Arts And Crafts and Me and Jon Gnagy

          Arts and crafts have never given me permission to use them. Oh, there was a time when as a kid I would faithfully sit down in front of the TV on a Saturday morning to “Learn to Draw with Jon Gnagy.” I’d have everything in front of me that he recommended: Plain 8 ½ X 11white sheet of paper, ruler, and pencil with an eraser.

          He would often begin by saying something like, “With your ruler, draw a straight line about 1/3 up from of the bottom.” That I could do, and just as often, that was about as far as I could go to match what would eventually show up on the TV screen. The rest was a rather pathetic attempt on my part to “draw with Jon Gnagy.” Trust me, I wanted to create a picture that people not only recognized what it was, but even thought it was pretty good.

          My parents gave me a Jon Gnagy drawing set one year for Christmas. I was really excited about that for now I would not only have the correct tools of the trade, but a book with step-by-step instructions for using them and illustrations of some of the pictures from his TV show. And I will tell you that I poured my heart and soul into doing the best I could do with the chalks and pencils and a kneaded eraser. Plus I now had official drawing paper (and we all know how important that is), but alas, my art was meager at best and “what is it?” at worst.”

          My favorite was of a covered bridge, and I will say that I didn’t do a bad job of it. No, no, no—not Jon Gnagy quality by any means, but definitely a recognizable attempt. As a matter of fact, that has stuck with me for lo these many years—not the whole scene itself, but the covered bridge with a few little strokes to indicate trees and flowing water. I’ve sketched that in meetings and classrooms and sometimes at home, just thinking aimless thoughts (which many of them are in these days of retirement)

          Several years ago, when I was online one day, I came across a website that was dedicated to Jon.  It was set up and managed by his daughter, Polly Seymour. There was a contact email address that allowed you to send messages to her regarding memories of her father and his program. So, that’s what I did, explaining to her how much her father’s TV program had meant to me. And I thanked her for setting up the website (it’s still online, in case you’re interested Just Google Jon Gnagy.)

          The very next day, I got an email back from her, thanking me for what I shared. But she also told me how fitting it was because I had sent it the day before on what would have been Jon’s 100^th birthday, of which I was not aware. Then I got one from Polly’s husband, a professor I think at Florida State, who told me about something from Jon’s picture lessons that he doodled in meetings as well.

          By the way, I still have my Jon Gnagy Drawing Kit. And here’s a little secret just between you and me (so don’t tell anyone): Every once in a while I get it out and give art another chance to make friends with me.

Jon Gnagy as he appeared on TV

PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN

          Charlie Newman lived in “Shanty Town”—the local name for a group of little old make-shift houses just outside of Medford village proper. He was a little old man, slightly bent over, who could be seen on summer days especially, high-stepping it, barefooted, straight-up the center of Main Street on his way to Braddock’s Tavern. He had a pinched face, a scraggly beard and wore ragged clothes, with his pants held up by a rope. He used an old stick for a cane, and paid no attention to anyone or anything, completely focused (or as focused as he could be) on reaching that watering hole just up the street.

          Old Bill Demore, local garbage man, with a floppy hat and a toothless grin, drove one of those old trucks with wooden removable sides, on which were a half dozen or so barrels into which he poured the contents of various peoples’ garbage cans. Once a week, maybe twice, he would putt-putt-putt his way up Main Street with 4 or 5 dogs following behind the truck, barking the whole way along.

          Sister Mary, who wasn’t really a sister in the official sense of the word, always wore a long black dress and black hat. Her face was similar to that of Margaret Hamilton’s—Wicked Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz. She could be a scary presence to kids and I used to have occasional nightmares, not necessarily of her, per se, but of someone like her. In truth she was a sweet, innocent person who no doubt wanted to be a nun but it just never worked out that way. I don’t know if she had mental issues but that was probably so.

          Those were all people I especially remember from my childhood who particularly stand out as some of the most colorful ones. I could, of course, bring up the man who came down the street in the summertime, carrying clothes props on his shoulder, yelling in a loud nasal tone like country western singer, “Props…clothes props!” And I think he was the same man who at other times, or one who looked a lot like him, who yelled, “Rags? Any old rags?”

          I also could bring up a few people who had no peculiarities so to speak, but are also of my childhood days like the Dugan’s Bakery man or Dave the milkman, and also the fish monger who came through town in his truck with seafood from the Atlantic or Barnegat Bay.

          In time, of course, all those people quietly disappeared almost unnoticed except to those who might have known them more intimately. Word of their passing was probably a small topic of conversation among the adults in town. But to kids, they just weren’t there anymore and it wasn’t until maybe years later that memories of them came floating back.

          By the way, there’s no moral to these stories I just told; no profound message I’m trying to get across; just simply a little bit of thanksgiving for people I have known and for the way they made life more interesting by who they were either intentionally or otherwise. That goes for the so-called more colorful ones as well as those who have been generous spirits of good tidings and great joy in both difficult and happy times.

Just wanted to share that.

The Day the Circus Came to Town

One day Hunt Brothers Circus came to town, and set up on what was then called the “old school ground.”  I don’t know why it was called that because there was no old school there in my growing-up days—just a field, and a not very big field at that. But kids from all over town, including yours truly, went to watch the goings-on as they set up. It was very exciting!

We watched and pointed and said a lot of “wows” and “Hey!  Look-over-there’s!” Summer had suddenly become better than ever. It was like the circus had come to town—oh, that’s right—it had. We were all filled with great anticipation of something very magical that was going to take place that very night and into the next day.

I was about 12 years old as I remember, and getting an allowance of 50¢ a week. That was an okay amount for most things, but this was big time. There would be the exciting stuff happening under the big top, a side show with strange exotic creatures of unimaginable weirdness, cotton candy, popcorn, and neat things to buy that only kids could fully appreciate as art. Yes, I would definitely be going! The only thing holding me back was my financial limitations. My 50¢ would definitely not be enough.

That, of course, meant asking my parents for the extra funds to cover my more-than-usual expenses. But what if they said no? Then what? They had their own money issues—of that I was aware. It was an ongoing topic of “discussion” around the house. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t be open to giving me some money, but I wasn’t quite sure just how open they would be.

Fortunately I was friends with two boys who lived in an apartment on the top floor of Braddock’s Bar and Liquor Store (now known as Braddock’s Tavern). They lived there because their father and uncle (who lived on the second floor) owned it. And why that was fortunate was because Tommy had an idea: “Let’s see if Bill the bartender (for a while I thought Bill’s surname was “bartender”) has anything for us to do to earn some money.” Sounded like a good idea to me. So we did. And he did.

He assigned us the job of cleaning the chrome legs on the bar stools. We were given SOS pads and a bucket of water. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it—especially if they wanted to go to the circus. I would say that we took pride in our work, but I don’t remember that part, which probably means that we didn’t. We did, however, get paid and that was the point. When I told my parents about it, they were definitely taken aback, and said, “You could have asked us for some money.”

Of course, as I said, I thought about doing that, but then I would have missed out on a life experience that apparently left quite an impression on me that has lasted all these years. I still remember Tommy and Bill the bartender, and how glad I was to get some cash for a job in a bar. By the way, I never put that down on any resume.

I tell you that story because meaningful life experiences come in many shapes and sizes. Some of them are laughable (many of them much later), some are painful, some are “ah hah” moments, some are just interesting to think about, and others are quite heartwarming for years to come.

At the moment we are all having a universal life experience right now. How will it fit into the library of our memories?  Will it include laughable moments? That would be nice. Painful moments? Quite likely some if not a lot. Will there be any “ah hah” enlightenment? Yes, if we’re paying attention. I’m sure there will be some interesting ones that we will talk about with one another later. But most of all, and I hope this is truly the case, there will be some heartwarming moments that will have touched that deeper part of us that we call our souls, and perhaps they will give us appreciation for the wonder and power of human love.

Just a thought.