Becoming a Better Writer

I think I should blog more, here's why:

Copyblogger Brian Clark's 10 Steps to Becoming a Better Writer:

1. Write.
2. Write more.
3. Write even more.
4. Write even more than that.
5. Write when you don’t want to.
6. Write when you do.
7. Write when you have something to say.
8. Write when you don’t.
9. Write every day.
10.Keep writing.

Copyblogger has some great advice about blogging and writing in general.

Achy Breaky Heart

Did you know Billy Ray Cyrus has a new CD out? And that he was at our local WalMart today signing copies of said new CD? And that Aimee's friend's dad works for Disney as a producer? And that they invited us to go to the signing and meet Billy Ray? Well if you didn't know all this you do now.

Of course meeting "Hannah Montana's dad" is almost as good as meeting Hannah herself, so it was a fun opportunity for the girls and for me too.

Thursday Next

I just picked up the new Jasper Fforde book First among Sequels, A Thursday Next Novel. Looking forward to reading it in bed tonight. I'm a big fan of the imaginative world that Jasper Fforde creates, where people jump in and out of classic books.

Fforde's novels remind me of a C.S. Lewis anecdote I read recently, by E. R. Eddison:

...a writer's task, I maintained, was to lay bare the human heart, and this could not be done if he were continually taking refuge in the spinning of fanciful webs. Lewis retorted with a theory that, since the creator had seen fit to build a universe and set it in motion, it was the duty of the human artist to create as lavishly as possible in turn. The romancer, who invents a whole world, is worshipping God more effectively than the mere realist who analyses that which lies about him.

It's a Slow Summer for Blogging

Two books I bought today:

Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton

From the Library of C.S. Lewis, Selections from Writers Who Influenced His Spiritual Journey Compiled by James Stuart Bell

They spoke this to me:

A Book by Edgar Guest

“Now” - said a good book unto me -
“Open my pages and you shall see
Jewels of wisdom and treasures fine,
Gold and silver in every line,
And you may claim them if you but will
Open my pages and take your fill.

“Open my pages and run them o’er,
Take what you choose of my golden store.
Be you greedy, I shall not care -
All that you seize I shall gladly spare;
There is never a lock on my treasure doors,
Come - here are my jewels, make them yours!

“I am just a book on your mantel shelf,
But I can be part of your living self;
If only you’ll travel my pages through,
Then I will travel the world with you.
As two wines blended make better wine,
Blend your mind with these truths of mine.

“I’ll make you fitter to talk with men,
I’ll touch with silver the lines you pen,
I’ll lead you nearer the truth you seek,
I’ll strengthen you when your faith grows weak -
This place on your shelf is a prison cell,
Let me come into your mind to dwell!”

Kids in Church

I can't believe I haven't written a blog entry in two weeks. Well if I can't come up with something new to blog about, then I'll just "borrow" someone else's inspiration. Since it's Sunday, and I thought these were amusing here goes:
("borrowed" from Ben Worthington)

KIDS IN CHURCH
3-year-old Reese: "Our Father, Who does art in heaven, Harold is His name. Amen."

A little boy was overheard praying: "Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am."

After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I wanted to stay with you guys."

I had been teaching my three-year old daughter, Caitlin, the Lord's Prayer for several evenings at bedtime. She would repeat after me the lines from the prayer. Finally, she decided to go solo. I listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer: "Lead us not into temptation," she prayed, "but deliver us from E-mail."

One particular four-year-old prayed, "And forgive us our trash baskets, as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets."

A Sunday school teacher asked her children as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?" One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."

Six-year-old Angie and her four-year-old brother, Joel, were sitting together in church. Joel giggled, sang, and talked out loud. Finally, his big sister had had enough. "You're not supposed to talk out loud in church." "Why? Who's going to stop me?" Joel asked. Angie pointed to the back of the church and said, "See those two men standing by the door? They're hushers."

A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons,Kevin 5, and Ryan 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake. Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson. "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait.' Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!"

A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year-old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven," the Dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?"

A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?"

Competitive Rose Gardening?

It's official, anyone can write a book about anything. I was browsing in Borders the other day and came across this gem of a title on the newly published hardcover table in the front of the bookstore:

OTHERWISE NORMAL PEOPLE: INSIDE THE THORNY WORLD OF COMPETITIVE ROSE GARDENING by Aurelia C. Scott

Huh? I'm sure there are some people for whom this is a topic worth spending $22.00 on, but I personally had to be convinced that the title wasn't a joke. Nope. It's for real. What's next, competitive door slamming?

Why Read "Great Books"?

Because

"Some things are good in and of themselves, not merely because they please our peculiar taste or passing fancy."

The above quote is from an article by author, John C. Wright entitled, "The Judgment of Paris". Read the entire article for an insightful explanation of reasons to read the "Great Books".

At the end of the above-mentioned article is a link to an interview with the author of the article,John C. Wright in Sci-Fi Weekly. In this interview, John C. Wright discusses his conversion at the age of 42 from committed atheism to Christianity. The interviewer asks:

At some point after your first three epics were completed, you converted to Christianity, having been a resolute humanist before. How did this come about?

Wright: Now, this is a difficult question to answer, because to talk of these deep matters automatically provokes half the audience, and bores the other half. I will try to be as brief and delicate as I can.

Humanist is too weak a word. I was an atheist, zealous and absolute, one who held that the nonexistence of God was a fact as easily proved as the inequality of five and twice two.

Read the interview, John C. Wright continues the adventures of A.E. van Vogt and turns Roger Zelazny's Amber saga inside out.

Summer Reading Plans

I belong to an online reading group that is reading “The Great Books”, as I wrote back in a post on April 2, 2006 . The group has gone through some changes since I wrote about The Great Conversation last April. The online reading group changed leadership and then it split into two different “tracks”, and then into two different groups. I am attempting to keep up with both of them.

One of the groups is (more or less) following Adler’s 10 year reading plan listed in the first volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica’s Great Books. We’re currently reading Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War. If you're interested the website is at greatconversation. I was happy when the group decided to extend the reading time through July, since I am still on Book One. But I intend to finish it by the end of July to stay on track with the group. In August we’re reading Plato’s Statesmen, Euclid’s Elements of Geometry, Book 1, and Aristotle’s On Interpretation and Politics. That should keep me busy.

The other “track” is called “Mare Nostrum” and it’s focusing on Greek History for the rest of the year and then on Roman History next year. This group is finishing Thucydides in June and moving on to Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens by James Davidson
in July and Fox’s Alexander the Great in August. I have some reading to do…
(You can find the Mare_Nostrum reading group in yahoo groups.)

But I also have my own list of books I want to read this summer…

Books I’m currently reading:
Thucydides (as mentioned above)
The Holiest of All by Andrew Murray
Studies in Words by C.S. Lewis
Genesis and the Big Bang by Gerald L. Schroeder
Decoding the Universe by Seife
Kenilworth by Sir Walter Scott
Rahsi’s Daughter: Joheved by Maggie Anton
Under Crescent and Cross by Mark R. Cohen

Other Books I want to read:
Biography:
John Newton: From Disgrace to Amazing Grace by Johnathan Aitken
Infernal World of Branwell Bronte By Daphne DuMarier
Time to be in Earnest by P.D. James

Science:
Privileged Planet by Guillermo Hernandez
The Edge of Evolution by Michael Behe

Novels
Waverly Novels Sir Walter Scott
Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers
Lucky Jim by Amis
The Collector by Balladuci
The Bronte Project by Jennifer Vandover
The Nanny Diaries Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus
How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved my Life by Mameve Medwed
The new Jasper Fford Novel: Thursday Next scheduled to be released on July 24

I've got to run, I've got some Thudydides to read!

Be Thou My One

Be Thou my Love and my Compassion
my Beauty and my Truth
the One that I seek always
the Voice in my heart of hearts
the Goad in my conscience
my All-in-All.

Be Thou the Restorer of my righteousness
the Lifter of my head
the Lover of my soul
my Friend in every season
the One I want to please
the Source and Aim of all my passion
my one Desire
my Comfort in the multitude of my thoughts within me
the Straightener of my crooked paths
my All-in-All.

Be Thou My Answer to the unanswerable
my Speech to the unspeakable
my Groanings that cannot be uttered
my Crown of lovingkindness and tender mercies
my ever-present Help in time of need
my All-in-All

Be Thou my Glory and my Grace
my Boldness and my Access to the throne of grace
my One who answers when I call
my deep calling unto deep
my One who shows me great and mighty things which I do not know
the Delight of my soul
my One who wipes the tears from my eyes
my One who calls me to awake from my sleep
and gives me a lamp for my feet
my Way Out from every temptation
the one Spirit to which my spirit joins
my All-in-All.

Be Thou my Shelter from the storm
my safe Harbor from the rocky shore
my Beauty for ashes
my Oil of gladness for mourning
my Joy and my Strength
my All-in-All.

Be Thou my Healer
my Anchor of hope for the future
the Substance of all that is real and true in my life
the still small Voice within me
my Strong Tower
my One who leads me by still waters
my All-in-All.

Be Thou my Rose of Sharon
my bright and morning Star
my new Day dawning
the Giver of my daily bread
my Song in the night
my Heavenly Father in whom there is no variableness neither shadow of turning
my Rock of Ages
my life Sustainer
my Fountain of living waters
my All-in-All

Be Thou my Door of the sheepfold
my rivers of Living Water flowing out of my belly
the Fire in my bones that cannot be quenched
my burning Bush
my Ancient of Days
my Alpha and Omega
the Author and Finisher of my faith
my eternal Life
my All-in-All

Be Thou my Holy of Holies
my Sabbath Rest
my High Priest and Passover Lamb
my new and living Way
my Peace that passes all understanding
my Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that I can ask or think
my Love that never fails
my All-in-All


Copyright 2007 by K. Masterson

Advice on Writing from Two Great Authors

Emory University recently unsealed a set of 300 letters between O'Connor and her friend Betty Hester, who donated the letters to the Emory in 1987 with the stipulation that they not be released for 20 years. Read more about it here.

Here's a bit of advice O'Connor wrote in one of the letters:

"You would probably do just as well to get that plot business out of your head and start simply with a character or anything that you can make come alive. Wouldn't it be better for you to discover a meaning in what you write rather than to impose one? Nothing you write will lack meaning because the meaning is in you."

Reading this reminded me of some other advice on writing I recently read. This is from C. S. Lewis, On Three Ways of Writing for Children.

Let the pictures tell you their own moral. For the moral inherent in them will rise from whatever spiritual roots you have succeeded in striking during the whole course of your life. But if they don't show you any moral, don't put one in. For the moral you put in is likely to be a platitude, or even a falsehood, skimmed from the surface of your consciousness...The only moral that is of any value is that which arises inevitably from the whole cast of the author's mind.

Father's Day

We had a really nice day celebrating Father's Day. The day started with church. We've been attending a local church that just opened in our area on May 1, 2007. It's the north campus of The Church on the Way that opened in Santa Clarita in an old movie theatre. The Church on the Way is a large church in Van Nuys (about 20 miles away from us) founded by Pastor Jack Hayford. They purchased a closed movie theatre in our city of Santa Clarita several years ago. It took several years of work on the building for the church to meet the zoning requirements of the city and it finally opened. (It doesn't look like a movie theatre any more.) We're enjoying attending a church that's about 15 minutes from our house.

After church we drove, literally, across the street to our new favorite restaurant, Karma Indian Restaurant (Dad's choice) for their incredible lunch buffet. Everyone in our family loves Indian food! It was also my choice for Mother's Day.

Then we hopped on over to the local Mall to catch Surf's Up. (Dad's choice) For a cartoon, it was very entertaining, even for our 15 year old son. I saw him laughing, even though after the movie he said it wasn't that funny.

The day was topped off by a dip in the Jacuzzi. I actually skipped this one but, Chuck, Eric and Aimee had a nice relaxing soak. All-in-all a very fun and relaxing family day.

Happy Father's Day to the World's Greatest Dad!

It's a Grand Ole Flag

Happy 230th Flag Day!

Paris Hilton gets a “Room of Her Own”

First the judge sentences her to 45 days. Then the 45 days is reduced to 20 something. Then the sheriff releases her due to an unnamed medical problem to serve the rest of the 45 days in in-home confinement. Then the Al Sharpton’s and others start complaining about favoritism and racismm and the judge, visibly and verbally annoyed at the sheriff, orders her back to jail. She is led in tears and hysterics from the courtroom calling for her Mommy. This time she’s sent to a maximum security prison where she supposedly can get treatment for her still unspecified medical condition.

What bothers me about all this, aside from the unrelenting media attention and insatiable appetite we Americans have for this non-news “news”, is the revealing look at the state of our justice system. I have no problem with the judge sending Paris Hilton to jail for her disregard of the laws. She is a hazard to herself and more, to any innocent person who happens to be in her path when she puts herself behind a wheel while intoxicated. She is in dire need of a life-changing experience. This jail experience could have been (and hopefully still may be) what she needs to wake up from whatever stupor she’s in and get her life on track.

It’s the power struggle between the judge’s ego and the sheriff’s ego that I find most troubling about the whole situation. If the justice system can ping-pong someone like Paris Hilton, with her expensive lawyers and cameras rolling non-stop, I can only imagine what the justice system has in store for the poor and not famous with no one to look out for them. Who has the authority to release someone early? If the sheriff has the authority, then why can the judge overrule and haul her back. Is there no clear cut line of authority? Are the authorities who have so many people in subjection to them by court order just winging it when it comes to who does what and when? Am I the only one bothered by this?

" Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Forces: You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hope and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere are with you...." (General Dwight D. Eisenhower - June 6, 1944. D-Day)

The National D-Day Memorial was dedicated on June 6, 2001 in Bedford, Virginia. Bedford, a small town in central Virginia, was chosen as the site for the memorial because it lost 21 of its sons out of a population of 3200 (in 1944). This is said to be the highest per capita loss from any one town. The Overlord Arch pictured above at the National D-Day Memorial is dedicated to the 170 soldiers who participated in the first asault wave on D-Day. Of those 170 brave soldiers, 35 were from Bedford, VA. Of the 35 boys from Bedford, 19 were killed in the first fifteen minutes of fighting and two more died later that day. Of the entire group of 170 soldiers in the first wave, 91 were killed and 64 more were wounded.

President Bush was present in Beford on June 6, 2001 to dedicate the memorial. This is an excerpt from his speech on that day:

The achievement of Operation Overlord is nearly impossible to overstate, in its consequences for our own lives and the life of the world. Free societies in Europe can be traced to the first footprints on the first beach on June 6, 1944.

What was lost on D-day we can never measure and never forget. When the day was over, America and her Allies had lost at least 2,500 of the bravest men ever to wear a uniform. Many thousands more would die on the days that followed. They scaled towering cliffs, looking straight up into enemy fire. They dropped into grassy fields sown with landmines. They overran machine gun nests hidden everywhere, punched through walls of barbed wire, overtook bunkers of concreteand steel. The great journalist Ernie Pyle said, "It seemed to me a pure miracle
that we ever took the beach at all. The advantages were all theirs, the disadvantages all ours. And yet," said Pyle, "we got on."

A father and his son both fell during Operation Overlord. So did 33 pairs of brothers, including a boy having the same name as his hometown, Bedford T. Hoback, and his brother Raymond. Their sister Lucille, is with us today. She has recalled that Raymond was offered an early discharge for health reasons, but he turned it down. "He didn't want to leave his brother," she remembers. "He had come over with him, and he was going to stay with him." Both were killed on D-day. The only trace of
Raymond Hoback was his Bible, found in the sand. Their mother asked that Bedford be laid to rest in France with Raymond, so that her sons might always be together.

Perhaps some of you knew Gordon White, Sr. He died here just a few years ago, at the age of 95, the last living parent of a soldier who died on D-day. His boy Henry, loved his days on the family farm and was especially fond of a workhorse named Major. Family members recall how Gordon just couldn't let
go of Henry's old horse, and he never did. For 25 years after the war, Major was cherished by Gordon White as a last link to his son and a link to another life.

Upon this beautiful town fell the heaviest share of Americanlosses on D-day, 19 men from a community of 3,200, 4 more afterwards. When people come here, it is important to see the town as the monument itself. Here were the images these soldiers carried with them and the thought of when they were
afraid. This is the place they left behind, and here was the life they dreamed of returning to. They did not yearn to be heroes. They yearned for those long summer nights again and harvest time and paydays. They wanted to see Mom and Dad
again and hold their sweethearts or wives or, for one young man who lived here, to see that baby girl born while he was away.
Bedford has a special place in our history. But there were neighborhoods like these all over America, from the
smallest villages to the greatest cities. And somehow they all produced a generation of young men and women who, on a date certain, gathered and advanced as one and changed the course of history. Whatever it is about America that has given us such citizens, it is the greatest quality we have, and may it never
leave us.

To learn more about the Boys from Bedford you can read a book called The Bedford Boys: One American Town's Ultimate D-Day Sacrifice by Alex Kershaw

Happy Birthday, Flowergirl

Today would be my mother's 85th birthday. Happy Birthday to the Flowergirl! Here are a couple of her poems:

Not Here

The flowergirl has journeyed far
But has she lost the way?
Is it too late to meet her
Just past the light of day?

Her garment may be streaked and worn
No cause to judge in haste
The wise man and the innocent
Will notice not the waste

See there, the love beneath the soil
The tears of hope once shed
All steps both down and up, she took
Before she bent her head.

The flowergirl will stumble on
Until the taste of earth
No gage of men is made to know
The measure of her worth.


Drained

The vacant page laughs out at me
And taunts just being there
It seems to doubt my faculty
Because I sit and stare.

Are there no words to fill the space
No thoughts that need be said?
The emptiness is lying here
As it is, in my head.

How many times I’ve shouted out
Deep down in my being
Incensed by waste and callousness
My soul with fire seething.

And yet I sit with pencil poised
No match for just one page.
No word of wisdom or of wit
I am an empty sage.

Memorial Day tribute to my Father

My father was a member of what Tom Brokaw so aptly called "The Greatest Generation". He proudly served in World War II in the United States Coast Guard. He saw action in the Pacific arena in the Philippines and in Okinawa. He passed away in 2003 at the age of 86. Here are two of the letters that he wrote to his mother while on board LST 20 in 1945.

April 20, 1945
Dear Mumsey,
March winds brought indications of new developments.....All signs pointed towards Japan. Every port we hit seemed to be packed with ships making ready.
It was quite a cargo which came aboard early in the month.....Later we opened the bow gate to receive a handful of men....All was set for invasion.
The lads turned out to be a fine group and very quiet.....Some were veterans of many campaigns....The others had been to Guam or Siapan....To kill Japanese fighting men was natural, but thoughts of the civilian suicides on Siapan were nauseating.....Ahead was nearly a half-million civilians.
Perhaps because idle minds are to be avoided, they were given a choice of painting or standing watches....An erstwhile doleful interior now wears a new paint job...Meanwhile, the Navy had given the hull a new coat...Our passengers mixed freely with the crew off as well as on duty and evidently appreciated the privileges extended them.
For 3000 miles we rolled, pitched, shuddered, shivered, shrieked, rattled, squirmed and slid through rough waters....Benches were likely to topple at any time....anything not securely fastened either rattled or flew about. A steel cabinet in my office which had never so much as moved before, broke loose from its fastenings and started for the deck....Two of the boys caught it in time.
Bunks trembled and men tossed bout in them....Sleep ended abruptly offtimes as the large swells hit....Men in the galley held on to ropes but came through with good meals....Stomachs were, however, delicate.
Dark clouds afforded a welcome shield from Jap planes.
Time, in its inexorable passage, brought us to the gateway of Japan....Above the dismal peaks of Okinawa flashed an ironic moon.
Uncle Sam had again paraded his galaxy of fighting power across the sea...It was unleashed into the Mikado’s stronghold with a fury the Jap could not begin to halt.
For many days before troops landed, shore installations had been blasted and Navy Guns long afterwards continued to cover the advance...Dive bombers obliterated enemy obstacles...Ground, Naval and air forces coordinated in successful landings along a wide front.
It was the first time in months that we were out of jungle climate...Days were cool and nights cold. Heavier clothing was issued.
Ships sprawled far beyond the horizon. Brilliant displays of Ack Ack lighted the skies for miles around as the Bettys, Vals, et al droned over….At night the sea radiated lustrous hues from reflections of blue and yellow searchlights blending with bright molten white of tracers and bursting crimson shells...Men stood behind their guns, praying, cursing, joking, silent, as they poured lead into the skies and felt the heat of bombs and shrapnel.
Many of the sons of heaven spiraled downward in a crescendo of flame as they met their ancestors and the destiny of the Rising Sun...Some exacted a stiff price.
We were within eyesight of the battle raging ashore for days...Dive bombers and tanks were being used effectively against the tenacious Jap. The foot soldier, however, still bears the brunt of battle.
Sometimes it was close...Our cargo was seriously threatened on a number of incidents...Finally there came the day of unloading.
Love,
Roy


Sunday, April 22, 1945
In Port

Dear Mumsey,
It’s Sunday – Skies are clear, winds are cool and brush off what might otherwise be a balmy sunshine.
Waters underneath are an unusually deep shade of Blue...Sunlight penetrates Neptune’s wastes and reaches the plant life and coral beneath.
Night before last was the first I had slept in my hammock in weeks...The rough waters along the way to Okinawa had made the fantail a noisy place...Each time the ship pitched it caused a slack in the ropes holding the hammock, allowing a strong wind to blow wrinkles in the canvas...as the roll reached an even keel, the ropes snapped taut and this became quite annoying.

The nights had become cold by this time, so I retired to the bunk again. I watched the celestial panorama for awhile before falling asleep....Only a few stars were out and glittered against a background of clear sky brightened by a bland moon....In the distance, clouds moved about in clusters and I wondered if they would bring rain when they closed in.
There were quite a few souvenirs to be had at Okinawa....I looked at the kimonas, pottery and other articles which were being bartered and became sick...I welcome the opportunity to come to grips with the Japanese military forces, but to buy, steal, or otherwise be a party to Plunder is something which I cannot countenance.
Love to all,
Roy



After the war he and my motherspent some time in New York city so he could attend Columbia University and pursue his dream of becoming a writer. I never heard my father discuss this dream. He became a CPA and enentually went to work for the US government He retired from civil service as an accountant. I knew he had attended Columbia University for a time but I always thought that it was to study accounting.

Here is a paper I found that explains how he decided to go to Columbia University to pursue his dream of becoming a writer:

ROY J. TOURNE
2126 COLUMBUS ST., NEW ORLEANS, LA.

LOCAL ADDRESS: 508 W. 114th, NY. 25, N.Y.
PHONE NO. CAthedral 8-7621


During those months in the Pacific aboard the LST 20, many evenings were spent atop the bow, in the company of our combat correspondent. While watching the nocturnal panorama we sometimes permitted ourselves to speculate upon a nebular future and his high praise of Columbia University is one of the principal reasons for my being here.

Plans for the future, at that time, were hardly to be considered in the realm of certainty. Christmas Eve night found the Japanese air force visiting us six times in what what was substantially more than nuisance raids.

On Christmas Day at Morotai N.E.I., troops came aboard and we found ourselves in the midst of a huge invasion force destined for Luzon, Philippine Islands. As Uncle Sam’s armada sailed into Lingayen Gulf the participants could derive some degree of comfort in knowing that we were landing at exactly the spot at which the Nipponese had begun their conquest.

Some weeks later that immortal barge, the LST 20, found herself departing Guadalcanal gaily loaded with a cargo of aviation gasoline and Marines. After a 3000 mile trip through rough waters, the jagged peaks of Okinawa came into view and the final battle of the war had begun. The Marines were landed immediately but for one reason or other, 30 days had elapsed before the authorities decided the gasoline was needed. And so, after a month of Jap suicide planes and shrapnel, the well-scarred and battered Hooligan hull discharged its volatile cargo and made an exit from the scene of battle.

After the incongruous longevity of World War 2 and the subsequent return home, with attendant rehabilitation, the inevitable problem of an occupation posed itself.

There existed the obvious courses of earning a livelihood, i.e., returning to a former employment as an accountant at Higgins Ind., Inc., or to begin a new business.

However, as I have long had a desire to write and am so fortunate as to have that ambition and belief shared by the paragon among women to whom I am married, New York was selected as the logical locale. It was decided that such an eventuality, if it be possible, would be likely to occur only through a concerted effort in that direction.

Through education, contact, advice, and criticisms, I hope to find a way to make a beginning in that field.

Memorial Day

On this Memorial Day, 2007, I want to pay tribute to the great sacrifice paid by so many for our great country. I want to thank all the families of servicemen and women currently serving in our armed forces and to let them know that my thanks and my prayers are with their loved ones.

The Perfect Coach for a Perfect Season

What is the measure of a man? I would say that one yardstick would be the influence that person has had on the younger generation. By this standard, Coach Jack Dozier, who recently passed away, was a giant of a man. I never met this man, but I owe him a debt of gratitude. He was my husband's High School football coach and the impact that he made on him was pretty much immeasurable. Being part of Coach Dozier's undefeated 1970's Woodland Highschool football team left an indelible mark of success on his life. My guest blogger for today is my husband, Chuck, and his tribute to his high school football coach. You can read more about Coach Dozier in the online Woodland Daily Democrat:
Memories of a Coach.

Here is Chuck's tribute:

The Perfect Coach for a Perfect Season

By Chuck Masterson

Browsing the “on-line” Daily Democrat yesterday, I ran across Gary Traynham’s article honoring the memory of Jack Dozier. I was not surprised, but nonetheless saddened by the news of his passing. As I grew up in Woodland, he was one of the great pillars of influence in my life. He ranks at the top along with Armand Jaques and my Eleventh grade English teacher, the late Virginia Pohl. Coach Dozier had an inestimable effect on me. He changed the direction of my life. He inspired me to pursue college athletics which ultimately led me to a career in secondary education. He always had my respect and admiration. I want honor his memory with some stories and this former athlete’s perspective of his life.

I didn’t know him as a close personal friend or co-worker. I simply knew him as my Coach. Our player - coach relationship was unique. I always liked him. He never treated me unfairly. He never spoke a derogatory word to me nor did I hear him speak negatively to any other player. During the high school years, I did hear plenty of comments about him from other students. But, I never had a reason to dislike him. The one lesson in life I learned from Jack Dozier was to place “high expectations” on teams and individuals. He taught me to set a high standard for myself and “go for it.” He was successful as a coach because his teams rose to his “high expectations.” My quality and character improved when I figured out how to carry “high expectations” over into my own personal and professional life.

As a freshman and sophomore football player, I dreaded moving up to the varsity for fear of “Dozier.” My initial encounter with him was in the Woodland High P. E. locker room at the end of track season my sophomore year. He sat on the bench next to me, placed his huge hand on my shoulder as if he were palming a basketball, and in his low, gruff voice and in his best attempt to sound fatherly said, “Son, how much do you weigh?” As my manner was back then, a sheepish reply came out, “uh… uh… 160.” He politely laughed in disbelief, made some comment about my shoe size, playing varsity football and walked away. That was his way of recruiting me. Our conversations rarely lasted more than one sentence. Usually, what came out of his mouth could be compiled in a book of classic “one-liners” such as “Katy bar at the door” and “shooting slow Caribou”. He was mimicked by more of his players than any other coach I ever played under. Standard operating procedure for a Dozier mimicker usually required lowering their chin to their chest and saying in a gruff voice, “boys, we get the ball around the end and we’ll be choppin’ in tall cotton.”

Looking back, I was fourth string on the depth chart at just about every position as a freshman. I didn’t even have the same game jersey as the starters. I was rather proud of my eight unassisted tackles as a linebacker in a “scrub” game against one of the surrounding area small town teams. As a sophomore, special teams were about the only action I saw. Craig Sharp and I were a dangerous duo as deep backs on kickoff and punt returns. We ran a wicked reverse into Tom Perry’s sideline “wall” return play. However at the beginning of my junior year, coach threw me in with the running backs. I thought, “Oh great, another year on the bench.” I was grouped with all the players and friends that I had watched from the sidelines for two years. But, coach Dozier saw something in me and took the time to develop me as a football player. He knew my true playing position. I learned that every individual on a team can be productive when he finds his “home position.” Despite yelling at me every five minutes during practice ALL season long, he never gave up on me and worked with me through my annoying personal indecisiveness and lack of confidence. The high expectations he placed on me helped me stay focused and desire to improve. His yelling was so constant that at one point early in my junior season I expressed my concern to Craig Penrose. I shared with Craig that I didn’t think coach liked me. Craig quickly answered, “Don’t worry if he likes you or not. If he ignores you, that means he doesn’t like you, and that’s when you should start to worry.” In our last game of the season, coach closed out his halftime speech in front of the whole team with an ear splitting, “Masterson, (brief pause) Run!” I felt something come to life inside of me. That was a defining moment for me. No more indecision. No more lack of confidence. No more yelling. I got it! I ran hard in the second half and that night we beat a decent McClatchy team 26-20 with Eric Wirth leading us down the field, a tough defensive effort, and nineteen active players. We had approximately twenty-two players out due to injuries that season. We never lost another game.

Only one time did I ever think my life was in danger with “big Jack.” Any footballer who played for coach Dozier, and if they had an ounce of sense, instinctively knew Jack’s exact location on the field at all times. One wrong move and he was “in your face.” It was always in your best interest to at least appear that you were working hard. A player couldn’t get complacent even when “Doz” was having a cigarette in the bleachers.
One hot evening in August of 1969, fully padded, I stood in line with the backs and receivers for passing drills. As usual, Mr. Penrose was throwing nearly uncatchable “bullet” short passes. In the same drill, he was thoroughly enjoying making everyone run downfield for 60 yard “bombs”. In my eyesight, coach Dozier was last seen in the center of the field on the fifty yard-line trying to get a 360 degree panoramic view of practice. I came up to the line and ran a full speed ten yard post pattern toward the middle of Hyman field. Craig, making me hustle, threw the ball well out in front of me. In an attempt to catch the pass, I simultaneously increased my speed and reached for the ball. The next moment felt like a head-on collision with a brick wall. At full speed, I unknowingly blindsided coach “D.” I hit him square in the back with my left shoulder and helmet. It was perhaps the most violent “clip” ever known to man. The sudden impact knocked me off my feet and to the ground on my hands and knees. Slowly, I rose to my feet feeling disoriented but relatively unharmed. Immediately, I saw “Jack” lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. “I’m dead” was my only thought or was it “he’s dead.” I looked to my right and saw Penrose, perhaps the only witness to the collision, standing frozen and staring in disbelief at the apparently unconscious head coach. A few seconds later, coach opened his eyes but didn’t move a muscle. After realizing he was not injured, he slowly stood up and looked directly at me. NOW, I’m dead! I felt like Don Knotts squaring off in front of John Wayne. After a moment of silence and maybe some thoughts about the legality of corporal punishment, the coach just grinned and said to me, “son, if can hit that hard all the time, you will go far in this game”. Again, sheepishly I replied,
uh… uh… ok coach.

As a high school football coach, I imparted his “old school DNA” into my teams. His legacy of discipline, concentration on the fundamentals, high expectations and some yelling lives on in scores of my high school players in the Los Angeles area. In 1995, my young assistant coaches respectfully told me I was the only coach in the area still wearing football cleats during games on the sidelines. Beyond my high school years as a player and coach, I realized with every new season, how special our 1970 team was. Every football player in America dreams of an undefeated season. Only a handful of players every really get the experience. It is nearly an impossible feat.

Our once in a lifetime experience was made possible by Coach Jack Dozier. He was the perfect coach for a perfect season. How he coached our team, what he taught us, how he taught us came with perfect timing the entire season. One of his biggest rants came following the “Who’s number 1” column written by the articulate and legendary local sports editor. Following game films at his house, coach Dozier chewed us out for 10 minutes downplaying the subject of being a number one ranked team. He used the contents of the article with precision and made us feel like we had not accomplished anything to that point in the season. It was the most visibly upset I saw him all season. Compared to that incident, he was only mildly unhappy with Pauly Montoya and me after the infamous Hiram Johnson “fumbilitis” game. He was mentor and master strategist. He commanded respect and obedience. He received both without question from the 1970 team. He knew every player, juniors and seniors. He knew our abilities. We spent countless hours at his house watching game films and joking about how one person could possibly own so many cases of TAB soda. At every meeting I tried to guess how many years it would take him to drink those seemingly 50,000 cases stacked in the corner of the room near the projector screen. Also, I pondered what manner of death would become the person caught stealing any of coach’s TAB. I was sure he knew at all times the exact count of cans and cases in stock. Our team was prepared for every game. No opponent ever surprised us or physically outplayed us. “Offense wins games and defense wins championships.” That is exactly what happened in 1970. Mirroring coach’s toughness, our linemen wore down and destroyed every opponent. Our defense gang tackled and was so quick and physical that many opposing team players gave up in the first quarter and held on for dear life the remainder of the game.

The last time I saw him was a few years ago at our team reunion. I walked up to greet him. For the first time, I initiated a conversation with Coach Dozier. He smiled at me, glanced at my bald head and said, “Chuck, good to see you. You are a principal. How many students are in your school?” I got three sentences out of him. We engaged in a brief but friendly conversation. I told him about my 1993 North Hollywood High JV championship season. His face lit up when I told him I used his old Power I offensive playbook from 1970. I know it took a tremendous effort for him to travel to Woodland and be with the team. I know our team meant a lot to him. The reunion wouldn’t have been the same without him. For one last time, we enjoyed his unique mannerisms and heard what turned out to be his farewell speech to all of us.
Wherever he is, he is probably running game films of the Power I, drawing line blocking schemes on a chalkboard, shooting slow Caribou, and hoarding stockpiles of TAB.
Thanks for all of it, coach Dozier. It was a great adventure.

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Farewell

Tuesday was a sad night for me. No, it wasn't about saying goodbye to another American Idol contender, or the presidential candidates debate. The sad event for me on Tuesday night was the airing of the final episode of The Gilmore Girls, my favorite TV show. To me it's the greatest show ever. I don't watch that much TV, but Tuesday night, when there's a new episode of Gilmore Girls, is always something to look forward to.

I like the goofy characters, the snappy dialog, the sense of community and support that comes through the town of Stars Hollow, the sense of restoration of broken family ties between Lorelai Gilmore and her mother, and the destiny of true love between Luke and Lorelai. I'm going to miss those Gilmore Girls!

Here's a quote from tvsquad.com's Joel Keller, that echoes my sentiments:

"I've been a fan of this show since the second season, and, recent flaws and all, I'm going to miss it dearly. Thanks to Lauren Graham, Alexis Bledel, Scott Patterson, Kelly Bishop, Keiko Agena, Edward Hermann, Melissa McCarthy, and the rest of the cast for making Tuesday nights something to look forward to for seven years. And a special thanks goes out to Amy Sherman-Palladino for creating the warm, homey, quirky world of Stars Hollow and giving the show's stars such a river of great dialogue to say. A show as uniquely funny and emotional as Gilmore Girls won't come around for quite a long time."