we but world enough, and time, / This coyness, Lady, were no crime” (Marvell 1-2). The speaker tells his Lady that if they had all the time in the world, then her shyness would not be a crime. In addition, if they had all the time in the world, they could 117 take their time enjoying the simple pleasures in life. So long as they had each other, then that would be enough to sustain their love. Although the speaker starts out romantically, he subtly chastises his Lady for her “coyness” (2) insinuating that it is a “crime” (2) for her not to give of herself freely and completely. The speaker references geographic features in order to indicate distance, implying that the space between two of the world’s rivers—the Ganges (5) in India and the Humber (7) in Hull— is somehow comparative to the distance that he believes lies between them (Scruton). The speaker laments that if they had all the time in the world, he would love her slowly the way a woman deserves to be loved. The implication is that he already loves her, but he has not been given the opportunity to win her heart. However, when the speaker compares his love to the ever-widening gap between them, a sorrowful tone leads the reader to believe that she does not love him back and possibly never will, hence her “coyness” (2). The speaker switches back to the concept of time and states that he would “Love [her] ten years before the flood: / And [she] should if [she] please[s] refuse / Till the conversion of the Jews” (8-10). Marvell’s incorporation of biblical allusion to represent time insinuates that the speaker’s love for her is so powerful that it dates back to the days of the Great Flood, and that he would love her until the Jews convert (end of days). Marvell’s use of biblical allusion is ironic since the poem’s tone insinuates a lusty tone versus a pure, biblical love. The allusion emphasizes that their love moves at an infinitely slow rate, breaking the barriers of time and space, and, regardless as to whether the speaker wishes to bed the young maiden, he is actually taking his time and trying to court her. Marvell’s depiction of sex, or lack thereof, is a recurrent theme throughout the poem. He ironically embeds a phallic symbol directly after a biblical allusion, insinuating a mockery of the Church in regards to sex and marriage. The speaker argues that “[His] vegetable love should 118 grow / Vaster than empires, and more slow” (11-12). The meaning of the vegetable is two-fold, since it characterizes natural growth and represents a phallic symbol. The vegetable in Marvell’s time was characterized by natural growth; therefore, the vegetable love represents an organic love, a love without the pressure of anything but nature, a process that results into something nourishing, as the slow growth of a relationship. Since certain members of the vegetable kingdom are shaped like a specific part of the male anatomy, the phallic representation implies that the growth of his vegetable is, in fact, an erection. The speaker continues with the sexual innuendo as he praises her “eyes,” “forehead” (13), “breasts” (14), “the rest” (15) of her body, and her “heart” (18). If he had all the time in the world, he would devote thousands of years to praising her beauty, and after he did all of that, she would finally “show [him her] heart” (18). Even though the heart is typically coupled with the notion of love, one can deduce that with the previous phallic references, the opening of the heart is in reference to her baring it all and spreading her legs so that he can let her feel his “vegetable love” (11). Marvell’s second segment of the poem switches direction and reiterates that time is critical. The speaker’s tone changes to a more insistent or hasty tone in regards to love: “But at my back I always hear / Times wingèd chariot hurrying near” (21-22). The speaker previously stated that if they had all the time in the world, he could love her the way that she deserves to be loved, but now he says that there is not enough time to love her the way she deserves to be loved. He would love to court her and praise her, but time is running out, as evidenced by “times wingèd chariot” (22) looming closer. Time is personified, and the speaker feels as if time is actually pursuing him. Since time is running out, he states that everything before them is a “desert of vast eternity” (24). Like sand in the hourglass, the future seems endless; however, the sands of time eventually run dry and everyone dies. 119 The speaker, feeling that he is not swaying her opinion, switches tactics and uses a morbid tone in order to convince the young lady to throw caution to the wind and “seize the day.” He tells her that since death is inevitable, she will no longer be beautiful lying in her coffin as the worms try to steal her “[…] long preserved virginity: / And [her] quaint honor [will] turn to dust” (28-39). In order to convince her that she should give up her virginity before death, he insinuates that it would be better to give it freely to him rather than allow the worms to steal it from her. The speaker insists that she cannot take her virginity with her into the afterlife, and, if she tries to, then her “quaint honor” (29) (vagina) will return to the earth and she will never know the orgasmic pleasure of making love. Another interpretation could be that the speaker implies that when something remains unused for an extended period of time then it acquires dust; therefore, one should use items, in this case, her vagina, on a regular basis so that it stays in proper working order. When the speaker continues to get the “dust off,” he switches to a more violent tone, almost indicating a sadomasochistic approach to the relationship. Since romance, morbidity, and compliments have not worked, he results to violence to convince her of his love: “And now, like amorous birds of prey, / Rather at once our time devour, / Than languish in his slow-chapped power” (38-40). Since she is already sweaty, then the speaker suggests that they should make a “sport” (37) of their relationship, and that they should approach their lovemaking as fierce and as passionate as two birds hunting for their next meal. They should “devour” (39) one another so that they do not “languish” (40) in “time[s]” (39) inevitable grip. By devouring one another, they can escape the hold that time has on them, and because they have finally consummated their relationship, it does not matter what tomorrow has in store for them. He tones down his approach and continues his speech by telling her that they should “[…] roll all [their] strength, and all / 120 [Their] sweetness, up into one ball” (41-42). Since death will take them soon and they are not getting any younger, then they should stop fighting the inevitable and use all of their pent up energy and desires in a productive manner: sex. Marvell reinstates the violent imagery as the speaker notes that they should “[…] tear [their] pleasures with rough strife, / Through the iron gates of life” (43-44). By having sex, they can escape the prison of time and stop the inevitable, or at least level the playing field by accomplishing what they want to in life. The speaker suggests that they can use the difficulty and frustration of life to embrace the sexual experience, in effect, creating a level of exhilaration. Marvell closes the poem in the same manner with which he opened it—alluding to the concept of time. The speaker notes, “Thus, though we cannot make our sun / Stand still, yet we will make him run.” In Marvell’s time, the sun was thought to control time. The speaker implies that they may not be able to stop time, but they can have control over how they enjoy the time they have left. In the end, the speaker admits that sex is a compromise, and although they can’t stop time, they can make it go by faster by having sex. The allusion in these lines is in reference to Joshua making the sun stand still at the war of Gibeon. Marvell’s use of biblical allusion here and previously is a continual mockery to the chastity of virginity, a mockery that is continuously displayed throughout the poem as the speaker tries to convince the mistress that her ideals are obsolete and irrelevant in the face of death. Although the speaker really just wants to have sex, he also uses biblical language as a way to convince her that it would be okay if she would choose to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment. Marvell’s poem, “To His Coy Mistress,” is his most famous poem, and it does hold true to the later traditions of “seize the day” when referring to sex. However, in doing so, it criticizes the church and the Bible by devaluing one of the most fundamental principles—abstinence until 121 marriage. The speaker tries to convince the mistress that her choice to live a virtuous life is not worth a grain of sand, and, in turn, he insinuates that she should have promiscuous sex. Her virginity is worth nothing to her if she dies before anyone can taste her “sweetness” (42); therefore, she should “seize the day” and have as much sex as possible, because it will make her remaining days on earth go by more pleasantly. Although Marvell uses Horace’s model for fashioning his poem, the similarity ends there. Horace’s intention when writing his ode was to express the notion that people should “seize the day” and enjoy life while they still had the ability to do so. His original meaning had nothing to do with sex. Horace believed that Leuconoe should quit wasting time looking to the stars to explain when her life would end, but, instead, she should use every waking moment to cherish the life that she already had. However, Marvell’s poem argues that “life is short and uncertain, so one must partake of all the pleasures one can” (Scruton). Marvell uses his “seize the day” mentality as a way to seduce a young woman out of her virginity. The speaker does not really love her; he just tries to convince her that he does, so that he can “get laid.” Although the poem was written in the seventeenth century, it does mirror the promiscuous behavior that is evidenced in modern day society, mainly because society’s view of carpe diem is the one that Marvell promotes rather than the meaning that Horace intended. 122 Works Cited “Carpe Diem.” Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Encyclopedia Britannica Inc., 2012. Web. 2 December 2012. Grimm, R. E. “Horace’s ‘Carpe Diem.’” The Classical Journal 58.7 (1963): 313-18. JSTOR. Web. 2 December 2012. Marvell, Andrew. “To His Coy Mistress.” Masters of British Literature. Ed. David Damrosch and Kevin J.H. Dettmar. Vol. A. New York: Pearson Longman, 2008. 922-923. Print. “mistress.” OED: Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford University Press, 2012. Web. 2 December 2012. Scruton, James. “To His Coy Mistress.” Masterplots, Fourth Edition (2010): 1-3. Literary Reference Center. Web. 2 December 2012. 123 NATIONAL UNDERGRADUATE LITERATURE CONFERENCE Reflections of the Past: Yusef Komunyakaa’s Use of Concrete Imagery in “Facing It” Brandy R. Williams I have never been in battle or seen someone die by my own hand, and I have never watched a friend breathe his/her last breath due to the atrocities of war. However, I know what seeing horrific images can do to one’s psyche. As a military medic, I watched people die and was unable to save them. I have seen the carnage that people inflict upon one another, and many of those images haunt me: images of bodies disfigured in train accidents, bodies thrown from moving cars, and bodies burnt beyond recognition. At times, I find myself reflecting upon the images that haunt me when I least expect it. Flashbacks caused by post-traumatic stress disorder are difficult, but I find that by writing about my traumatic past that I have created a safe zone in which healing can occur. 124 Yusef Komunyakaa has also chosen writing as a therapeutic tool. He uses writing “not as an escape” (qtd. in Secher) but as a means to confront his traumatic past. His Vietnam experience was so disturbing that it took him fourteen years post-war to write about it. His second wartime and most anthologized poem, “Facing It,” depicts an African American Veteran who visits the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. Komunyakaa uses "Facing It" as a conduit for reflection-both literally and figuratively. Employing simple, concrete imagery, he examines a veteran's struggle with discrimination and the psychological struggle associated with post-traumatic stress disorder. Through reflection on the wall and in the poem, the veteran/poet emerges as a damaged but changed individual who ultimately realizes he is stronger because of the hardships he has endured. Komunyakaa sets the tone of the poem by establishing race and a psychological struggle from the onset. The speaker notes that “[His] black face fades, / hiding inside the black granite” (1-2). The black man’s face fading into the stone is literally his reflection in the stone. Because the stone and the face are of the same color, it is difficult for the speaker to see his reflection, and he feels invisible. He blends into his surroundings by becoming a fixture, just like the wall itself. Komunyakaa uses an embedded metaphor to introduce the speaker’s psychological struggle. The “black face” (1) and “the black granite” (2) are the same thing and both share a commonality; they both have the scars of war etched on their faces, and, in turn, they have become historians who have witnessed the casualties of war. Komunyakaa gradually increases the emotional instability of the speaker using imagery, metaphors, and caesuras. When the speaker struggles to keep his composure while observing the memorial, he becomes emotional: “I said I wouldn’t / dammit: No tears. / I’m stone. I’m flesh” (3-5). The speaker has unresolved issues and tries to convince himself to stay strong, and he 125 reminds himself that he promised that he would not cry. The poet implies that crying is for weak people and that strong people maintain composure, even under the most arduous situations. He immediately changes course, weaving his imagery into a metaphor, when he references “stone” and “flesh” (5). Whereas the poet previously used an embedded metaphor, he now states definitively that the speaker is the wall: “I’m stone” (5). The speaker’s internal conflict is noted by his immediate retraction: “I’m flesh” (5). The man is trying to remain hard and indifferent to his emotions; however, he becomes overwhelmed and admits that—no, he is really flesh. Komunyakaa also uses caesuras to mimic the psychological struggle of the speaker. The endstops noted after “dammit,” “tears” (4), “stone,” and “flesh” (5) increase the speaker’s level of frustration. It is a powerful staccato effect. The quick jerking movement of the lines linguistically mirrors the constant war that wages within the speaker. Komunyakaa continues to intensify the speaker’s emotional instability through imagery and a simile. While staring at the wall, the speaker notes, “My clouded reflection eyes me / like a bird of prey, the profile of night / slanted against morning. […]” (6-8). Comparing his own eyes to those of a bird of prey, the speaker sees his eyes staring back at him. The watchfulness of his eyes leaves him feeling trapped, and he is unable to separate himself from the wall in order to break free from the danger that awaits him. Komunyakaa switches tactics and strategically places words to draw the reader into the speaker’s struggle. The speaker notes that when he turns one way, “the stone lets [him] go” (9), and he feels free, but when he turns back towards the wall, “[he’s] inside / the Vietnam Veterans Memorial / again” (10-12). Depending on the direction in which he turns will determine whether he can see his own reflection, which is what makes him feel trapped in the first place. The poet’s strategic placement of “turn” at the end of line 8 forces the reader to turn with the line itself. He 126 mimics the action in line 10, and the reader is forced into the opposite direction. The constant back and forth with the play of words verbally draws the reader into the struggle that the speaker is experiencing. Komunyakaa changes the direction of the poem by providing evidence for the speaker’s mental instability, as well as reinvigorating the poem with the theme of discrimination. The speaker gazes upon the wall, and he notes that “[He] go[es] down the 58,022 names, / halfexpecting to find / [his] own in letters like smoke” (14-16). The definitive number is very impersonal, as if the speaker is trying to detach himself. Looking at the names, he expects he will find his own. He cannot understand how he is still alive, and he fails to realize that he is experiencing survivor’s guilt. Finally, he spots one that is all too familiar: “I touch the name Andrew Johnson; / I see the booby trap’s white flash” (17-18). Touching the name creates a concrete identity for the reader. It also constructs a bridge to the speaker’s subconscious, and images of the soldier’s death begin to emerge. Komunyakaa’s allusion to the name Andrew Johnson revives the discriminatory component. Although Andrew Johnson was a member of Komunyakaa’s unit, the name was also that of the seventeenth President of the United States, and he was responsible for denying freed slaves equal rights by denying the Civil Rights Bill of 1866. The historical component implies that black men are still denied the same rights as White Americans over a century later, despite the fact that black soldiers fought and died defending the idea of freedom. Komunyakaa reminds the reader that the roots of discrimination span generations, and that he suffers discrimination as his ancestors did. Komunyakaa abruptly halts the speaker’s flashback by casually introducing a woman that is unaffected by the speaker’s turmoil. Disrupted by her intrusion, he notes that “Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse / but when she walks away / the names stay on the wall” (19-21). 127 Komunyakaa’s use of imagery when describing the names on the “blouse” (19) not only shows the reader how reflective the wall is, but it also reflects the ability of the reader or the woman to walk away casually from the poem/wall, as if unaffected by the speaker’s struggles. The speaker is unable to comprehend how she can move about so freely. Whereas the speaker felt trapped by the wall earlier, this woman has a freedom that the speaker does not. He feels shackled to the stone itself, haunted by images of the dead, and he does not understand how she is unaffected, as if she, herself, is stone—hard and insensitive. The speaker’s irritability intensifies, and he is, once again, distracted by a reflection, one that draws him back into the wall: “Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s / wings cutting across my stare. / The sky. A plane in the sky” (22-24). Looking at the reflection in the wall, the speaker sees the sky and then a plane. The plane in the sky literally represents an airplane, which is a sensory image that triggers a flashback: “A white vet’s image floats / closer to me […]” (25-26). The plane figuratively denotes a level of existence, and, in the speakers case, it is a liminal state between life and death, one that borders his own hell. Because of this notion, he finds himself trapped between the past and the present. Just like the fragility of the bird, the fragility of his mind makes him unable to control the images that haunt him. Komunyakaa reinstates the theme of discrimination through the words “black” (1,2) and “white” (18, 25). Twice within the context of the poem, “white” has been used, and twice within the context of the poem, “black” has been used. By introducing the words “black” and “white” into the poem, the poet invites the reader to reassess the societal norms of “white” (18, 25) versus “black” (1, 2). When he uses the word “black” (1, 2), it is in reference to the “black face” (1) and the “black granite” (2), both of which are pleasing images, but when he uses the word “white” (18, 25), he uses it in a negative connotation. Both times that the word “white” (18, 25) 128 is mentioned is in reference to death: “[…] the booby trap’s white flash” (18) and “A white vet’s image” (25). By associating the word “white” with death, the poet reiterates that although man may discriminate against individuals because of race or color, death does not discriminate. The suffering that occurred during Vietnam spanned both ends of the racial spectrum. His contrast of “black” (1) and “white” (18) continues as it, in turn, mirrors life and death. By attaching death to the “white” (18, 25) images, it reinforces the fact that his “black face” (1) is very much alive. Komunyakaa continues with the psychological theme and elaborates on the death of the white vet: “[…] then his pale eyes / look through mine. I’m a window” (26-27). When the dead vet drifts closer, the speaker realizes that the vet is not looking at him but through him. The window literally represents a clear, glass object that can retain anonymity through invisibility, a trait that the speaker still struggles with. However, the window is also representative of a bridge, a transition that links the speaker’s past and present. Depending on which side of the window an individual stands determines his/her viewpoint: life or death, the black man or the white vet. Still trying to reconcile his own mortality, the speaker notes that the vet has “[…] lost his right arm / inside the stone […]” (28-29). The apparition inside the stone is a comrade that the speaker saw lose his arm in battle and who later died from exsanguination. The arm lost inside the stone is also representative of the speaker’s mental instability. He feels split inside, half stone and half flesh. The vet is halfway inside and halfway outside of the stone, which mimics the speaker’s internal conflict. The image also presents a concrete image of the liminal state in which the speaker is trapped. The poem shifts and diminishes in intensity, culminating into a peaceful resolution. The speaker tries to distinguish between fact and fiction: “[…] In the black mirror / a woman’s trying to erase names” (29-30). Whereas the speaker is trying to confront his past, the woman believes 129 she can erase the past. But when the speaker changes his viewpoint, he sees something different from what he first imagined: “No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair” (31). Changing position allows the speaker to change his position on life. Where he has been in turmoil for the duration of the poem—constantly struggling in and out of the horrific images of death—he now realizes how faulty his vision truly is, since he thought that a woman’s display of affection was actually a misguided attempt to erase the past. The level of understanding that the speaker incurs in this moment is monumental, as is the wall itself. The Memorial Wall was designed not only to be literally reflective, but also it was meant to allow individuals the opportunity to reflect on the war, as well as on life. In the moment that the speaker recognizes the woman’s act of love and kindness, he has accomplished the meaning of the wall. By switching his position, he has stepped out of the realm of death and into the world of life. Komunyakaa uses writing as an effective therapeutic tool to confront his traumatic past and to reflect upon his anger, so, that he, in turn, can remain a peaceful person (qtd. in Secher). His imagery in “Facing It” is simple but profound, and it captures the struggle that the veteran/poet faces on a daily basis when dealing with discrimination and the psychological struggle associated with war. The poem intensifies from a somber tone and ends on a redemptive note, as evidenced by the chaos and violence surrounding the speaker throughout the poem. The speaker emerges as a damaged but stronger individual, and he no longer recognizes only the negative aspects of life, for he realizes that love and kindness still exist. By solidifying his memories on the page, Komunyakaa has been able to accomplish the true meaning of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, a reflection on the war and on life. Writing helps me separate what I saw from the constructed memories that my mind uses to trick me. The man hit by the train was tossed into the air and dropped onto the ground. I 130 understand that the impact of the train instantly detached his brainstem, and his pain ended quickly. And the woman thrown from the moving car like a sack of garbage—well, the ants that crawled from every orifice did not harm her cold, dead body. The man in the burning plane cried out for me to save him as flesh melted off his bones, but I could not have saved him since the autopsy showed that he broke every bone on impact; therefore, he could not call out to me. I know all of these things, yet my mind still tries to trick me; however, writing about such tragedies dulls the pain, and the images that find their way into my thoughts do so less frequently. I am thankful that the ink on the page is far more honest than the words I speak. Moreover, by writing about my traumatic past, I too, have been able to channel my anger in a more constructive way and to allow the dead to rest. Works Cited Ekiss, Robin. “Yusef Komunyakaa: ‘Facing It’.” Poetryfoundation.org. Poetry Foundation, 2012. Web. 12 November 2012. Komunyakaa, Yusef. “Facing It.” [1988]. Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry. 5th ed. Ed. David Mason and John Frederick Nims. Boston, MA: McGraw-Hill, 2006. 537538. Print. Secher, Benjamin. “Hay Nairobi: Yusuf Komunyakaa ‘You Have to Embrace Mystery’.” Telegraph.co.uk. Telegraph Media Group Limited, 2013. Web. 22 March 2013. 131 Starved Mind, Starved Spirit: “A Hunger Artist” Randall Johnston Franz Kafka belongs to the institution of writers known as the Modernists. On a superficial level, Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” complies with the traditions of the Modernist institution. The story presents a cynical view of social ambition through the anonymous artist’s inability to recapture the public eye. Studies on Kafka’s home life and in particular his relationship with his father present the reader with enough evidence to argue that “A Hunger Artist” is Kafka’s account of his struggles as an artist. However, Kafka draws upon his background as a Czech Jew to infuse “A Hunger Artist” with allusions to the Jewish belief system. Therefore, a widely agreed upon interpretation of Franz Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” has continually eluded literary scholars due to the antagonistic relationship between Kafka’s use of religious symbolism and the Modernist institution. The reader must have an understanding of the 132 Kafkaesque perspective in order to interpret the underlying message of Kafka’s story: man, represented by the artist, hungers for spiritual transcendence in a materialistic world. The Modernist movement marked the transition from the tropes of 19th century art and literature to an avant-guard approach (Kirschen, “Modernism”) due to the belief that the current European society had grown stagnant with corruption (Rodriguez, “History of Modernism”). Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” focuses on the struggle between the disciples of Modernism and a materialistic society. Symbolism is the keystone element that allows Kafka’s tale to be labeled as Modernist literature (“A Hunger Artist Symbolism, Imagery & Allegory”). Many interpretations of the tale dissect the symbols within the story according to the theories of the persona and collective unconscious by Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic theory. Jung’s studies on the mind provided a foundation for the Modernist disdain for hypocrisy by presenting the concept of a persona, or the image seen by the public (Coon and Mitterer 473). According to Jung, the hidden face is found within the mental vault known as the collective unconscious (473). Freud provides a more in-depth dissection of Jung’s persona though psychoanalytic theory (469). Psychoanalytic theory divides the mind into three entities—the id, ego, and superego— which act as personality moderators (469). The personality moderators described by psychoanalytic theory provide the psychosemiotic interpretation of Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” (Naz 65). The psychosemiotic perspective combines the field of semiotics, or the theory of symbolism’s function, and Freud’s psychoanalytic theory (65). Naz argues that symbols and signs found within Kafka’s story must be interpreted according to the constructs of the id, ego, and superego (67). The construct of the id interacts with the individual’s basic needs for pleasure and survival (67). Therefore, the id is concerned with the physical world (67). In contrast, the ego interacts with the rules and social 133 norms governing the world around the individual (67). The superego moderates the individual’s thoughts and actions so that both are in agreement with the conscience (67). The conscience acts as a mental repository of past actions and provides the superego with an account of past actions that resulted in punishment (Coon and Mitterer 470). Naz states that symbols are redolent in Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” in the form of signifiers, which represent different aspects of reality through objects unrelated to their assigned aspect of reality (67). The signifiers indicate interplay between Kafka’s own id, ego, and superego necessary to understanding the underlying meaning of the story (67). Naz identifies five signifiers within the story—the circus, the hunger artist, food, clocks, and heaven—that, according to psychosemiotic perspective, indicate the hunger artist’s desire to reach a transcendental state (70). The first signifier, the circus, is closely connected with the id in that it symbolizes 19th century European society’s preoccupation with satisfying its base urges (68). The character of the hunger artist serves as a signifier tightly linked with the concept of the ego (70). Rather than being a purely spiritual or purely base, impulsive signifier, the hunger artist embodies an awareness of biological and spiritual needs (70). The signifier of the food acts as a bridge between Kafka’s ego and superego in that the food symbolizes the hunger artist’s realization that carnal nourishment—encouraged by the id—cannot provide the transcendental nourishment that the artist seeks (70). The influence of Kafka’s own superego on Naz’s interpretation of “A Hunger Artist” is symbolized by the development of the hunger artist’s superego (69). The signifiers of clocks and heaven encourage the hunger artist to embrace his superego and make the move toward ego ideal of spiritual transcendence (69). The signifier of the clock symbolizes the unyielding flow of time, which presents the hunger artist with a limited timeframe in which to attain the transcendental 134 nourishment he seeks (70). The need to transcend to a greater state of spirituality provides the hunger artist with the motivation to continue his fasting in a symbolic denial of the base pleasures encouraged by the id (71). The symbol of time—present through the signifier of the clocks—becomes less specific over the duration of the story (72). The signifier of heaven symbolizes the hunger artist’s desire for transcendence that seizes the artist’s thoughts toward the end of his career, as indicated by the artist’s inability to find a food that suites his tastes (70). The artist’s superego becomes concerned with finding purpose in a materialistic world represented by the first signifier of the circus (70). Naz bases his analysis of the hunger artist’s id, ego, and superego on Kafka’s own psychoanalytic constructs (70). The hunger artist’s struggle to transcend his id and ego in order to attain his ego ideal of purpose mirrors Kafka’s spiritual beliefs (70). Throughout his life, Kafka harbored a sense of guilt toward the concept of original sin (70). Thus, Naz argues that Kafka’s desire to transcend the weighty burden of original sin is mirrored in the actions of the hunger artist as society loses interest in his performance (70). Naz’s interpretation of Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” relies heavily on Kafka’s own spiritual beliefs fostered by the author’s Jewish heritage (70). While the psychoanalytic constructs necessary to understand the story carry spiritual connotations—especially the concept of the ego ideal—the field of psychology stands apart from spirituality in that psychology’s principles are quantified through empirical evidence (Peterson 11). The psychosemiotic analysis of the symbols is firmly rooted in psychoanalytic theory, and thus rooted in science (Coon and Mitterer 46). Efraim Sicher’s analysis of Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” similarly places a great deal of importance on the presence of symbols within the story (3). In contrast to Bushra Naz’s emphasis on psychoanalytic theory, Sicher asserts that a deeper exploration of the Jewish belief system is 135 essential to understanding the parable behind Kafka’s story (3). Sicher’s basis for a spiritual approach to Kafka’s work is derived from Robert Alter’s supposition that Kafka infuses his works with the nihilistic perspective common to the Modernists and a fragmented sense of spirituality (3). In the past Kafka has been compared to Rabbi Nachman in that both wrote stories—“The Judgement” and “The Rabbi’s Son” respectively—that twisted scripture to create tales of desecration (Sicher 4). Furthermore Kafka and Nachman tackle similar themes in regards to overcoming spiritual turmoil (4), such as the need to atone for the original sin as symbolized through Kafka’s character of the hunger artist (Naz 70).Thus Sicher assets that an interpretation of Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” depends on an understanding of Nachman’s “The Parable of the Turkey” (Sicher 5). Sicher argues that the point of convergence between Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” and Nachman’s “The Parable of the Turkey” is found in their shared use of symbolism (5). The hunger artist continued to practice his art despite its drop in popularity (5). Two symbols within Kafka’s story—the clock and the cage—which represent time, lose their meaning as the artist continues his fast (5). Sicher states that the artist’s self-denial allows the artist to maintain the integrity of his art and his being (5). Nachman’s protagonist, a prince who strips bare and hides under a table with the belief that he is a turkey, is coaxed out of his nude seclusion by a Wise Man (5). The Wise Man gradually introduces the nude prince to individual articles of clothing (5). As He gave the prince a piece of clothing, the Wise Man assured the prince that he was still a turkey (5). At the conclusion, the prince decided that he was human after all (5). The articles of clothing given by Nachman’s Wise Man in “The Parable of the Turkey” symbolize fragmented pieces of the human soul (Sicher 6). The act of offering the prince his 136 symbolic soul propels the Wise Man into a role similar to the role of transcendence in Naz’s interpretation of “A Hunger Artist.” Just as the concept of transcendence is symbolized by the signifier of heaven (Naz 70), the Wise Man is analogous to God in Kafka’s own quest for forgiveness of the original sin (Sicher 10). The act of symbolic healing accomplished in Nachman’s story is mirrored in the hunger artist’s decision to fast for forty days (10). The duration of the fast implies a desire for spiritual healing courtesy of Moses or Jesus, who are symbolized by the Wise Man (10). However, the prince in Nachman’s story experienced a culmination of his healing through a literal reconciliation with his father, whereas a sense of reconciliation—physically and in terms of transcendence—eluded the hunger artist (10). The disconnection between the hunger artist and his audience reflects Kafka’s own sense of disconnection with the materialistic world of 19th century Europe (10). Thus despite the dissonance between Naz’s secular approach to “A Hunger Artist” and Sicher’s spiritually grounded approach, both provide a complete understanding of the message behind “A Hunger Artist.” The perspectives of Naz and Sicher taken together exemplify the concept of a Kafkaesque approach that embraces the Modernist philosophy of nihilism and a spiritual perspective considered to be illogical by Modernist philosophy (“Kafkaesque”). The secular approach provides evidence for an interpretation of “A Hunger Artist” as Kafka’s desire to attain the ego-ideal of transcendence beyond the corrupt, materialistic nature of 19th century European society. Similarly, the spiritual approach employs Kafka’s background as a Czech Jew and comparisons with parables from a figurehead of Judaism to provide evidence for the interpretation of “A Hunger Artist” as a parable for Kafka’s desire to reach an elusive state of spiritual transcendence: the forgiveness of original sin. 137 Works Cited “A Hunger Artist Symbolism, Imagery & Allegory.” Shmoop.com. Shmoop University, Inc., 11 Nov. 2008. Web. 5 Dec. 2012. Coon, Dennis and John Mitterer. Introduction to Psychology: Gateways to Mind and Behavior. Belmont: Thomson Higher Education, 2007. Print. Kirschen, Robert M. “Modernism.” World Literature. University of Nevada, Las Vegas . n.d. Web. 21 Nov. 2012. Naz, Bushra. “Hope of Death as the Possibility of Life: A Psycosemiotic Reading of Franz Kafka’s The Hunger Artist as the Narrative of Existence into Non Being.” Pakistan Journal of Social Sciences (PJSS) 31.1 (2011): 65-77. Print. Peterson, Christopher. A Primer in Positive Psychology. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Print. Rodriguez, Ninon. “History of Modernism.” Humanities. Miami Dade College. n.d. Web. 21 Nov. 2012 Sicher, Efraim. “Kafka’s Panther and Rabbi Nachman’s Turkey: The Parable of a Parable in A Hunger Artist.” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies 3.1 (2004): 3-15. Print. 138 FOREIGN LANGUAGE SPANISH Invertir ahora es una Gran Oportunidad Joseph LaCaze Para muchas personas, la caída del mercado de acciones es un gran problema que va a hacer mucho daño a sus carteras de inversiones. Pero, para nosotros jóvenes, es la oportunidad ideal para empezar a investir. La crisis de Wall Street de los últimos meses ha generado entre las personas mucho pánico. No podemos tener miedo del mercado y recordarse la época de los 1930s. Necesitamos aprovechar la situación de los precios bajos e aprender los detalles sobre el mercado. Iniciar su cartera de inversiones ahora es la mejor cosa que usted puede hacer para su futuro. El tiempo es su mejor amigo si usted inicia una cartera mientras joven. Las posibilidades del crecimiento de su cartera son aumentadas con una mayor cantidad de tiempo. Si usted pregunta a alguien con una edad mayor, normalmente va a decirle que si pudiera volver atrás en el tiempo, hubiera iniciado su cartera mientras joven. Hay muchos caminos que puede seguir para iniciar una cartera. Lo más fácil es de abrir una cuenta de ahorros. Simplemente visite su banco y habla con un empleado del banco. El dará explicación de como funciona la cuenta de ahorros. Pero, en mi opinión no debería poner su 139 dinero en una cuenta de ahorros porque la tasa de interés a veces es menor que la inflación. La próxima opción es un depósito a plazo fijo. También puede encontrar esto en su banco. La razón que no me gusta el plazo fijo es porque su dinero tiene que permanecer en el banco dependiendo del termo de su contrato de plazo fijo. Si usted decide tomar su dinero antes del fin del plazo, puede correr riesgo: se paga una multa. Las cuentas de mercado monetario son otra opción que puede escoger. Las cuentas del mercado monetario son una alternativa mejor que una cuenta de ahorros. Ahora, después de hablar sobre tres caminos de invertir su dinero, voy a hablar sobre mis opciones favoritas. La primera es un fondo de inversión colectivo. En un fondo colectivo, una compañía de inversiones recoge dinero de varias personas para invertir en un grupo de otras compañías. Esto es una buena opción para empezar su cartera de inversiones. Con un fondo de inversión colectivo, usted paga a un profesional para administrar su cuenta. La tasa de administración por el servicio, varía de un a cinco por ciento. Con el fondo, puede entrar en el mercado sin ningún dolor de cabeza. Cuando usted tenga preguntas o dudas, puede hablar con su consejero de finanzas. El puede sentarse con usted y responder a sus preguntas y conversar sobre sus dudas. Una otra opción para invertir en un fondo de inversión colectivo es por medio de su trabajo. Si su empleo ofrece el programa 401(k), esto es, en mi opinión, el mejor camino para invertir su dinero. El dinero que usted pone en un 401(k) no llevan un impuesto. Los impuestos son cobrados solamente cuando usted se jubila. A veces su empleador iguala un porcentaje de su contribución a su 401(k). Hay otros programas de jubilación como un IRA pero el 401(k) tiene un límite mayor de $15,500. 140 El IRA también es otro programa de jubilación que le permite invertir en un fondo de inversión. Hay dos tipos de IRA: un IRA tradicional y un “Roth IRA.” El IRA tradicional ofrece la posibilidad de una deducción fiscal para disminuir su impuesto sobre la renta, mientras con el Roth IRA no hay deducción fiscal pero la distribución es libre de impuestos. La última opción es que usted invierte su dinero directamente en el mercado de acciones. El riesgo que usted tomará una decisión mala es grande pero las ganancias también pueden ser mayores. Lo malo de esta opción es que usted no tiene una manera de escapar del impuesto como con un 401(k) o IRA. Hay mucha información en el internet y en las bibliotecas que puede obtener para aumentar su conocimiento del mercado de acciones. La oportunidad para iniciar una buena cartera de inversiones está aquí y deberíamos aprovechar la situación. Investing Now Is a Great Opportunity To many people, the drop in the stock market is an enormous problem which is causing much damage to their investment portfolios. On the other hand, for us young adults, this is the ideal opportunity to begin investing. The crisis in Wall Street these past couple of months has generated lots of panic among people. We should not fear the market and relive the depression of the 1930s. We should take advantage of the situation and learn the ins and outs of the stock market. Starting your investment portfolio now is the best thing you could do for your future. Time is your best friend if you begin a portfolio while young. The possibility of your portfolio growing in value increases with the length of your time horizon. If you ask someone of an older 141 age, normally they will tell you that if they could go back in time, they would have begin investing at an early age. There are many paths that you can follow to begin saving. The easiest to open is a savings account. Simply visit your bank and speak to a representative of the bank. The bank representative will then explain to you all the details of a savings account. Unfortunately, in my opinion, you should not put large amounts of your money in a savings account since the interest rate is usually lower than inflation. The next option is a certificate of deposit (CDs). You can also find this at your local bank. The reason I do not care for CDs is your money is stuck with the bank for as long as the term of the contract lasts. If you decide to withdraw your money, you run the risk of having to pay penalties. Money market accounts are another option that is available for you to choose. Money market accounts are, in my opinion, a little better than savings accounts. Now, after briefly speaking of three options for you to invest your money, I will go over my favorite options. The first is a mutual fund. In a mutual fund, an investment brokerage firm collects money from various people and makes a “group” investment into many companies. This is a great way to begin your investment portfolio. With a mutual fund, you pay for a professional to manage your investment. The rate for administration runs from 1% to 5%. With a mutual fund, you can enter the market without worrying about any headaches. Whenever you have any questions or doubts, you can speak to your financial advisor. Your financial advisor will answer your questions and talk about any of your doubts or fears. Another way to invest in a mutual fund is through your employer. If your employer offers a 401(k), this is, in my opinion, the best path to take to invest your money. The money you put 142 into a 401(k) is not taxed. It is only taxed when you retire or withdraw the money. Sometimes your employer may even match a percentage of your contribution to your 401(k). There are other retirement accounts available such as an IRA, but the 401(k) has a larger contribution limit set at $15,500. An IRA is also another retirement program that you can use to invest in mutual funds. There are two types of IRA’s: A Traditional IRA and a Roth IRA. The traditional IRA offers the possibility of a tax break to lower your income tax but with the Roth IRA there are no tax breaks, although the distributions are tax free. The last option is that you invest your money directly into the stock market. The risk of making a bad decision is high but the chance of receiving larger returns is higher. Unfortunately there are no tax advantages to this option. There is lots of information on the internet and in libraries that you can use to increase your knowledge of the stock market. The opportunity to begin a great investment portfolio is here and we should take advantage of the situation! 143 El Amor es esencial en la vida Laura Cunningham En mi vida, hay muchas cosas que me hacen feliz. Yo amo a mi madre, mi novio, mi familia, mi perra, y mis amigos. Ellos me hacen muy feliz todos los días. Mi madre es mi mejor amiga en el mundo. Nosotros pasamos mucho tiempo juntos y con nuestra familia. Yo puedo hablar a mi madre sobre cualquier cosa. Ella es muy inteligente y ella me entiende. Es muy fácil para mí hablar a mi madre. Yo recuerdo cuando nosotros pasamos tiempo juntas en la playa. La playa estaba muy bonita y limpia. Nosotros jugamos todos los días en la arena pero estaba muy caliente a mis pies. También, nosotros nadamos en el mar durante mucho tiempo en la playa pero las ondas estaban muy grandes y fuertes. Nosotros hablamos sobre muchas cosas y bebimos muchas margaritas en el sol. Los tiempos que nosotros pasamos en la playa son muy especiales para mí. Mi madre y yo no tenemos ninguna tensión en nuestra relación. Ella es mi sistema de apoyo y ella dirige mi vida en la dirección del éxito. 144 Mi familia es muy grande. Mis abuelos maternos tienen seis niños y todos sus niños tienen niños también. Yo amo a mi familia mucho. Yo paso mucho tiempo con mis primos y mis tías. Nosotros pasamos tiempos buenos juntos. Nosotros vamos a la casa de Granny y Papa para las fiestas. Cuando usted entra en la casa, usted puede sentir el amor alrededor de usted. Me gusta ver a mí familia porque me hacen feliz. Mi familia entera es muy importante para mí. Ellos me apoyan en todo lo que hago. Su apoyo es muy importante para mí porque esto me da la confianza de hacer cualquier cosa. Los animales traen la felicidad a la vida de todos. Yo tengo una perra pequeña y ella es el mejor animal doméstico del mundo. Su nombre es Dutchess. Amo a mi cachorra pequeña mucho. Ella siempre me hace sonreír. Cuando me siento triste, ella me hace sentirme feliz. Yo camino con ella cada día. Dutchess me ayuda a apreciar la vida y la naturaleza. Si hay felicidad y un espíritu alegre es imposible estar triste o enfadado. En otras palabras, ella es mi luz del sol durante un día nublado. Mi novio, Travis, es el amor de mi vida. Él es un amigo muy bueno y especial. Nosotros hemos estado juntos por seis años. Todos los días no son perfectos pero nosotros nos amamos el uno al otro. Nosotros luchábamos todos los días y yo gritaba a él mucho. En el año pasado, nos decidimos separarnos. Yo creía que nuestra relación y nuestra amistad habían terminado por siempre. Pero yo me equivoqué. Nos hemos reunido y nosotros estamos muy felices otra vez. Ahora, yo comprendo que si su relación no está bien, no deberíamos abandonar a nuestro novio o novia. No hay ningun problema sin solución. Deberíamos permanecer fuertes. Deberíamos intentar hacerse felices el uno al otro. Usted nunca sabe lo que usted tiene hasta que usted lo pierda. Entonces, usted debería tratar de sobreponerse a las diferencias en su relación. 145 Si hay amor en su vida, usted puede tener una vida muy feliz. El amor puede liberar a usted. El amor es una necesidad para la felicidad. Hay muchas personas en el mundo que no tienen amor en su vida. Muchas personas nunca han sentido el calor del tacto de su madre. Muchas nunca se han enamorado. Sin amor, su corazón sería frío y solo. Si no hubiera amor en mi vida, yo estaría muy triste. Mi vida estaría muy diferente. Yo no sonreiría nunca. Mi corazón sería vacío. Toda la alegría que tengo en mi vida desaparecería. Sin amor, mi vida estaría nada sino una pérdida de tiempo. Love is Essential in Life In my life, there are many things that make me happy. I love my mother, my boyfriend, my family, my dog, and my friends. They make me happy every day. My mother is my best friend in the whole world. We spend a lot of time together and with our family. I can talk to my mother about anything. She is very smart and she understands me. It is very easy for me to talk to my mother. I remember when we spent time together on the beach. The beach was very pretty and clean. We played all of the days in the sand, but it was very hot to my feet. Also, we swam in the ocean for a long of time at the beach, but the waves were very big and strong. We talked about a lot of things and we drank many margaritas in the sun. The times we spent on the beach are very special to me. My mother and I do not have any tension in our relationship. She is my support system and she guides my life in the direction of success. My family is very big. My maternal grandparents have six children and all of their children have children too. I love my family a lot. I spend a lot of time with my cousins and my aunts. We spend a lot of good times together. We go to Granny and Papa’s for parties. When you come in the house, you can feel the love around you. I love to see my family because they make 146 me happy. My whole family is very important to me. They support me in everything that I do. Their support is very important to me because it gives me the confidence to do anything. Animals bring happiness to the lives of all. I have a small dog and she is the best pet in the whole world. Her name is Dutchess. I love my little puppy a lot. She always makes me smile. When I feel sad, she makes me feel happy. I walk with her every day. Dutchess helps me appreciate life and nature. Her happiness and joyful spirit make it impossible to be sad or mad. In other words, she is my sunshine on a cloudy day. My boyfriend, Travis, is the love of my life. He is a very good and special friend. We have been together for six years. All of the days are not perfect but we love each other. We were fighting every day and I yelled at him a lot. Last year, we decided to separate. I thought that our relationship and our friendship would be over forever. But I was mistaken. We have reunited and we are very happy again. Now, I understand that if your relationship is not well, you should not abandon your boyfriend or girlfriend. There are no problems without a solution. People should remain steadfast. They should try to make each other happy. You never know what you have until you lose it, so you should try to sort out the differences in your relationship. If there is love in your life, you can have a very happy life. Love can make you free. Love is a necessity for your happiness. There are many people around the world who do not have love in their lives. Many people have never felt the warm touch of their mother. Many have never fallen in love. Without love, your heart would be cold and lonely. If there is no love in my life, I would be very sad. My life would be very different. I would never smile. My heart would be empty. All of the joy that I have in my life would disappear. Without love, my life would be nothing but a waste of time. 147 Los Fines de Semana en Spring Bayou Donovan Clark Vivo en Marksville, Louisiana. A mis amigos y a mí nos gusta ir a Spring Bayou los fines de semana. Nosotros andamos en barco y pescamos durante el día. Preparamos comida en la noche. Tomamos cerveza y hacemos un fuego después de cenar. Luego, nosotros jugamos a los dardos y capturamos unas ranas toros. Decimos ¡agarralo! cuando una rana es muy grande. Tenemos cuidado con las víboras y los aligátores largos. Weekends in Spring Bayou I live in Marksville, Louisiana. My friends and I like to go to Spring Bayou on the weekend. In the day, we go fishing in the boat. We prepare food at night. We drink beer and make a fire after supper. Later, we play darts and catch bullfrogs. We say “catch it!” when a frog is really big. We are careful of vipers and large alligators. 148 Hola Padre! Christopher Cather 21 de enero, 2009 Hola Padre, Estoy pasando las vacaciones de Navidad en mi casa. Vamos a reunirnos todos para celebrar la fiesta: abuela, mamá, mi padrastro, mi hermana y mi hermano. En total seremos seis personas. Siempre lo paso genial en mi casa y estas Navidades serán especiales parque toda la familia va a estar junta. Te deseo una Feliz Navidad y un Feliz Año Nuevo, Padre! Sam Cannon 555 Main Street Winsboro, TX Christopher January 21, 2009 Hello Dad, I am spending my Christmas vacation at my house. These family members are going to be there: my grandmother, my mom, my stepdad, and my sister and brother. There will be six people in total. We always have fun in my house and Christmas time will be special because all the family is going to be there. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year Dad! Christopher 149 Sam Cannon 555 Main Street Winsboro, TX Juego de Preguntas (Quiz Game) Christopher Cather 1. Es una buena película para niños. Las voces son de los actores famosos Johnathan Taylor Thomas, James Earl Jones y Whoopi Goldberg. El mensaje es que debes ser tú mismo. Es una película de Disney y hay mucha música. La canción “Hakuna Matata” es muy popular. La recomiendo. It is a good movie for children. The voice actors are famous, Jonathon Taylor Thomas, James Earl Jones, and Whoopi Goldberg. The message is you should be yourself. It is a Disney movie and there is a lot of music. The song “Hakuna Matata” is very popular. I recommend it. 2. Se vive en el campus y se camina a las clases. Se vive con buenos amigos. Se estudia mucho, se leen libros, se escriben papeles y se los pasa genial. También, se obtiene su cheque de reembolso siempre. ¿Qué universidad es? You live on campus and walk to your classes. You live with good friends. You study a lot, read a lot of books, write papers, and have a good time. Also, you always get a refund check. What university is this? 3. Conozco a tres personas muy famosas. Son de Texas. Saben cantar en inglés, pero no cantan en español. Tienen dos guitarras “fuzzy” y tienen barbas largas. ¿Los conocen? I know three famous people. They are from Texas. They sing in English, but they don’t sing in Spanish. They have two fuzzy guitars and they have long beards. Do you know them? Respuestas/Answers: 1. The Lion King; 2. LSUA; 3. ZZ Top 150 FRENCH Une réservation Alejandra Rubio Je vais passer des vacances idéales en Italie dans un très grand hôtel. L’hôtel s’appelle Di Millini et il est très beau. J’ai déjà réservé une chambre pour les dates de mon séjour. D’abord, j’ai téléphoné à l’hôtel Torino pour faire une réservation. J’ai demandé une chambre individuelle au cinquième étage (J’ai choisi le cinquième étage parce que le numéro cinq est mon numéro favori). Ensuite, l’hôtelier m’a dit qu’il n’y avait pas de chambres libres à l’hôtel Torino, donc j’ai eu besoin d’appeler l’hôtel Di Millini. J’ai parlé avec l’hôtelier de l’hôtel Di Millini; l’hôtelier a été très poli et très gentil. Pendant la conversation, j’ai demandé une chambre individuelle au cinquième étage. Avant de finaliser la réservation, j’ai demandé ma chambre à côté de l’ascenseur. Après que l’hôtelier m’a donné une chambre individuelle au cinquième étage à côté de l’ascenseur, il m’a demandé le numéro de ma 151 carte de crédit pour finaliser la réservation. Finalement, j’ai fini la réservation. La réservation est faite. Je suis prête pour mes vacances ! A reservation I am going to spend my ideal vacations in Italy in a very big hotel. The hotel is named Di Millini and it is very pretty. I have already reserved a room for the dates of my stay. First, I telephoned the Torino hotel to make a reservation. I asked for an individual room on the fifth floor. (I chose the fifth floor because the number five is my favorite number). Then, the receptionist told me that there are not free rooms at the Torino hotel; therefore, I needed to call the Di Millini hotel. I spoke to the receptionist at the Di Millini hotel; the receptionist was very polite and nice. During the conversation, I asked for an individual room on the fifth floor next to the elevator. After the receptionist gave me an individual room on the fifth floor next to the elevator, he asked me for my credit card number to finalize the reservation. Finally, I finished the reservation. The reservation is done. I’m ready for my vacation! 152 L'hôtel Californie Amber Normand Je suis restée à L'hôtel Californie. D’abord, j’ai appelé et ai parlé avec le directeur. J’ai fait la réservation à l'hôtel, le treize janvier. Après que je suis arrivée à l'hôtel à cinq heures, j’ai laissé mon passeport à la réception. Ma chambre avait des lits et un réfrigérateur et une télévision. J'ai regardé la télévision, alors, je suis allée à la piscine et bronzé. Tout à coup, un oiseau a mangé mon sandwich! J'ai frappé l'oiseau avec mon écran solaire! Après, je suis revenue à ma chambre pour dormir. Enfin, le quatorze janvier, je suis partie de l'hôtel Californie. J’adore l’hôtel Californie et je vais m’y rendre de nouveau bientôt! Hotel California I stayed in Hotel California. First, I called and spoke with the manager. I made reservations to the hotel, the thirteenth of January. I arrived at the hotel at five o'clock and I left my passport at the reception. My room had beds and a refrigerator and a television. I watched television, then I went to the swimming pool and tanned. Suddenly, a bird ate my sandwich! Right away, I hit the bird with my sunscreen! Afterwards, I returned to my room to sleep. Finally, on January 14th, I left Hotel California. I love Hotel California and will stay there again soon. 153 Qui suis-je? Who am I? Here are the personal dating profiles created by French 1001 students. We challenge you to correctly match each French profile with its translation. 1. Bonjour. Je suis américain. J’ai vingt-deux ans. Je suis un grand homme avec les cheveux marron et les yeux bleus. Je suis généreux, sympathique, et quelquefois drôle. J’adore regarder la télévision, lire mes livres, et rendre visite à ma famille et mes amis. Je cherche une petite amie. Ma fille parfaite habite aux ÉtatsUnis. Elle a entre dix-huit et vingt-cinq ans. Ma jeune jolie petite amie n’est pas grosse; c’est une grande femme de taille moyenne avec les cheveux bruns raides et les yeux bleus. Elle est douce, modeste, sportive, drôle, intelligente, mais n’est pas folle, antipathique, jalouse, ou très sérieuse. Le weekend, elle adore regarder des films au cinéma, manger au restaurant, voyager, et parler ou retrouver nos amis. Sa profession n’est pas utile à moi. Elle doit avoir une profession. 2. J’ai vingt-deux ans. J’étudie la psychologie. J’ai les cheveux blonds foncés et les yeux bleus. Je suis travailleuse et sportive. Mon petit-ami parfait est beau et fort. Il a à peu près vingt-cinq ans. Il est intellectuel et travailleur. C’est un homme d’affaires. 3. J’ai 36 ans, et je travaille à l’université. Je suis étudiant et j’assiste à un cours de français. J’amie regarder des films étrangers, et la télé. Je suis modeste, agréable, brun et drôle surtout. J’ai les cheveux courts. Je suis actif. J’aime les sports. J’ai une sœur qui habite une ville loin d’Alexandria. Je n’ai pas de frères. Parfois le weekend je rentre chez mes parents. Pour moi, ma famille est très importante. Je cherche une belle et bonne personne. Je cherche une personne gentille, sportive, et bien sûr intellectuelle. Je préfère les cheveux longs; elle a entre 25 à 35 ans. Je n’aime pas les femmes méchantes, jalouses, cruelles, et folles. Elle aime voyager et regarder des films. Elle travaille, mais je ne préfère pas une avocate. A. I am twenty-two years old. I have blue eyes. I have brown hair. I am tall. I am a student at LSUA. I am intelligent. I am athletic. I love LSU sports. My girlfriend is beautiful. My girlfriend is amusing and charming. My girlfriend has blue eyes and brown hair. My girlfriend is small in stature. My girlfriend is younger than me. My girlfriend is generous. B. I’m 36 years old, and I work at the university. I’m a student, and I’m taking a French course. I like to watch foreign films and TV. I’m modest, pleasant, dark haired, and especially funny. I have short hair. I’m active. I like sports. I have a sister who lives far from Alexandria. I don’t have any brothers. Sometimes on weekends I visit my parents. For me, my family is very important. I’m looking for a beautiful and good person. I’m looking for a person who is nice, active, and of course smart. I prefer long hair ; she is between 25 to 35 years old. I don’t like mean, jealous, mean, crazy women. She likes to travel and watch movies. She works. I don’t prefer lawyers. C. Me: Hello! I am 21 years old. I have short, brown hair and green eyes. I am short. I am reserved, intellectual, and funny. I am of German-English-Irish heritage. I am nice and modest. I am not athletic. I like politics and history. I am naïve. My ideal girlfriend: Nice, funny, sweet, and active. She has straight, brown hair. She has brown eyes. She is happy. She is short. D. I have blue eyes and long brown hair, for a man. I am the oldest in my class. I am big, but I’m not fat. I want a boyfriend and a girlfriend; both with dark straight hair and blue eyes. I love truck drivers and rich women. I prefer intellectual people and older people. 154 4. J’ai vingt-deux ans. J’ai les yeux bleus. J’ai les cheveux châtains. Je suis grand. Je suis étudiant à LSUA. Je suis intelligent. Je suis sportif. J’adore les sports de LSU. Ma petite amie est belle. Ma petite amie est amusante et charmante. Ma petite amie a les yeux bleus et les cheveux châtains. Ma petite amie est petite. Ma petite amie est plus jeune que moi. Ma petite amie est généreuse. E. Hello everyone! I am twenty years old and I am an American. I work in a pharmacy, but I am not the pharmacist. I am modest and sociable. I love to fish and travel. I am of medium height. I have green eyes and short hair. My perfect girlfriend is my age and American. She is active and funny. She is a nurse. She has long dark hair, pretty eyes, and is of medium height. Who am I? 5. Moi: Bonjour! J’ai vingt et un ans. J’ai des cheveux courts et châtains et les yeux verts. Je suis petit. Je suis réservé, intellectuel, et drôle. Je suis d’origine allemande-anglaise-irlandaise. Je suis gentil et modeste. Je ne suis pas sportif. J’aime la politique et l’histoire. Je suis naïf. Mon amie idéale: Sympathique, drôle, douce, et active. Elle a les cheveux raides et châtains. Elle a les yeux bruns. Elle est heureuse. Elle est petite. 6. J’ai vingt-trois ans. Je suis une femme de taille moyenne. J’ai les cheveux longs et châtains. J’étudie les mathématiques à LSUA. Je suis intelligente, indépendante, sincère, et sociable. Je suis généreuse et gentille. Mon petit ami parfait est intelligent, drôle, beau, et bon. Il est fort, patient, et intéressant. Il est de taille moyenne. Il a les cheveux bruns et les yeux verts. Il a entre vingt trois ans et vingt huit ans. Il est ingénieur ou homme d’affaires. La chose la plus importante c’est qu’il m’adore. F. I am 23 years old. I am a woman of medium height. I have long, brown hair. I study mathematics at LSUA. I am intelligent, independent, sincere, and sociable. I am generous and nice. My perfect boyfriend is intelligent, funny, handsome, and kind. He is strong, patient, and interesting. He is of medium height. He has dark hair and green eyes. He is between 23 years old and 28 years old. He is an engineer or a businessman. The most important thing is he loves me. 7. Bonjour tout le monde! J’ai vingt ans et je suis américain. Je travaille dans une pharmacie, mais je ne suis pas pharmacien. Je suis modeste et sociable. J’adore aller à la pêche et j’aime voyager. Je suis de taille moyenne. J’ai les yeux verts et les cheveux courts. Ma petite amie parfaite a mon âge et elle est américaine. Elle est active et drôle. C’est une douce infirmière. Elle a les cheveux bruns et longs, les yeux jolis, et elle est de taille moyenne. Qui suis-je? G. I am a small lady. I have long brown hair. My eyes are brown. I am 22 years old. I am happy, optimistic, nice, active, and sociable. I am not annoying, mean, or tiresome. I teach mathematics. My ideal boyfriend is handsome, intelligent, patient, polite, funny and active. He is not naive, selfish, or jealous. He looks like Nicholas Cage. He has brown hair and green eyes. He is between 23 and 27 years old. He is an engineer. H. I am 25 years old. I am a student. I have short brown hair. I have brown eyes. I am a smart and kind girl. I like dogs. I have three dogs. I am searching for a boy friend. My boy friend must be tall. He is to be smart. He has to be a businessman. I like brown hair. I like brown eyes. 155 8. J’ai a les yeux bleus et les cheveux châtains longs, pour un homme. Je suis l’aîné de la classe. Je suis grand, mais je ne suis pas gros. Je veux un copain et une copine; tous les deux avec les cheveux bruns châtains raides et les yeux bleus. J’adore les camionneurs et les femmes riches. Je préfère les personnes intellectuelles et les personnes aînées. 9. J’ai vingt-cinq ans. Je suis étudiante. J’ai les cheveux courts et châtains. J’ai les yeux marron. Je suis intellectuelle et bonne fille. J’aime les chiens. J’ai trios chiens. Je cherche un petit ami. Il a entre vingt-cinq et trente-cinq ans. Mon petit ami est grand. Il est intellectuel. Il est homme d’affaires. J’aime les cheveux châtains. J’aime les yeux marron. 10. Je suis une petite femme. J’ai les cheveux châtains et raides. Mes yeux sont marron. J’ai vingt-deux ans. Je suis heureuse, optimiste, gentille, active et sociable. Je ne suis pas ennuyeuse, méchante, ou pénible. J’enseigne les maths. Mon petit-ami idéal est beau, intelligent, patient, poli, drôle et actif. Il n’est pas naïf, égoïste, ou jaloux. Il a l’air d’être Nicholas Cage. Il est grand et fort. Il a les cheveux châtains et les yeux verts. Il a entre vingt-trois ans et vingt-sept ans. Il est ingénieur. I. I am twenty-two years old. I study psychology. I have dark blonde hair and blue eyes. I am hardworking and athletic. My perfect boyfriend is handsome and strong. He is around twenty-five years old. He is smart and hardworking. He is a businessman. J. Hello. I am a twenty-two year old American. I am a tall male with brown hair and blue eyes. I am often described as being generous, nice, and sometimes funny. As for my hobbies, I love watching television, reading my books, and visiting with my family and friends. I am currently looking for a girlfriend. As for my ideal girl, she lives in the United States. She is between eighteen and twenty-five years old. My young girlfriend would be of medium build with straight, dark hair and blue eyes. As for her personality, she would be sweet, modest, sports oriented, funny, intelligent; she would not act crazy, unpleasant, jealous, or too serious. On weekends, she likes watching movies at the cinema, eating at restaurants, traveling, and talking with and/or meeting up with our friends. I am not particular about what type of job that she has. However, she must have a job. Ooh là là! Compiled by Victoria Cienfuegos and Jamie Scroggs with input in random order from Anthony Gremillion, Jason Wheeler, Saurabh Singh, Zane Dubois, Kevin Wimmert, Lindsay McNeal, 156 Scroggs and Daina Kroll. Joseph Paul Gauthier, Victoria Cienfuegos, Jamie !
