Category Archives: Death

Stay tuned for the rest of the story…

Death, Memories, People, ,

I’m going to be writing a series on Wisconsin as soon as I have time to do it, but one timely Wisconsin memory for me is listening to Paul Harvey.

I discovered this morning that Paul Harvey died on Saturday. I knew very little about him, except for his love of storytelling and his voice. I didn’t know what he looked like, how old he was or where he was born.

I know more about him now — He was born in Oklahoma and spent most of his life in newsrooms. He looked much younger than his 90 years.

I remember hearing Paul Harvey throughout my life. His “the rest of the story” is as comforting to me as grilled cheese and tomato soup. The last few times I’ve heard Paul Harvey, since we don’t listen to whatever radio channel he is on in our day-to-day lives, was in Wisconsin at my parent’s house, or else on the way to Wisconsin.

In my parent’s “cabin” in Wisconsin they have one television channel which comes in fuzzy most of the time. They don’t have Internet and my cell phone does not work there. But they have radio. We get our news and entertainment mostly from an old stereo system that sits under the soon-to-be useless television in the living room of my parents lake home in Hazelhurst, Wisconsin.

During the day I have the stereo on and tuned, usually, to the local public radio station, but when there is nothing interesting to listen to on public radio (shocking but true — we can only listen to so much polka) I switch channels. The next radio station that comes in clearly there is WMQA — an ABC affiliate. ABC airs Paul Harvey and when we’re in the house, we listen to him. If we are getting ready to go somewhere, we”ll wait until we hear the whole story he has to tell for the day. His stories are usually saccharine sweet — something one might find in Reader’s Digest or the Chicken Soup books, but something about being in the Northwoods makes us a little more receptive to that kind of storytelling.

I’ll miss his voice and his stories — but since I’ve only heard a fraction of what he had to say, maybe they’ll replay them — like the peanuts comics — and I’ll still get to hear his voice in Wisconsin.

My non-existent experience with Updike

Death, Reading, , ,

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I’ve only read one book by John Updike, and one short story. The book was The Witches of Eastwick and I read it after seeing the movie twice. I saw the movie twice by accident — sort of. Dean and I saw it and then some friends wanted to see it so we saw it again. So I read the book — but I don’t recall why.  Perhaps so I could say I read a book by John Updike?

The short story I read was A&P. I remember liking it. I read it in college, I think. My son recently had to read in for his high school freshman English class.

I knew about Updike from a young age, however. My mom had a book of his called Couples. It had sex in it and I’d skim the book to find the parts with sex. I tried to read it from the beginning, but it was boring to me otherwise. (this may have been after sixth grade though)

When I was in the sixth grade an author came to our class to tell us about being an author. His name is Larry Woiwode. (his sister was my student teacher that year). I’ve not read any of his books either, although I have most of them. He called John Updike his friend when he visited our class. I knew who Updike was by then, but perhaps Woiwode’s mentioning him made me more aware of him. [Although now that I think about it I was in 6th grade in 1968 when Couples was published — but perhaps I’d heard of the author before somehow.]

A friend of mine really liked John Updike. She liked his Rabbit novels. I didn’t even try to like them.

So. Perhaps I’ll try to read another book by Updike in honor of his passing. Or perhaps I’ll read a Woiwode book instead.

Oh wait — Updike wrote a sequel to The Witches of Eastwick. There. Decision made.

Number 6

Death, People, ,

I’m not sure when I first saw The Prisoner, but I know it was on WTTW (Channel 11) out of Chicago. I suspect I was in my teens, but I feel as if I was younger and that I watched it with my parents. However, that doesn’t seem right — The Prisoner is not something my parents would have liked.

Regardless of when I first saw The Prisoner, it left its mark on me in a few ways. For one, I had an irrational fear of big white balloons. Honestly. Of course, I didn’t see them very often, but weather balloons come to mind. Now, where on earth would I have seen a weather balloon? Beats me. Maybe I just dreamed about it.

I also had a fear of those old fashioned bicycles — the ones with the huge front wheel — especially when being ridden by someone that seemed more comfortable in a painting by Renoir or a Charles Dickens novel than in real life.

And skinny men with long faces in striped shirts and tight pants? That scared me too.

Putting aside the few things that scared me on the program, it was probably my first taste of quirky science-fiction, and possibly my first taste of surrealism. It was unlike anything I’d seen, except for maybe The Avengers. It also, along with all other media in my life, helped shape the person I was to become. So, when I heard that Patrick McGoohan died this week, I paused and smiled and remembered Number 6.

When we first joined Netflix I rented several episodes from The Prisoner. We watched it as a family — my kids were very young, but liked the program. I think that they appreciated the episodes of The Simpsons where the big white balloon made an appearance more after seeing the “Rover” on The Prisoner.

We didn’t watch the entire series because we grew tired of Number 6 thinking he was going to escape each episode, only be thwarted in the end. I’ve not seen the ending of the program, but I suspect he is still in The Village. Maybe I’ll rent them again though — just for me.

Anyway, here’s to you Number 6. You are, indeed now, a free man.