A Pre-School Teacher with the Gift of Wonder

[The following is an excerpt from "Experiencing Wonder in Storytelling and Cinema" at http://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2010/05/experiencing-wonder-in-storytelling-and.html ]

Back during the preliterate days of our ancient ancestors, people gathered to hear stories from storytellers. Maybe they gathered in the village or around a fire. They would have heard stories of heroes and stories of where they came from. In those pre-literate days, they would have heard favorite legends that had been passed down through oral tradition.

I can recall a storyteller from my own pre-literate days. She was the Sunday School teacher for the pre-school class at the First Baptist Church of  Wedowee, Alabama. Back in the late 1950s there was not a lot of technology in churches. We may have had a flannel board, but that was the sort of gadgetry that was usually reserved for special occasions, like Vacation Bible School. Our teacher, when I was in the pre-school class, was an older grandmotherly type. On more than one occasion, which is probably why I remember this, she would tell us about how the world began. The only technology she had was plain white paper and an old shoe box full of broken crayons. When she got ready to tell us how the world began, she would hand us each a sheet of paper, then ask us to find a black crayon in the box of crayons. We kids would then go digging around looking for the right crayon.

“I found one,” someone would say.

“Here’s one,” someone else would chime in.

“Let me see that,” the teacher would examine the crayon. “No, I think that’s purple. I want you to find the blackest crayon you can see in that box.”

The when we all had our black crayons, she would instruct us to color our whole page black, until no more white could be seen from the paper. After allowing time for all the children to scribble on their paper, the teacher would say, “Now look at that paper – all you see is black. That is what it was like before God made the world. There were no trees, no birds, no people, no lakes – there was not even any light. Can you imagine no light at all? There was nothing anywhere before God made the world.”

Our preschool teacher was no childhood development expert or theologian, but she was able to lead a group of preschoolers who were incapable of abstract thought (according to the experts) to a sense of wonder about their world and their own existence - and a sense of awe at the possibility of nothingness. I know because I was one of those preschoolers.

An Evening with Garrison Keillor

So I went to hear Garrison Keillor last night. He was at Samford University which hosts the Tom and Marla Corts Distinguished Authors Series. Garrison Keillor has a way of drawing you in. He is a writer who tells stories laced with humor and insight that reflect Americana. He appears to be talking about himself, but then you realize that you have been there, too. You laugh out loud at times, you are gently moved at times, and you know he is telling our story as well as his.

“Garrison Keillor: A Brand New Retrospective” That’s how the event was billed. Keillor, the host of A Prairie Home Companion, is a writer who also loves music and he likes to sing. He had described the program earlier in a press release:  "A man at 70 relives the good times - and the music that brings it all back: hymns, jingles, Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, pop tunes, limericks, rock 'n roll, Beethoven, love sonnets, rags, blues, rousers, with Richard Dworsky, Rob Fisher, and Christine DiGiallonardo."

The evening began with some jaunty piano music from Richard Dworsky and Rob Fisher. Then Keillor walked onto the stage singing a jingle that he made up talking about how things were “back in the day” when there were no gadgets such as iPods and cell phones and a man could leave the house and actually be alone. He continued with a long list of “how things used to be,” and even worked into the number a bit about how he first came to Birmingham in 1993 when the big snow storm hit “and made us feel right at home.” After the light incidental music, he was joined onstage by Christine DiGiallonardo who accompanied him in some duets. When he introduced the young lady he said that when picking a duet partner, it is always helpful to pick someone who is younger, more talented and knows music better than you do. “Always pick a superior partner,” he added, “as I look out at the audience I see that that is what most of you have done.”

Here’s What You Need to Know about Life

After a couple of more songs, Garrison began to rattle off a list of ten things. They were ten things that he felt like we should all know, most of them were laugh-out-loud bits of insight. For example, he said, “Make sure you marry someone with a good sense of humor,” he paused briefly as he examined the thumb and fingers of his left hand, “because they are going to need it! After all, this is the person who will have the most access to the details of your life.” He went on with his list, until he got to the notion that we should lighten up and be cheerful. Keillor turned 70 this year. He told us that when you reach the biblically allotted number, you learn that it’s best to accept life and be cheerful. You learn to be grateful.

With that Keillor told a story of his trip to the Mayo Clinic for an MRI to try to figure out why he was having headaches. He described in great detail a near accident on the snowy drive up to the Mayo Clinic. After the medical tests, “they were able to see that there was no tumor – which was great news, I was elated. But I would have missed out on that wonderful news if I had died in an accident on the highway, which could have happened – you learn to be grateful.”

The storyteller then went on to describe meeting an elderly couple when he was in the cafeteria of the Mayo Clinic. The wife was in a wheelchair and the husband had obviously suffered a stroke as some point, his right arm hanging downward like a dead weight and his face drooping so that he looked constantly displeased. His wife was saying things like “you just have to take one day at a time; you gotta have faith; doctors don’t know everything, you know, my uncle lived longer than his doctors said he would.” Keillor then said the audience, “That’s the problem with surviving catastrophic things like a stroke – you have to endure words of encouragement from other people. They mean well, but you want to just shoot them…except you don’t have the coordination in your right arm to handle a gun.”

Reminiscence in Story and Song

As the evening continued, we heard the host of A Prairie Home Companion tell about events throughout his life. We heard about his witnessing a baptism in the creek near their house when he was five years old and his father had just come back from the war. He told of not being allowed to play football in the seventh grade because his doctor noted his mitral valve prolapse and how that led to his first job as a writer when he began to report on the games for the local paper. We learned of the first girl he fell in love with in high school, and how she so casually left him the night of the school prom, thus giving him understanding of what those blues songs were about that he had been singing, but didn’t really understand until that moment.

Christine DiGiallonardo
and Garrison Keillor

We heard many songs from Keillor and his small troupe of musicians: gospel, blues, American standard, rock and roll. At 70 years of age, I was impressed that Mr. Keillor still has a vocal range from tenor all the way down to bass. After one of the hymns that he and Ms DiGiallonardo sang, he told the audience about how his mother had died not long before at the age of 97. He and his siblings had sung that hymn along with others to their mother while she was on her death-bed.  Keillor said that his mother believed the message of those songs, and his sister who sang them along with him believed them. He said he had tried to believe them, but he wasn’t at that same place that some people in his family were. “I tried to believe them. I also tried not to believe them, and that’s even harder than trying to believe them.” He added that he was more inclined on certain days toward belief than he was on other days. I think everyone knew exactly what he meant – even those who claim belief would know deep down what he meant. Thus Garrison Keillor was once again telling his story which was really our story as well.

 All in all, it was a delightful evening. We were given some insight into life, but not so much as to get either bummed out or overly elated. Mr. Keillor kept any insight balanced by humor and the simple fun of sharing music together. As we were walking out of the performance hall, I heard a lady humming the tune of the last gospel hymn that had closed the evening. What is that they say in show business? If they leave humming the tunes, the show has been a success.

[Photos are from the AL.com news release]

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Memories of Jack Throp (1926 – 2011)

Jack Throp was undoubtedly the most upbeat fellow I ever met. He always had a ready smile and a warm greeting.  He had a joyful musical lilt in his voice whenever he spoke, whether he was talking talking about family, volunteer interests, or just routine events.  There was a calm and joyful note behind every aspect of his life. If you ever encountered Jack Throp in the course of the day, you would likely recall that encounter as the highlight of your whole day.

Apprenticed as a saddlemaker when he was a young man in Arizona, Jack went on to a remarkable career as a zoo keeper beginning at the San Diego Zoo. He served as a bird trainer/consultant on the Disney movie, Swiss Family Robinson and went on to prestigious work in other zoos. He was General Curator at the Phoenix Zoo, moved on to be the Director of the Honolulu Zoo and later in his career became Director of Taronga Park Zoo in Sidney, Australia.

I first met Jack in 1991 at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Birmingham, Ala., shortly after his retirement from the Birmingham Zoo where he was Director of the Birmingham Zoological Society.  I came to know him as a friend, a storyteller, a writer, a poet, a great conversationalist and a truly nice guy. 

It seemed that Jack could do just about anything he set his mind to do. A few years ago I was introduced to his artistic side. He had an art show opening at the old Lyda Rose Gallery in Homewood. The show featured a series of primitive wooden masks on which Jack had painted a variety of scenes and patterns.  Also there on exhibit was a beautiful bronze casting of two hippopotamuses, appearing to be rising up out of the water. I asked Jack about that piece. He told me that it was a replica of a very large piece that he had created for the Honolulu Zoo.  He recounted how at the zoo they had wanted to have such a sculpture as a centerpiece for a new area they would be opening. “I thought, well I could do that,” Jack told me, and he then talked about how he sculpted the large mold that would serve as a cast for the larger-than-life fixture at the zoo. I was amazed, partly because I didn’t know about that side of Jack Throp.  I asked him, “When did you decide to take on sculpting?” Jack responded in complete candor, “Right then and there at the Honolulu Zoo.”  I was dumbfounded and amazed. Some artists spend years in training, some go to Paris to study with the great ones, Jack Throp just picked up some tools and went to work when he saw what needed to be done!

Just a couple of years ago I was proud to attend a book signing event to have Jack autograph a copy of his book, Not-So-Wild Animals I have Known. Reading that book was just as fascinating and fun as talking with the man himself.  I count it a privilege to have known Jack Throp. I never had an encounter with him that was not delightful.  Jack was a bright light in Birmingham, and his light will be missed.

 Charles Kinnaird

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To read a wonderful article online from The Birmingham News about Jack on the occasion of the publication of his book, visit http://blog.al.com/mhuebner/2009/04/birmingham_writer_and_former_z.html

To see his obituary page got to http://obits.al.com/obituaries/birmingham/obituary.aspx?n=jack-lacroix-throp&pid=152677032&eid=sp_shareobit

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Experiencing Wonder in Storytelling and Cinema

(Part 5 in the series, Experiences of Mystery and Wonder)

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I think that the movie is the perfect medium for mythological messages. The medium is so plastic and pliable and magic things can happen. And then the combination, you know, of fantastic landscape and possible modes of action and voyaging that we can hardly conceive of in good solid terms ... That’s a mythological realm, and movies could handle this kind of thing.

               - Joseph Campbell, “The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell,” Mythic Dimensions (1997),
                 Tape 3, Side 1

One Saturday afternoon I went downtown to the public library to see what movie videos were available to check out. As I entered the large glass doors of the modern glass and steel facade of the new library building, I felt a little guilty about going there to find a movie instead of a book. Then it occurred to me that what I was doing was much more in line with what my ancient ancestors probably did. I was going to a public place to find a story, just as in the old days people gathered to hear stories from storytellers. Maybe they gathered in the village or around a fire. They would have heard stories of heroes and stories of where they came from. In those pre-literate days, they would have heard favorite legends that had been passed down through oral tradition.

The Earliest Stories

I can recall a story teller from my own pre-literate days. She was the Sunday School teacher for the pre-school class at Wedowee First Baptist Church. Back in the late 1950s there was not a lot of technology in churches. We may have had a flannel board, but that was the sort of gadgetry that was usually reserved for special occasions, like Vacation Bible School. Our teacher, when I was in the pre-school class, was an older grandmotherly type. On more than one occasion, which is probably why I remember this, she would tell us about how the world began. The only technology she had was plain white paper and an old shoe box full of broken crayons. When she got ready to tell us how the world began, she would hand us each a sheet of paper, then ask us to find a black crayon in the box of crayons. We kids would then go digging around looking for the right crayon.

“I found one,” someone would say.

“Here’s one,” someone else would chime in.

“Let me see that,” the teacher would examine the crayon. “No, I think that’s purple. I want you to find the blackest crayon you can see in that box.”

The when we all had our black crayons, she would instruct us to color our whole page black, until no more white could be seen from the paper. After allowing time for all the children to scribble on their paper, the teacher would say, “Now look at that paper – all you see is black. That is what it was like before God made the world. There were no trees, no birds, no people, no lakes – there was not even any light. Can you imagine no light at all? There was nothing anywhere before God made the world.”

Our preschool teacher was no childhood development expert or theologian, but she was able to lead a group of preschoolers who were incapable of abstract thought (according to the experts) to a sense of wonder about their world and their own existence - and a sense of awe at the possibility of nothingness. I know because I was one of those preschoolers.

The Cinematic Stories

We love stories – good story tellers can take us to that sense of wonder and mystery. In our day, the movie makers have stepped in with ever-increasing technological advancements to engage us in the art of storytelling. The cinematic experience can provide a rich medium for story telling which allows for a greater sense of wonder. The cinema combines drama, light, pictures and technical skill which, if the story is a good one, can heighten that sense of wonder.

The movie theater itself can help to set the stage, so to speak. It creates a space not unlike the cavernous cathedrals of a past era. As the lights go down and the screen comes up, our sense of anticipation increases. The theater also provides a communal setting for a shared experience. Even if we do not know anyone else in the audience, there is something about a public gathering that magnifies the significance of the cinematic encounter.

And then there are the stories: love stories, adventure, action, war stories and tales of suspense and horror. There is science fiction and fantasy which allow us to explore the boundaries of our imagination and frees us to think of new possibilities. What movies would you place on your top ten list? Ask yourself what it was about those films that made such an impact? Sometimes there is the social impact as in Norma Rae which illustrated the need to improve working conditions in textile mills, or Erin Brockovich which highlighted hazards of industrial waste and cover up. Then there are the tragic love stories seen in Romeo & Juliet and Titanic. Some seek out horror stories like Poltergeist and Halloween that make you glad to leave the theater for the light of day and the security of the real world. The Star Wars movies and the Star Trek series gave us action and adventure and allowed us to dream of other worlds. Who can forget the magic of E.T. or the joy of seeing the little guy empowered in The Karate Kid? Then sometimes you just need to laugh. A great comedy can cleanse the mind and body with laughter.

The cinema is one place where we are allowed to vicariously experience a wide range of emotions, and that is probably a healthy thing. Sometimes those vicarious emotions are important safety valves and sometimes they achieve that element of mystery and wonder. Technology can add to that sense of awe and wonder, as in 2001: A Space Odyssey or more recently in the 3D movie Avatar. Stories are important to us, and whatever medium is used for the telling, I suspect that we will continue to gravitate to those stories that bring meaning to our lives while conveying that sense of wonder.



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