Galesburg’s native son celebrated on PBS special tonight

About a year ago, while I was still living in Central Illinois, my husband and I drove one evening from our home south of Bloomington to Champaign for a long- anticipated viewing of filmmaker Paul Bonesteel’s documentary, “The Day Carl Sandburg Died.” 

A student and enthusiast of Sandburg’s work for several decades – one who has two Sandburg Days trivia contest trophies to prove it – I’d eagerly awaited the film since I first learned of Bonesteel’s work on the six-year project. My husband, not a Galesburg native, became a new Sandburg enthusiast that evening, thanks to Bonesteel’s magnificent rendering of the poet’s life and legacy.

Tonight, Monday, Sept. 24, at 9 p.m. Central Time, you, too, can see this film. 

At the Champaign screening last year, Bonesteel announced that he’d just learned the film would be featured on PBS’s American Masters, something the filmmaker had hoped for since he first began work on the project chronicling the touch of the Galesburg-born poet, author and Lincoln biographer, and troubadour. 

Sandburg, the son of Swedish immigrant parents, born near the railroad yards where his father worked dawn to dusk seven days a week , captured a great deal of Galesburg history and the story of his early years in his autobiographies, “Prairie Town Boy” and “Always the Young Strangers.” He also captured the living, breathing soul of early 20^th Century Chicago and its people in his poetry. 

Early morning walks across Galesburg’s Knox College campus, home of an 1858 debate between Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas, where he’d stop “in winter sunrise, in broad summer daylight, in falling snow or rain, in all the weathers of a year” to look at the plague commemorating the debate, aroused an interest in the 16^th President so strong that it led Sandburg to write a six-volume Lincoln biography.

And I’ve only touched upon the man and his work…

Whether you’re a Sandburg enthusiast as I am or know as little as my husband did before our trek to Champaign last year, you won’t want to miss the film this evening. 

Paul Bonesteel is also a lifelong Sandburg enthusiast, one with roots not in the prairies of Central Illinois, but in the mountains of North Carolina, where Sandburg made his home for several decades at a home called Connemara. The large Civil War-era estate where Sandburg did much of his later writing is a National Park Service site with trails, mountain overlooks and goats descended from Sandburg’s wife Paula’s herd. It’s a delight to visit.  

What impressed me most about Bonesteel as he worked on this project for more than six years was his diligence, moving ahead with the project though he didn’t have a stamp of approval, commitment or funding from any major network, capturing interviews with creative legends such as Studs Terkel, Pete Seeger and Norman Corwin, connecting with Sandburg’s grandson John Carl Steichen, who shared never-before-seen family video footage. 

What impressed me once I saw it was Paul Bonesteel’s gift as a filmmaker, his ability to put a storyteller’s story on film with a depth of detail, passion and artistic talent that parallels that of the Galesburg-born poet we both admire. 

“The Day Carl Sandburg Died” airs tonight, Monday, Sept. 24 on PBS at 9 p.m. Central Time. Watch the trailer and learn more here: http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/episodes/carl-sandburg/homepage-the-day-carl-sandburg-died/2267/. 

The film is sure to create a new appreciation for Sandburg and his work. 

Don’t miss it.

© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012  

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Richard Bach’s unexpected landing rewritten

Whether you’re a reader or an aviator, a Richard Bach fan or someone who has never heard of the bestselling author who flew to fame on the wings of a soaring seagull named Jonathan, you’ve probably heard of an event in which Richard and his plane went down less smoothly than usual this week.

I am a journalist. I use Associated Press (AP) Style every day, so I know that AP Style has certain guidelines – and that most newspapers and magazines write their stories following certain rules. I also know Richard Bach, as my favorite author, an experienced and cautious aviator and an encouraging mentor to others who share his passions – flight and writing. 

Bear with me as I break a few of your rules, oh Journalism Gods, and write the story of Richard’s little adventure the way I think he’d like it to be told. 

Actually, I am quite certain that Richard would rather this story had not been told at all. He’s never liked being in the limelight. 

And, yes, calling him Richard instead of Bach is the first rule I’m breaking. A surname just seems too impersonal when writing about someone whose words and example have impacted my life and life’s work in such a positive way. 

As for breaking the rules, Richard once walked away from a corporate job just so that he could, put, his, commas, where he wished. (Not his exact words, but you get the idea.) As a mentor, he’d approve of my rule breaking if it made the story better, so I will Go. For. It. 

The problems with the accounts of an event that happened in what Pacific Time called Friday afternoon are several. In Richard’s world, time really isn’t all that necessary. Richard’s work has drawn to it a family of readers worldwide. Time isn’t important, nor is place. 

What matters to Richard is that somewhere close to him are blue skies in which he can soar, green fields in which to land a plane and waters nearby in which to splash down with his beloved Puff. 

“Puff” – that’s her name.

When Richard Bach had an unexpected landing – which his family of readers is convinced he’ll call yet another “adventure,” he wasn’t in just any “single-engine amphibious aircraft,” as some papers reported. 

Richard was out playing with his friend Puff. 

Readers of Richard’s books will remember that some of his planes had names and some didn’t. He’s owned many, but we’re not so sure Richard has danced with, nurtured and pampered any other as much as he has Puff. Richard loves that little SeaRay, one of a family of like-souled vessels, most with owners who are, too, a family. 

Newspaper and television accounts of Richard’s landing use words I won’t to describe his time in this dimension, his “condition,” and more. 

What journalists don’t get, because they may not have read his work, is that “age” doesn’t exist in Richard’s world. An injured body or a crashed plane – blah, they’re but illusions. 

Flying alone? Not Richard. 

He may have been the only mortal soul in the cockpit, but he wasn’t alone. He was with Puff – and his family of readers and fellow aviators are with him on every flight. As Richard soars, he takes us along. Often, he later puts his adventures in words as only a scribe and aviator as proficient as Richard could. 

Here’s your story, wire services and TV stations, the way I think Richard would have it told, if must it be: 

Richard Bach, an advanced being with a childheart, and Puff, a soul whose physical body includes appearances of metal, rubber and more, are at work on the latest chapter in their series of adventure stories. 

In a land with blue water, bluer skies, green grass and emerald trees, the duo’s unusual acrobatic landing on a recent afternoon was a magnet for coincidence and an opportunity for a rescue tale of Bachian proportions. 

In the world of appearances, Richard, whose words have given flight to kindred spirits worldwide, was transported to a place where loving beings with gifts different than his own will provide him with experiences to put on a page that are unlike any of which he has written.  

Meanwhile, as they are adventuring separately, Puff is gathering her own stories of love and tender care, which she can’t wait to share with Richard and their family of readers. 

Don’t forget, though. As Richard's family of readers will attest, this adventure and everything you’ve heard about it may be but an illusion. 

© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012  

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Want to say ‘thanks’? Do it, please

Ever read an article or book or hear a song and think, “Wow, that’s amazing”? 

Yeah, so have I. 

Did you ever take the time to find contact information for the journalist, author, artist or songwriter and to drop a note to say “Thanks”? 

You haven’t? 

Why not? 

I know. You probably thought all of the same things I did, things like, “That person wouldn’t even read my mail, let alone care what I think.” 

You might be surprised.

In an interview, Richard Bach, who wrote “Jonathan Livingston Seagull,” once said, “Writers rarely hear back from readers. It’s usually a one-way communication. Your ideas and the way you sing them go out into the world and you don’t know, but you can be absolutely guaranteed that your family of readers will find what you have written and they will be touched, as you were touched by the idea when it was first handed to you.”

Almost 25 years ago, I looked forward every day to two things in my local newspapers – a column by a Peoria journalist, Rick Baker, and the humor columns of Erma Bombeck. I was so addicted to those two writers that I begged my family to at least let me read their columns before I began preparing supper. 

Once, after I’d been reading Baker’s work for a decade or so, he was to come to my hometown for a book signing. I, however, had to work that afternoon at a grocery store. The signing was to end at 4 p.m. – the same time I got off work. I made a beeline for the time clock and nearly ran to my car at the end of my shift, hoping that I could catch the investigative journalist and thank him for his work. 

As I rounded the square, I saw Baker walking along the side of the bookstore headed to his car, parked in a lot behind the store. I slowed to pull into a parking place in front of the big church across the street with its large stained-glass windows, but kept on driving instead. 

Why? 

Because I thought, “Ann, you dummy! If you go running after him now, he’ll think you’re a groupie!” 

A short time later, Rick Baker, a young dad with a lot of paragraphs left to put on the page, was killed in a car crash. He never knew that a writer-wannabe working in a grocery store was studying his storytelling skills with hopes of being a writer herself someday. He never knew that his words made a difference in her life. 

After Baker’s death, I vowed that next time I had a chance to thank someone for his or her touch on my life, I’d do it. 

But I’m a slow learner. 

A few years after Baker’s blank column – the one the paper published to commemorate his passing – Erma Bombeck wrote her last column. That woman who made us all laugh once said, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me.’” 

I suspect Bombeck may not have had a chance to use it all – the talent that was her special gift – and I know for certain I didn’t take time to thank her for the way her words brightened my days. 

Back then it wasn’t so easy to thank an author or an artist for his or her work. A book signing, a lecture, or a chance encounter were often the only in-person opportunities, and most authors only received communication from fans through their publishers. 

Today, social media has changed all of that. Many authors and musicians are on Facebook, Twitter, or have websites or blogs. Often, they will respond to their readers. 

I can tell you first hand, because I know people who make their livelihood hunched over keyboards, pounding out the pages of newspapers, novels and non-fiction books, that readers’ words make a difference, provide a shot in the arm when the words are hard to get on the page, and offer hope that “Yes, these words do touch people just as they touch  me.” 

Living in Galesburg, Illinois, I had a chance to meet playwright Edward Albee and Carl Sandburg biographer Penelope Niven and  to thank them for their work. On visits to Abraham Lincoln events in Springfield, Illinois and Gettysburg, I’ve met a number of Lincoln authors, and thanked them for the way their books help me with my research.

Social media helps me to keep in touch with them and others.

A couple of years ago, through a chance encounter on Twitter, I had a chance to thank my favorite author, the same Richard Bach  I quoted earlier, for the way his books have touched my life.

Today, I write for a living – because of writers like Baker, Bombeck, Albee, Niven and Bach. 

Some of them know that. 

I don’t know if it matters much to any of them, but it does to me.

On Friday, Aug. 31, Bach, who loves flying as much as he loves writing, had an unexpected event when he was landing his beloved Searay airplane, Puff, on Washington State’s San Juan Island. As I write this, Bach lies recovering in a Seattle hospital. 

This author who first touched my heart with a “soar–till-it-hurts” seagull more than forty years ago and who motivates me to pursue my highest right still today, can  bet his aviator’s scarf that this reader touched by his ideas is rooting for his healing and recovery, as are many in his family of readers.

Who do you need to thank for the way their work has touched your life? 

Take time today. 

Do it.

© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012  

 (Image via)

A book beckons

Are you a reader? 

If so, how often do you read? What do you read? What determines what you read?

For me, it has varied by the seasons in my life. 

When I was very young, my mother read to me—classic children’s stories and poems found in thick Whitman volumes and thin Wonder and Little Golden books. Once I could read, it was Dick and Jane, Dr. Seuss, and whatever I found of interest in my school’s library.

Later, when paperbacks were offered for sale though the school “book club,” I took great delight in making my own choices, and it was then that I started what has become a lifelong hobby—creating my own library. Those first grade school acquisitions, which I still have, though tattered and musty, include books like “Double Trouble for Rupert,” “Toby Tyler or 10 Weeks With a Circus,” “The Trolley Car Family,” “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” and more. 

The high school additions include such things as “The Catcher in the Rye,” “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and “The Sea Around Us.” 

It was toward the end of my teen years that I discovered a book that moves me deeply and an author whose work still touches me and inspires my career today. Richard Bach’s “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” flew into my life and he still hovers nearby, pushing me toward my goals. 

If my library were cataloged chronologically according to the timeline of my life instead of by the Dewey Decimal System, which helps me find what I need in an instant, the next books on the shelf would be my college textbooks, as for a few years they were all I found time to read. 

Okay, you’re right. It’s all I made time to read.

Later, as I was raising a family, I added things that I could read in short spurts, authors like Erma Bombeck and Robert Fulghum, and books on parenting or inspirational and self-help volumes. A good dose of laughter and motivation is healthy for any parent, I think—don’t you?

As my kids grew older, I returned to college and rediscovered a buried passion for the history of my home state, Illinois, its authors and stories. When the last fledgling left the nest and I had time for pleasure reading, I read some novels here and there, and started reading books on writing—and practicing myself the craft that had held me mesmerized since I first saw letters on a page. 

Along the way, I began my studies of my hometown author, Carl Sandburg, and home state president, Abraham Lincoln. 

Works about Sandburg and Lincoln were almost all I read for a few years, until Bach’s work came back into my life and consumed it until I’d read all of his books through yet another time. 

These days, though, with all of my books finally out of boxes and on their shelves after renovations and a move that had my treasured volumes out of reach for almost two years, my reading is more diversified than ever in my life. 

I’ve joined a book club, which meets at a nearby winery once a month and has me reading books I’d never read otherwise—novels mostly.

But, in the past year, I’ve also read a couple of young adult novels. (Check out Richard Paul Evans’ Michael Vey series, if you haven’t already.) I’m reading classics I always meant to, such as “The Great Gatsby” and “Siddhartha.” I’m re-reading books about the craft of writing and reading some new books on social media and customer service.  

Recently, one of my book club friends got me hooked on a great little volume, “The Noticer,” which gave me a good shot of perspective and has me itching to read as many biographies as I can. 

How much do I read? That, too, varies. It’s the first thing I do each morning and the last thing I do each night—at least an hour most days, not counting the news stories and blog posts I read for my work as an editor.

What do I read? Almost anything these days—and as I sit in my reading chair looking at the wall of books in front of me, I wish I could figure out how to read several at once, like one of those split-screen televisions that lets you watch more than one sporting event at the same time. 

So many words just waiting to touch and to teach …

Sorry. 

Gotta go. 

A book beckons.

© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012  

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