Georgia Speaking

While Georgia was enrolled in the Central Square High School, her mother arranged for her to take advanced credit in math at Syracuse University, which was convenient enough because she could travel there with her older brother Freddie, whom their mother had convinced the Veteran’s Administration to support through four years of college. Georgia was smart enough that she probably could have overcome the normal high school distraction of boyfriend crushes to do High School and college classes at the same time: There was a boy with whom she collaborated for a class assignment for which they wrote a short “novel” about a world war during which one side prevailed by means of their abillity to control the weather. Maybe it was a prophetic work, but I don’t know how the war turned out, or if there is a copy of the story anywhere, and anyway … there was no romance involved in the collaboration. Then there was a classsmate, for whom she had some fond feeling, and who actually sent her a Valentine. Unfortunately it was a normal Winter in those parts, with a heavy snow on Tug Hill, and the Cuningham mail box was burried under the snowbank for several days, so by the time they dug it out and Georgia found the valentine she had already dissapointed the boy not responding, or so she thought; and anyway, she was about as shy as she could be, and didn’t speak up. I don’t know how much extra help she got in the school: She didn’t tell me about her high school teachers, except about the day when the whole school was called to an assembly, for which the teachers were brought on stage, or all the female teachers, if there were any men at all. A staff member went along the line-up with a measuring strick that had a mark showing the maximum acceptable level of the skirt or dress hem above the floor. I suppose all had been informed of the regulation. Georgia’s r favorite teacher’s skirt was over the red line; and so she was soon gone. I guess there was no student uprising, and it seems no parents spoke up about this stupid cruelty. More or less on her own, but always with her Mom’s support, Georgia did very well in that imperfect school; so well that she graduated at the top of her class, and the problem was that a the class valedictorian, she would be obliged to get up on that stage and give the valedictory speach. Bit as well as she performed in schooll otherwise, and though she could not just write a speach, but recite it from memory, she was still a mere mumbler, and if she didn’t some how learn to SPEAK UP, no one beyond the first row of the assembly would hear her. Pearl had a plan for that. She directed Georgia to stand on that porch, and, after she herself stood a few yards back, to start reciting the speach. Which Georgia did: “ We are gathered here to celebrate our four years of learning, friendship, and indoor plumbing …” “ LOUDER”, Responded Pearl. Which Georgia just managed to do, to her mother’s satisfaction. Then Pearl took a few more steps back. Georgia spoke up. “We are gathered here to celebrate our four years of learning, friendship, and indoor plumbing …” Pearl backed a few steps. “ Okay, now continue!” “ We are gathered here to celebrate our four years of learning, friendship, and indoor plumbing…” …” “ Good enough.” Pearl took a few more steps back ….. And so on. Maybe you can see more or less where this is headed. I had to make up Georgia’s words here, but not only was her was the valedictorian speach a great success, it was the first obvious step on her journey to Masters AND Doctorate degrees in both Speech and in Theater. Yes, Although she would never aim to be an actor, just a set designer; and she would never get work in that line of (man's)work either.

The Nine Lives of Greg

Everybody enjoys a good story, and it doesn't even need to be true, though it’s only right to distinguish between true stories, fiction, and lies … which are three different creatures . You will have to be the judge of that in this story: I am simply repeating what Georgia told me, and reminding you that she had such a powerful imagination that it sometimes overpowered her perceptions or her memory; and that's true of us all to some extent, but her imagination exceeded by far my own ability to visualize or make things up. In any case, a good and proper story should not have obvious holes or missing parts; and if you skip ahead to the end of this chapter to Greg Cunningham’s obituary, you will read of his many, if not all of his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, but there is no mention of his parents, his life prior to graduating from high school, of his ever having any wife or wives, and though there is a reference to a hitch in the Army, it is only to say that he “served in the Army for a number of years”, which must have been a life-altering experience:, given that he came of age at the start of the war in Vietnam, and it would have been marvelous good luck for him to survived it at all, or to not at least have been damaged for life, as were his older brothers Jim in occupied Germany, and Freddie in wartime Korea. . Greg didn’t need war to define or disable him: he was BORN with a heart condition, and it wasn’t clear from the beginning that he would even survive childhood. But he was lucky to have loving parents. They…and it seems everyone else in the village of Central Square … were always so solicitous of his welfare that he got better fast ... WAY better. Despite the strictly vegetarian meals Pearl prepared (due to her having as a child been given a calf to raise, without being told it was going to be slaughtered) the boys grew up strong, healthy, and even contented: partly because they were always welcome for meals at neighbor Claude’s farm , where beef and chicken were in the yard and on the table. Greg grew strong like a bull, and became a star high-school football quarterback. He developed the self-confidence and charm that comes with being cheered on by one’s whole home-town, and he won a girlfriend or several. He also joined the Boy Scouts, or said he did. He drafted his mother to suit him up properly for scouting activities. Pearl was ready and willing: a champion seamstress and designer; she had her own side-business, “Pearl’s Thimble”. She was an accomplished maker of well- dressed dolls with which she won prizes at the state fair. She not only could but DID make dresses out of feedbags, and would eventually, design the uniforms for Mohawk Airlines stewardesses. She would proceed to design, not just the uniforms of the Hess gas stations attendants, but the facades of the stations themselves, the truck detailing, and the famous Hess toy truck campaign. She made Greg’s uniform, and when he announced his promotion to Eagle status, she sewed up the special sash on which to display merit badges he claimed, and which she also made. I don’t know what the merit badges were for, but you are already suspicious. Scouting involved a lot of pack meetings, overnight camping and such, so Greg was often away overnight; more often than most Boy Scouts. I don’t recall from Georgia’s account just how Pearl and George found out, but his parents discovered that Greg had not joined the Scouts at all, but had been spending those nights away at his girlfriend’s house. George went and confronted the girl’s parents with the facts, of which they were well aware, and which they tolerated; figuring that it was better and safer to have that going on, than having the kids sneak around; and what with Greg being such a fine young man anyway. Nothing much came of that. He would never marry the girl, high school graduation came along and, despite his the poor outcomes of his two brother’s Army experience, he still planned, as they had, to join up, become an Military Policeman, and emerge ready to be a State Trooper. But this was just as the War in Vietnam was heating up, and he, not being well informed about that, enrolled. Then, shortly before he was supposed to report for duty, somebody told him about the war; and he very quickly disappeared. Greg was was of course very good at disappearing. Even his parents didn’t know where he was for a long while, and it took a couple of years for the government to catch up with him. He moved from place to place and job to job, converting his Cuningham sir-name to a double N version, and, no doubt, using other names too. During that time … always afterwards also …. the family didn’t hear from him often or ever really know where he was. The sport was challenging enough that they came to admire and value Greg’s devious talent. After a long confinement, which didn't suit a man like Greg, they made him an offer: Work for the CIA, or spend his life in the clink, like any ordinary deserter. An easy choice for Greg, requiring no real disruption in his accustomed way of life, along with a salary and support for his cover identities. He became a Central Intelligence Agency operative. According to Georgia’s count: during, and before his patriotic service, he had seven wives and no divorces. He must have had many interesting lives and broken a few hearts. He had at least two daughters whom he named Georgia, not just because he adored his little sister, but so that he would not slip up and call one by the wrong name. I don’t know how he managed the several wives without any divorces, but one day, one of the other Georgias showed up at the door looking for a Greg Cunningham. I doubt that she ever found him. But he would sentimental about family and still fond of our Georgia, telling her more about his professional activities than he probably should have. He told her that he was there on the Tarmac when Senatoer Aquino was "assassinated", but that the guy was already dead when he was “helped” off the plane. In the summer of 1968 when Georgia was in Chicago for an academic conference, he just happened to be there too, knowing what hotel she was in, called a message to her hotel, saying that she should be at a certain public phone booth at a certain time when he would call, which she did, and he called telling her about the shit that was about to happen and that she should get out of town. He didn’t meet up with her then, but she got away before the shit hit the fan. Years passed and they never saw him, though occasionally he would call home and promise to visit soon ... or sometime. Eventually he was able to retire from Government service and with the money he made from that PLUS the money he made from his cover identities, he bought land in Florida: the whole of a village abandoned due to I don’t know what, so maybe it didn’t cost that much and anyway, he apparently lived in Miami Beach anyway, but still he never came home again. Greg didn’t make it to his father’s funeral. And later on, when Pearl was sick and about to die for real this time, he promised to come and see her one more time before that happened; and he didn’t ,but he called the day of the funeral, when brother Jim and the rest of the family were gathered there, and Georgia answered the phone. When Jim realized who it was, promising again to show up with flowers or something, Jim took the phone from Georgia and told him with deep sincerity and high emotion that, if Greg DID show up, he .. Jim ... would damn well SHOOT him, and I have to admire Jim some for that. Of course Greg didn’t show up, nor would he have anyway, and I don’t know what he died of; the obituary doesn't say, but here it is: Obituary for Judson G. Cunningham “Judson Gregory (“Papa”) Cunningham, 80, passed away on Friday September 16, 2016. He was born on April 24, 1936 in Syracuse, New York. He is survived by his sister Georgia; his four daughters, Colleen, Georgette, Ashley, and Michele; his two sons-in-law, Michael and James; his grandchildren Kayleigh, Amy, Michaela, Maya, Taylor, Giovanni, Aimee, Max, Rachel Ireland and Vincenzo; and several great grandchildren. He played football at Central Square High School. After graduating, he served in the Army for a number of years. Afterwards, he began an extensive career in underground utilities. He supervised and managed underground utility projects in the U.S. and overseas for over 40 years. He was a certified heavy equipment operator and an expert welder. He traveled to various counties throughout his career including Saudi Arabia, the Philippines and all over West Africa. He had a great passion for ministering to people. While in West Africa, he was part of Eternal Love Winning Africa (“ELWA”) in Liberia. He worked closely with Dr. Bob Schindler, founder of the ELWA Hospital, to spread the gospel and help plant churches throughout Liberia and West Africa. After returning to the U.S. he took courses at the Moody Bible Institute and was a member at Miami Bible Church. He was very involved in the church and sang in the choir. After spending many years Miami, Florida he relocated to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Ten years ago he moved to Clearwater, Florida and started a second career as a mechanic. He loved spending time with family and friends, camping, fishing, boating, taking RV trips, cooking and baking pies. In addition to his passion to minister to people, he had a servant’s heart. His desire to help people was a driving force in his life. His acts of service impacted many lives and will continue to have an impact on his family, friends and the community for years to come. He will be deeply missed by his friends, family and all who knew him.”

Rood, Needy, and Obnoxious

I noticed that the wretched little immigrant Roody was going around in circles more and more, that at the worst one or another of his paws was so limp as to not seem to have any joints, just like a rag, so he couldn't get up into his loft in the Dog house and he was making a nuisance of himself, and suffering outdoors so as we are into another cold-snap; and so.....although he is not littler trained, to say the least, and cries OWWW every three seconds without ceasing when he is not in bed asleep, sometimes stretching the ow it to three syllables and adding consonant or two ... sounding like the cry of a woman down a well . Or a ghost. And despite the fact that he stinks and Hickory therefore avoids him, I let the little fucker .... I let him in. It's going to be cold for a couple of nights .He was so debilitated that I could touch him and pick him up, which has not been possible till now, and by fist bumping his head the way the cats all do, and involving Hickory, which I am able to do because I have two fists, got Hickory to accept him ...at least to the point of feeling no jealousy, and fooling around with him some. Although Hickory doesn't Roody up on our stool or to spend a lot of time head bumping with him, our being endlessly encircled by the little stinker, Hickory pets Roody with his tail. are better than one head, and four legs would be great, but I wish I had a tail. Insects have four legs two arms, AND a tail. What's that?

Prince Roody Bandicoot Takes the Throne

Roody at my feet

The Cardinals Pope

Cardinals generally mate fore life and flock during the winter, but this particular Cardinal is a singular loner: the Pope of Cardinals. He feeds atop the Cat house and poops in the woods.

Pearl's Fiddle

A hundred years ago, young Pearl Clark and family lived in the tenant house on one of the big farm estates that thrived then where the North Syracuse suburbs are now. Papa Clark took care of the fields, barns, roofs and machinery; while Pearl, with her Mother and her sisters cooked, served, and cleaned inside the Estate House from root cellar to music room. In the music room, the lady of the house noticed that Pearl’s hands had a lovely way of tickling the piano as she breezed by with her dust cloth - the dust cloth on the border of which those same hands had embroidered perfect little roses. Because the girl had such obvious hands full of talent, the Lady arranged for music lessons with a prominent Syracuse Violinist. The prominent Violinist was immediately impressed by Pearl’s hands that seemed to know the way without being taught; but of course there was still plenty for her to learn from the old master. He taught her well and at the end of their time together … maybe near the end of HIS time altogether … he gave Pearl the violin we have here today. With a flashlight and some head-twisting you can look into the music hole of the battered old instrument and read the label which states in stately Italian terms that it was made in anno seventeen twenty-six by Stradavarius himself, who has signed it to assure us that it’s so. Well everybody knows, or else should know, that back then, before patents were invented, or just weren’t such a bother, making and selling fake Stradivarius violins was an industry with global reach, and you may even have one in your garage. Her teacher may or may not have been a victim of any illusions about the violin, but in giving it to her, he somehow gave Pearl the impression, or Pearl gave Georgia the impression … or anyway Georgia gave ME the impression that somebody thought this is a real Stradivarius. It’s a FAKE Stradavarius, but Pearl took it with her when she left the farm to live upstairs over a candy store in Syracuse. There in her bare, caramel scented room, she could put the uncased violin on her one of her two chairs, leaning it comfortably against the chair back, and if she sat in the other chair with her sewing and sang, the violin would sing took or if she walked around the room dusting and singing, the violin would hum along. In her time living over the candy store, Pearl continued to do odd jobs in the service trade, but she also took the violin on the street and made some money busking there. I don’t know if Pearl took the fiddle with her that Thanksgiving evening when she went to have dinner on her first date with George Cuningham, the disowned heir of the Cuningham meat-packing family, but the day after her night at George’s apartment, she went back to the room over the candy store to get the fiddle and …or …everything else she owned, I don’t know how much she played the fiddle when the two of them and the five kids frolicked thereafter up on Tug Hill, ; but their three boys pretty well punked the poor thing.. So we’re not about to shove Pearl’s fiddle down a Woodchuck hole; just want to get the haunted old thing pulled together for our mutual comfort. if she doesn’t sing, or if it or he does, but has a voice like Tom Waits on a tough night, that’s Okay. Might put her together myself, with the right advice. Hang her up for a security camera housing, conservation piece, and story telling device. She didn’t come with a bow anyhow. Where can I buy horse hair?