CreativeV oices Creative works by members of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati includes the 2010-11 report to the membership CreativeV oices 2011

Inside

Poetry and Prose Drawing, Painting, Photography Good Neighbors by D.J. Martin 3 Orchid by Jane Tougas cover The Blue Doorby Joan Murray 3 Untitled by Monica Petrosky 3 Batter Up by L. Ellis 4 Wishes by Sue Wilke 5 Wishes by Sue Wilke, October 2010 5 “Pollock’s BMW - 1955” by Sam Hollingsworth 6 Asanas for the Cat by Vickie Cimprich 5 Jane by Jean Crandell 8 “Pollock’s BMW - 1955” by Sam Hollingsworth 6 Stairway to Where by Elaine Shinkle 9 Copper Treasure by Glenn King 7 Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer 10 PRESERVED by Nancy Jones 7 Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer 11 The Charms of Music by Rollin Workman 8 Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer 11 Of Parakeets and Pearls by Ann Plyler 10 Untitled by Karen Neuhaus 12 Cleaning a Closet by g peerless 10 Untitled by Muriel Foster 18 Report to the Membership 13 Untitled by Muriel Foster 19 Women in the Kitchen by Judi Morress 17 Untitled by Melissa Goldstein 20 AMEN by Barry Raut 18 Untitled by Melissa Goldstein 20 The Production: Curtain Call Al by Jeanne Crandell 20 by Daphne Williams Robinson 20 A Day at the Races by Linda Doctor 21 A Day at the Races by Linda Doctor 21 Kathy by Jeanne Crandell 22 It’s Nearly Sunset in Florida You and I are Stars by Ralph Meyer 22 by Ella Cather-Davis 22 October by Bernadette Clemens-Walatka 23 You and I are Stars by Ralph Meyer 22 Untitled by Peter Nord 24 The Turkey’s Last Stand by Jane Biddinger 23 Untitled by Karen Neuhaus 25 From Pogue’s Garage by Judith Lubow 24 Sunflower by Jane Tougas 26 Average Equality by Dottie Rockel 25 Just One by Bernadette Clemens-Walatka 27 Great Blue Heron by Karen Jaquish 25

Generations by Kandy Witte 26 Now in our 19th year, we Publisher continue to invite OLLI Fred Bassett Fragrant Memory by Sally Moore 27 members to contribute their creative work in the form of Editors short fiction, poetry, non- Gloria Singerman fiction and graphics. Creative Ethan Stanley Voices is published by the Ann Plyler Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Design Cincinnati. University of Cincinnati Creative Services The editors of Creative Voices wish to thank all of those who Cover photo submitted their stories, poems, Orchid by Jane Tougas and artwork.

2 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati Good Neighbors by D.J. Martin Returning from town to my cabin bits, snakes, birds and squirrels seem our quiet forest clearing as the best of in the woods, I surprised Espresso, my to understand that I have no interest friends. Later as snowflakes fell and black pussycat, holding court on a tree in them excepting the wonder of our wood-smoke rising curled away, we kept stump. I killed the engine and watched. sharing the natural aesthetic. the silent peace. He appeared to be communing with a One afternoon, my mind otherwise fox lounging in the grass. Mr. Fox had occupied, I stepped out the cabin door a full brush, tipped with white cream, straight into the muscled black loops The Blue Door and a thick, rich, coppery coat. He of a snake sunning himself on the by Joan Murray displayed no fear, only a regal curiosity, deck. A quick apperception assessed but seemed to appreciate that I, in some no danger since his coloring and head Dogs barking their frenzy strange two-footed way, belonged to the shape contraindicated the local poi- Hearing snow-clad footfalls cat. When Espresso finally jumped down sonous varieties. So I waited, one foot Leading to the blue door of her house and meandered toward me, the fox rose, in the cabin, one planted on the deck, yawned, stretched, and followed. That did while the snake, warm and equable, Failed to warn of the stranger it! Composure be damned! I snatched up uncoiled his smooth scaly length from Who would steal an open heart the cat and tossed him into the car. The about my ankle and glided peaceably fox glared at me, disappointed that I had across the warm boards. He chose a Ancient times past questioned his intentions or had deprived likely gap between the planks and slid The heart was frozen him of lunch; I’m not sure which. He headfirst into the abyss. It would have Into errors of embrace paused to taste the air in several direc- been a simple exodus, excepting a Foraging for the mythic promise of love tions and finally moved on, slowly picking small bulge, probably a recent rodent his way through the low brush and weeds, snack, which brought his progress A man of some years several over-the-shoulder appraisals to an embarrassing halt. Back out The man she dreamed punctuating a dignified retreat into a pine and seek another route? No way! He Entered upon the welcome she offered thicket. I was sad to see him leave. He demonstrated his confidence in choice He said something worthy was beautiful, and his trust a benediction. of exit strategies by elevating the entire One of the many wonders of my sojourn following half of his person and doing With silent agreement in the Appalachian woodlands has been an upside down hula dance until the They flew toward ecstasy the willingness of the wildlife to accept rest of him finally slipped through. For Within the ordinary house me. The deer, opossums, raccoons, rab- many months Mr. Snake and I shared Behind the blue door

For seven days and nights They left all rational conventions outside Immune to doubt

She claimed him as her person He did not resist He fed her open heart with new blood They were sanctified beyond dry dogma The rest is private

At their parting He retrieved his gaze from her soul She returned his heart I love you, he said, with good reason Yes, she said, then blessed his journey home

In Spring, she murmured I’ll come to you in Spring

Untitled by Monica Petrosky The blue door closed softly behind him

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 3 CreativeV oices 2011

Batter Up by L. Ellis I never should have let them talk thing between the catcher and the trees aside I heard it again. I looked up slowly me into it. Baseball was not my game, was a high, chain link fence to catch the and turned my head from side to side but the Company women’s softball team foul balls. stretching my neck as far as body con- needed one more player. I don’t know how, but I was up to bat struction would allow. “So who cares about winning, Murph,” first. “Macbeth?” I called for lack of any- they said shortening my name, Marianna “Don’t face the pitcher, Murph. Turn thing better to say. Murphy, to one syllable. “We’ll get uni- sideways,” the coach called. No one answered me, but they didn’t forms and have a lot of fun.” Two balls zipped past me as I swung have to. I needn’t have heard anything The following week I drove to the ball- with all my might, knocking myself off else to arrive at my conclusion. To hell park, which bordered a thick, entangled, balance both times. On the third pitch I with the ball. I was getting out of there! wooded area on one side. The diamond got lucky. The bat and ball connected like I started running but didn’t get ten itself was set close to the woods. The only rams fighting in the Alps. I hit the ball feet before my fear materialized and out of the park. The only problem was jumped in front of me. He was not much that the ball went high and backwards taller than I, overweight, and wore a over the fence and into the woods. mustache. “You can get the ball, Murphy, along “Well, well, well. What do we have Asanas for the Cat with the poison ivy and everything else here? Babe Ruth?” he queried, mockingly in those woods!” the catcher yelled. polite. by Vickie Cimprich I dutifully dropped my bat and headed I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was trying for the woods. to swallow and catch my breath at the First position: “Not now! After the game!” This time same time. it was my coach. “Whatcha doing here?” he demanded Spine along the best rug, I returned to my position but I didn’t in a voice that was nothing but mean. feet in the air, bother to swing at the next ball. I wasn’t “I’m looking for my ball,” I answered belly to the sky, in the mood. I struck out. trying to speak calmly. nethers to the wind, After the game, which we lost sixty- “Sure ya are. In the middle of a wood.” two to three, the teams dispersed to their The mocking tone was back again. “Do reach with the east paw cars while I went to look for the ball. It you realize what it would take for a ball at the next dawn. was dusk in the park and darker in the to go so far astray as to land here?” woods. The orange light that filtered That did it. Anger overtook my fear. Second position: through made it look spooky, Like Mac- No one was going to insult my talent, or beth’s Birnam Wood. However, there was lack thereof, and get away with it. The haunches are hidden no reason to be scared. This wood had no “Look at me!” I yelled pointing to my under the rear; power to move against me like Macbeth’s. ball cap and uniform. “What else would I the front paws are parallel. I forged deeper into the green growth be looking for?” kicking a path through twigs, bushes and It was definitely the wrong question. Close the eyes and trailing ivy looking for a round, white He grabbed my wrists and pulled me to curl the ears around shape. him. Then, all of a sudden, the wood “That’s what I intend to find out,” he all sentient beings. moved, not en masse, but in a leafy flour- growled. ish to my left. It was impossible to see He pulled me a good fifty feet then Third Position: what it was. I froze. What could it be? My threw me to the ground up against a log. mind raced with wild possibilities, a wolf, “Joe put you up to this?” If possible, While the head is down a bear, Big Foot. I took a deep breath and his tone was nastier. “And who’s Mac?” to lick your bottom, calmed myself with the knowledge that I tried to tell him that I didn’t know loft the top foot like an umbrella suburban Ohio did not produce such a ‘Joe’ or a ‘Mac’ and that I had no idea animals. The noise was probably a dead what ‘this’ was. over the self. branch that had fallen. I slowly began He glared at me with desperate eyes, walking again straining my ears for but not for long. Before either of us had IF YOU MEET THE BUDDHA brushing sounds and crunching twigs. a chance to act a man with a shovel ap- Nothing moved but me. I became braver peared and began talking. He was tall, SNIFF HIM. and picked up my pace. rugged and grimy looking. As I pushed a small clump of bush “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “My car…,”

4 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati he began, then stopped as soon as he saw I tried explaining everything, from he said, then added, “’cept I can’t find it. me. “I thought I told you no one else, arriving in my car to the baseball game Where’d ya hide it?” Benny. You want to screw everything up? to searching for a foul ball, but Joe didn’t Joe laughed sarcastically. “Oh, Benny. You want to go to jail?” By his anger and believe me either. What was worse, Joe I knew quite well you would keep it all the authoritative tone in his voice I could didn’t believe Benny. He thought Benny yourself given the chance. I also knew tell he was the brains behind whatever and I were trying to put something over you would spend it immediately if I didn’t they had schemed. on him. bury it until it cooled off a little. Don’t “I didn’t bring her, Joe! I swear! I “You think I’d steal a hundred grand worry. I’ll get it. First we have to decide found her sneaking around here, looking to share it with a broad?” Benny pleaded what to do with little Miss Baseball.” for someone by the name of Mac.” convincingly. “I’d keep it all myself,” “Kill her,” Benny replied coldly. To my relief, Joe wasn’t interested in instant murder. However, he wasn’t op- posed to gagging and tying me to a tree in the thick of the wood. “No one ever comes here. There aren’t any trails,” he said. “We can get rid of her car and by the time she’s found she’ll be dead and we’ll have been long gone.” Benny was sent to his car for rope and a rag while Joe dragged me with him to fetch the loot. Benny wasn’t happy about the twenty-minute round trip to his car which was hidden somewhere along a back road. However, without the money in hand, he couldn’t argue. The loot wasn’t more than ten feet away. The spot was easily found if one knew where to look. A large tree lay on the ground, split from its base by lightning. In the triangle formed by the split trunk and the ground was a mound of dirt a little less compact than that surrounding it. “Sit over there and don’t try anything,” Wishes by Sue Wilke, October 2010 Joe threatened. When I was just a small girl, my Auntie took me into the garden behind her big I sat obediently about four feet away, white house, and quietly told me about making wishes. She pulled a dandelion against the fallen tree, but my mind was gone to seed out of the rich brown soil, told me to make a wish and blow. “ Blow whirling with what I could try. What- hard,” she said. I did scattering hundreds of seeds. Could all this blowing really bring ever it was had to be done before Benny my brand new doll? returned. It would be less difficult trying to escape from one than two. Running On a hot, summer day, a blue- sky day, I wandered into a field of flowers. Standing wasn’t very hopeful. With Joe’s long legs in the midst of a patch of daisies, white and some of those pink ones with red- I wouldn’t get far at all. Fighting him was orange centers, I wanted to take a picture, a really good picture, sharp, not blurry, more ridiculous. It was going to have to be not over exposed. Snapping away, I captured a fat bumble bee having its way with a a battle of wits. black-eyed susan, and followed dancing butterflies, hoping they would sit still long enough. The black and orange of a monarch drew my attention to a large thicket Joe began digging for his buried filled with some kind of brown pods. Split open by time, they were protected by a treasure. It must have been deep because white filmy substance. It was as if whatever flowers once lived there died, and were it took him at least fifteen minutes to dig now covered with tangles of messy cob webs. Entranced by the look of the pods it out. He looked up often to make sure I and little, bushy white flowers nearby, I readied my lens. In the exact moment the wasn’t moving. When he was finished he camera clicked, silky white filament-like hairs began to drift away carried along by threw the shovel down and pulled out a an ever so slight breeze. Milkweed seeds, delicate tufts leaving their nest. How far locked, metal box. Then he sat against the would they go, where would they find rest? tree and rested, the box and shovel on one side of him and me on the other. It was At six, my daughter Abby chasing after them would laugh with delight when she time to throw him a wild pitch. happened to catch one. “My wishes, my wishes,” she would say as she watched them “You were right about Benny,” I said toss and turn until they disappeared from sight. If only wishes were still this simple. acting like a woman scorned. “That bum!” “What?” he replied wiping the sweat

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 5 CreativeV oices 2011 from hi brow. “Joe!” Benny cried less than twenty For a full five seconds I stared without “I agree to help him and where does it feet away. Then he looked at me and blinking. Benny was unequivocally out. I get me. I should have known he’d turn on threw down the rope. looked back at his path still confused and me,” I scowled. Pure instinct made me attempt to get saw my ball rolling innocently along the “What are you talking about?” Joe up and run as Benny came after me full ground. fired back. speed with his hands holding the rag in I used the rope to tie them up and “You weren’t supposed to catch me front of him ready to clutch my neck. Be- ran back to the ballpark with as much of with Benny. You were supposed to find fore I could stand up my foot caught on a the money as I could carry, just in case me looking for a ball. I was to be a decoy stringy vine and I fell back to the ground. anyone else doubted my word. I jumped to distract you so Benny could stab you Two more strides and Benny would be in my car, locked the doors and called the from the back.” on top of me. police on my cell. I waited for a response. I knew neither The next few horrifying seconds The police, skeptical of me or not, of them trusted the other. He stared at passed as eternity in my mind. It wasn’t acted swiftly and efficiently, justifying the me and finally commented. until afterwards that I realized what had respect due them. They also solved a year “That two-bit swindler!” Wait till he happened. Benny came at me in a fly- old bank robbery. comes back.” ing leap that would have qualified him The next morning the sports headlines Strike. He had swung at my pitch. I for the Great Wallendas. I rolled out of read, “Baseball Player Bats One Hundred decided to keep throwing. his path, but not before I had heard his Thousand.” I returned the ball along with “I doubt that ol’ Benny is coming scream and saw the look of fright on his my uniform. My baseball career was over. back,” I said and then laughed. “Boy, did face. He overshot me and landed with his I could never beat my own record, nor you make it easy for him.” head hitting the trunk of the fallen tree. did I want to. He turned on his knees and grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. Strike two. “How?” was all he said in a low, deadly voice. Just keep pitching, I told myself, checking my panic. “Benny’s been here before. It took him a while but he found the loot,” I said throwing another lie at him. “He doesn’t have the key to the lock,” Joe pointed out looking back at the box. Foul ball. “Even a moron can pick a lock,” I rebutted. “There’s nothing in that box but paper. The only reason he returned was to kill you. He knew once you had discovered that the money was missing you wouldn’t stop till you found him. And let’s face it. Benny’s smart enough to know he’s no match for you.” He shoved me down next to the shov- el and turned toward the box grabbing in his pocket for a key. He had bought my story. Strike three. He was out. It was my turn to bat. With his back to “Pollock’s BMW - 1955” by Sam Hollingsworth me for the first time I quickly picked up the shovel and swung it like Babe break- In 1975 BMW motor car company commissioned Alexander Calder to design a ing a record. I was too close to miss. The painting scheme for an exhibition automobile. Since then sixteen additional artists such as Frank Stella, Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschenberg, Jenny shovel connected with a sickening thud as Joe fell over the box. I continued with Holzer and Jeff Koons have created designs. the swing, the shovel flying from my This painting envisions a design that might have been created by Jackson Pollock. hands and me falling backward. The car is a 1955 BMW M 503. Before I could reconnoiter and focus on the outcome of my hit, I heard Benny Pollock died in an automobile crash on Long Island in 1956. returning with the rope and rag.

6 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati Copper Treasure by Glenn King PRESERVED Ernest is an elderly man … eighty- said, “All right Ernie, let’s see, does any- by Nancy Jones one have a coin we could toss?”” one to be exact. His bones are fragile, and Gramma’s He quickly pulled his shiny copper his face has the deep lines of one who has jelly dish spent long hours outdoors. His weathered penny from his pocket and said, “I do !” “Heads you win and tales you lose,” hands, only partially covered by a pair pressed glass of the Depression she proposed of unraveling, soiled knit gloves, show on the table covered with oilcoth that he has worked hard in his lifetime. And that’s how Ernie got his wish. This good luck continued through high The rusty stains on his index and middle on a pedestal school, and when the football team finger are telltale signs of years of smok- small and clear. ing. He huddles against the biting wind in asked to use his copper penny for the beginning coin toss, they always won. his tattered Army coat and pulls his black I remember the heat. knit cap tighter on his head. The swirling This may have been coincidental, but he thought the coin was magic. Every night, leaves of autumn whip about him as he Stoking the wood fire he placed the coin on his nightstand, and sits on a cold park bench watching nan- again and again when he decided to sign up for the army, nies push babies in prams. Women avoid hot, hotter. his shivering form and ignore his sad he took the lucky penny with him. That special coin went through many smile as they quickly guide their chatter- Jelly jars World War II experiences. It was tucked ing children toward the play area. boiling in water Where have those happy years of care- into the corner of his uniform breast pocket. Occasionally, he would take it out free, questioning childhood gone? Only waiting for the bubbling and think of all the good fortune it had yesterday he was a cheerful boy showing strawberry preserves off his new penny to all who would look. brought. It made him smile to think of home. During one intense battle, Ernie This included his best friend, Francis, a or the steaming red was shot, and once again, his wonder- pretty little redhead who lived in a big of crushed crabapples. house on an even bigger hill on the right ful penny worked its magic. It saved his life. A stray bullet hit and ricocheted off side of town. Ernie, as his buddies called And then that precious coin. The corpsman who him, came from a family that didn’t have and then answered his call for help was speechless. much in the way of worldly goods, but he after they gelled always wore clean hand me down clothes Ernie was stunned and bruised, and very lucky to be alive. The little copper penny from an older brother, and his engaging the hot paraffin was no longer shiny, no longer round, smile was irresistible to all who knew poured and no longer flat, but after all these him. on top In 1931, when Ernest was nine, a years, it was still working its magic. When the war was over, Ernie mar- well-dressed man he didn’t know tossed dulling the color ried Francis, the love of his life, and the an unbelievable copper treasure into his cooling tarnished penny remained in his pocket. jacket pocket. It was a shiny, new penny. for a Sunday morning breakfast. He fingered it nervously as he repeated “Go buy a penny candy, kid,” said the generous man as he hurried on his way. his vows and gazed at the lovely woman, How could I ever part with this shiny with copper colored hair and freckles, penny, he thought. If I spend it, it will be who was to become his partner for fifty- gone forever, and the sweet candy taste nine joyous years. treasure to another child at the park, will only last for a short while. I will keep His wife was gone now, and the coin but, as he slowly rose from the bench to it in my pocket for good luck. burned a hole of regret in his pocket as shuffle off, the old coin fell from his torn So, for seventy two years, this is just he sat on the cold metal bench. For the pocket and bounced into the street. He what he did. first time, his copper penny had failed watched sadly as his faltering attempt Ernie’s “good luck” began in grade him. It had lost its magical power and to retrieve it was preempted by a street school when Mrs. Williams, his seventh couldn’t save his precious Francis. She sweeper that briskly pushed the fallen grade teacher, was assigning classroom had taken such good care of him. She coin into a storm drain … his precious seating. Ernest asked if he could sit next lovingly mended his old coat when it treasure, no longer magical, floated to his best friend Francis. The teacher needed a few stitches and always made through the cement sewer pipe under the knew that could possibly be a disruptive sure the penny stayed in his pocket. street and on into a distant body of water idea, but she liked the young boy and Ernest had decided to give his little to be lost forever

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 7 CreativeV oices 2011

The Charms of Music by Rollin Workman

When I was a sophomore in high warped by hearing the V-Disc so often learned that she could sit a couple of feet school, our family acquired two objects at an early age. She uncritically accepted from the closet, slam the door shut, wait which came to be related. One was a Spike Jones’ picture of the European for it to spring open, and then repeat the V-Disc which had been smuggled out of river. Consequently, she developed a process. Because the door had a natu- navy hands. V-Discs were extra large 78 strong dislike for Johann Strauss’s Blue ral period of motion, she was unable rpm records made for the armed forces Danube Waltz. That was unfortunate to bring the timing of the slams up to during WWII. We valued the V-Disc in because the Strauss composition eventu- anywhere near the Strauss waltz tempo. question chiefly for one band, which con- ally supplanted the V-Disc in frequency But because her sense of rhythm was tained a song by Spike Jones entitled “The of performance. fashionably contemporary, she was never Danube Isn’t Blue, It’s Green”. The only The substitution came about for bothered by that defect. words I now remember from the piece the following reason. From first grade Actually, Josephine usually turned to went as follows. through high school, I was unsuccess- the larger instrument of the door after “Though the blueberry looks a little fully given piano lessons. In the latter she had performed on smaller ones. purple, years of that period, my teacher added When she was downstairs, she liked And your maple syrup looks a little cello instruction, not because she had to pick up her metal water bowl and murple, any hope that I would become adept at pound it against the kitchen floor. She Don’t believe what you have heard or that instrument, but because she needed was particularly pleased if the dish was you have seen, a cello in what she called her “Ensemble”. full of water when she began to play. The The Danube isn’t blue, it’s green.” The Ensemble was made up of some of dish was then more like a kettle drum, During the period when the record was her pupils, and included a few pianists, a the pitch of which could be changed by being played repetitively, we acquired the number of violinists, 2 violists, a cornet splashing out the water. The dish had second object, a new born puppy, which player, and me. We practiced once a week greater rhythmic flexibility than the door, we named Josephine. Josephine was half and performed at an annual recital. Our but, as implied by the previous remark, chow, half something else, perhaps Labra- theme song was a simplified version Josephine never made proper use of that dor Retriever. She had the reddish brown of the Blue Danube. My brother, sister, advantage. She pounded slowly or rapidly hair and curled tail of a chow. Her hair, and I had to practice our parts at home, in direct proportion to her irritation, however, was straight; her body eventu- which we did with enforced regularity. rather than in reference to anything the ally longer and leaner than a chow; and It wasn’t long before Josephine be- piano, violin, or cells was doing. Up- her head like that of a Labrador. She had came quite irritated at having to listen stairs, Josephine made use of shoes as a a generally playful and friendly, un-chow- to a composition which she regarded, substitute for the water dish. It took her like temperament. not only as descriptively false, but also as nearly two years, however, to discover Josephine’s geographical beliefs were profoundly boring. During her ado- that a louder thump could be obtained by lescence, she developed a contrapuntal holding the toe of the shoe in her teeth moan with which to accompany the and knocking the hell against the floor, music. As she advanced in maturity and rather than vice versa. sophistication, the moan gained me- It was possible to play the Blue lodic complexity. She introduced sharp Danube in the face of moaning or shoe changes in pitch to create dissonance and pounding by Josephine. But either sustain the listener’s sense of surprise. Strauss or sanity eventually had to suc- Her volume range grew to include ev- cumb as Josephine escalated toward the erything from pianissimos to climactic full vocal and percussive orchestration crescendos of the sort regarded in Soviet of her major composition, The Great Russia at the time as proletarian realism Portal of the Closet. Therefore, except for and in America as canine howling. occasional demonstrations for interested Josephine also learned to accompany friends, we always sacrificed Strauss and herself on percussive instruments. One retained sanity. of her favorites was an upstairs closet Josephine’s most memorable Blue door which was slightly warped so that Danube performance occurred in it would stay latched for only a couple connection with a group to which my of seconds and would then spring open. mother belonged, named, simply, the The closet was large, and hence the inside Sewing Circle. In those days, socks which air pressure did not cushion the door developed holes were darned, not thrown Jane by Jean Crandell when it was rapidly closed. Josephine away. Most women had what was called

8 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati a darning basket, which was always filled mentarily on the with socks needing repair. The Sewing final step to analyze Circle consisted of about a dozen women the situation in the from a two or three block area who met living room. Then, on Wednesday afternoons. One of the loping to the chair members read aloud while the others vacated by Mrs. darned. The afternoon ended with light Reeves, she jumped refreshments, occasionally preceded by into it, and from entertainment. The entertainment option there to the top of was introduced mainly to accommodate the piano. In less Mrs. Reeves. Mrs. Reeves was a widow, time than Strauss probably in her late 60’s or early 70’s. In allowed young my teenage classification, she was very imperial officers old, older than my grandparents. As to close the basic such, she was too old to have a first name. waltz tri-step, she Mrs. Reeves had been a fair pianist in her established a solid, earlier years, who erroneously imagined sitting position; herself to be even better in her maturity and, leaning down than she had been in her youth. She liked until her head was to play for the Sewing Circle and usually directly in front of did so whenever the group met at a house that of Mrs. Reeves, with a piano. Our worn upright, with one she uttered a missing ivory key covering and two top distinctive critique notes which could not be tuned, suited of Strauss. It was her well. a superb vocal One Wednesday in March of 1945, achievement, start- the Sewing Circle met at our house. My ing at about middle mother felt a certain apprehension when, c, rising continu- after the period of darning, Mrs. Reeves ously with increas- announced that she had prepared a med- ing volume for two ley of Viennese waltzes which she hoped and a half octaves, the ladies would find agreeable. Though and falling back the ladies did not commit themselves to to C as it died out. Stairway to Where by Elaine Shinkle predictions of whether they would or not, The clarity of tone, Mrs. Reeves moved from her chair beside vibrato, and breath control was faultless. look of moral righteousness; and ambled the piano to the piano bench and began. Mrs. Reeves rose on the wings of song. back upstairs. A rendition of Wiener Blut was Or, more precisely, she shot upward from Mrs. Reeves eventually recovered, in received with polite applause. When the the piano bench, barely missing Jose- part by having a cup of brandy instead of third of the introductory slow notes of phine’s head, and flew backwards, all with a cup of coffee with her afternoon cake. The Blue Danube rang out, there was a no visible effort on her part. During the Nobody ever asked her how many un- warning moan from upstairs which only flight, she tried to imitate Josephine’s aria, played waltzes were part of her Viennese my mother detected. As Mrs. Reeves but the result was quite painful musically. medley nor did she perform the medley launched into the familiar melody, the All she could manage was a collection of again. It was in fact almost a year before moaning became noticeable to everyone; staccato yelps at random pitches, mostly she returned to playing for the Sewing and a thumping began which some of the in the high registers. Circle, and never again at our house. She women found disturbing. When a door She landed in the arms of my mother, always kept a maximum possible distance began to slam, they looked at my mother who had stood up in anticipation of some from our piano. with eyes which strongly suggested that unusual movement of Josephine and was Josephine grew to old age, without something should be done. Nothing, thus ready for the unusual movement of mellowing in her musical opinions. however, deterred Mrs. Reeves. Mrs. Reeves. Mother eased Mrs. Reeves When she died, we buried her in the The door slammed six times. My onto the davenport, where she half sat, back yard, with her head lying on the mother counted them. Then, to the half lay, uttering little squeaks. Mean- Spike Jones V-Disc. Though it has been relief of the other ladies and the anxiety while, Josephine descended from the many years since the house was sold and of my mother, the noise unaccount- piano; greeted with much tail wagging a the family dispersed to all parts of the ably stopped. Two waltz figures later, couple of ladies whom she knew; licked country, I like to think that the V-Disc is Josephine appeared, silently and rapidly Mrs. Reeves’ hand, turning an incipient still there, with its grooves filled with soil descending the stairs. She stopped mo- squeak into a screech; gave my mother a which was once Josephine.

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 9 CreativeV oices 2011 Of Parakeets and Pearls by Ann Plyler Have you ever wanted something Sew got herself in so much that you knew your heart trouble with some would break into a million smithereens soldier out at the if you didn’t get it? Bee-bee sighed as base, and Randall she glanced out the window at her son, Bryce gave her her Jackie, shooting hoops with his dad. walking papers.” Jackie would be heartbroken if they had The Palace. to cancel his trip. Every year, Tucker’s It was the only eighth-grade class chartered a bus to department store Washington, D.C., for their graduation in the region of trip. Jackie had talked about this incess- North Louisiana cently since fourth grade. He was a his- where the Smiths tory buff like his dad. It would be his first lived, in Mon- time away from home for a whole week; a roe, about fifteen rite of passage along with his diploma. miles away from Normally Jack, her husband, would be Tucker. Monroe at work this time of day. North Louisiana was situated along was doing well in these post-war times. the Ouachita The reason the trip was in jeopardy was river, boasting his temporary joblessness. His plant had a population of been on strike for six weeks now and it about 25,000. looked to be long and ugly. It had enough Bee-bee sighed again. She couldn’t Southern preten- tiousness to have dismiss the overheard conversation from Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer her head. Last week at the social follow- a country club, ing New Hope Baptist Church’s services, and junior league. Sara Ledbetter had confided to her group At the same time, its shopping opportu- Nicknames are funny. For some of gossips: “There’s an opening at the Pal- nities were limited; a large Woolworth’s, children, they signal belonging: you’re ace for a saleslady. That white trash Gwen a Montgomery Ward catalog outlet and one of us; we like you so much we of course, the Palace. Most everyone in gave you a pet name. For children Monroe, West Monroe, on the other side afflicted with a crippling shyness, chil- of the Ouachita, and the half dozen or dren like Bee-bee; the hated nickname so small towns like Tucker, that skirted only increases the feeling of isolation Cleaning a Closet Monroe’s borders, shopped the Palace. and being different. by g peerless Bee-bee faithfully shopped the Palace Jack and Jackie interrupted her I sat weeping every year during the back-to-school reverie as they burst into the house, as lwas cleaning sales, laying in a good supply of under- elbowing each other as they kidded a closet today, wear and jeans for Jackie and his brother about their athletic prowess. She Memories of parents dying Stephens. Her boys were her pride and forced a smile to mask her worry and 30, 40 years ago, she enjoyed the anticipation of a new pushed the terrifying thought to the sliding through surprised eyes school year. Her sons were more like back of her mind. Jackie could have a reliquary of pain - rising Jack, confident and outgoing and for his trip, his dream of many years, if to be free, reminding me them, school was challenging and fun. she filled the vacancy at the Palace. that sorrows of life are not completely Her own youth and school days had Back-to-school prices were good swept away not been sunny. She had been christened at the Palace and Bee-bee would not But lie waiting Phoebe but one year, her two brothers have missed the ritual of shopping, but till deep in an old closet some day got bee-bee guns for Christmas. Almost she always felt uneasy as she pushed tears come spilling immediately, her older brother sing- her way through the revolving door. on the hidden ossuary below. singed to her younger one, “Phoebe’s a For one thing, to accommodate the Bee-bee; Phoebe’s a Bee-bee,” and the country club set, the Palace had a unfortunate nickname stuck. dress code for its salesladies. Each

10 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer Untitled by Lynn Wertheimer new saleslady was instructed to go to eighth-grade trip to Washington, D.C., so fearful, Bee-bee might have picked up on Fine Dresses and be fitted for a black help her God! Emmaline’s essential kindness. dress. Her next stop was Faux Jewelry The next morning, Bee-bee became Bee-bee could not make eye contact for pearls. This formal attire intimidated an interviewee. Randall Bryce was the and mumbled the answers to Emmaline’s Bee-bee as she pressed money into the Palace’s manager, but he delegated hiring questions. She rubbed one sweaty palm hands of the saleslady for twelve pairs of to his assistant, Emmaline Loughton. He into the other and tearfully realized it was jockey shorts. And the hands! Another liked taking credit for good employees, a lost cause. But then, the back-to-school expectation of the Palace’s salesladies was but was quick to blame Emmaline when sales came into the conversation and Bee- a weekly stop at the Beauty Salon for a problems arose, such as with that white bee started talking about her boys. How shampoo and set and manicure. Bee-bee trash Gwen Sue. Randall had an uncon- she always shopped the Palace, every was acutely aware of the contrast between scious mannerism. When he was feeling single year. Emmaline wanted to know the hands of these fine ladies and her especially superior to someone, which their ages, their grades. own, which were rough and calloused was often, he arched his left eyebrow ever Before she knew it, Bee-bee was spill- from weeding the garden. so slightly. ing out, “I’ve got to have this job. Jackie No one on earth would have expected Bee-bee desperately hoped that Emma will never have this chance again, at least Bee-bee Smith to metamorphose into a line didn’t notice that she was trembling. not with his friends from school.” Her Palace saleslady. Her sturdy frame and If the Palace salesladies in general intimi- desperation took Emmaline back, back plain features belonged in her country dated her, Emma line left her quaking. It to when she was desperate for a job at setting, tending the garden or canning to- was more than just the black dress, pearls the Palace eight years ago. Her husband matoes. But her unprepossessing appear- and manicure. Emma line was the most had been shot down on one of his last ance belied her inner fire. Phoebe Smith graceful creature that Bee-bee had ever missions, leaving Emmaline with two was an impassioned woman. Her passion been this close to. Her skin was perfec- children to raise on her own. Grief was was for her sons and their happiness. She tion; her auburn hair gorgeous. Her voice threatening to encroach on her sanity; was absolutely determined to fill the va- was well modulated and she radiated she had to get out of the house and be cancy at the Palace; Jackie would have his self-assurance. Had she not been so around people.

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The hiring decision was an easy one this.” Finally nine o’clock came. Bee-bee Bee-bee gasped. It was Mrs. Henrietta for Emmaline. Bee-bee would be a natural left the safe haven of the pick-up truck, Culpepper. Her picture was in the society with the other mothers, cross-selling an approached the side entrance of the pages every single week, doing this or extra shirt and matching tie without even beauty salon, and knocked on the door. that at the country club or chairing this realizing she was cross-selling. She could Janey opened the door right away and or that at the Junior League. Henny easily switch Mary Beth to Fine Linens said, “Good morning, you must be Mrs. snuck in with the employees to have her and place Bee-bee in Boys Smith, Emmaline told me to expect you.” roots dyed every other week. Her mother “Mrs. Smith, Fine Dresses is on 3. Bee-bee couldn’t help it. She actually had always told her, “Honey, your hair is Faux Jewelry is on 1. Pick those up now. began to relax a bit as Janey shampooed your very best feature; be sure you always Report to the Beauty Salon for your her hair, adjusting the water to pleasant have your hair done.” Actually, Henny shampoo and set and manicure on Mon- warmth. The shampoo smelled good, real could have avoided the conspiracy with day at 9. The Palace opens to customers at good, like the kind of shampoo fine city the employees; the entire western hemi- 10. You’re hired.” ladies used. Janey set Bee-bee’s hair, then sphere knew her red hair came out of a The following Monday, Bee-bee got placed her under the dryer, even bring- bottle. there early. She parked Jake’s pick-up ing her a magazine to read like she was Bee-bee left the salon at 9:45 and truck in the parking lot, but did not get a regular customer. About five minutes walked over to the Boys’ department, out. Instead she clutched the steering later, there was a knock on the door, re- where she was shown how to operate the wheel nervously as she waited for the ally more like a pound. Janey opened the cash register. A mother with a scream- Palace’s beauty salon to open for the em- door and a chorus of “Good morning, ing baby was her first customer. A few ployees, all the while thinking, “I can’t do Mrs. Culpepper” arose in unison. minutes later, to her horror, Bee-bee saw Henny Culpepper approach the Boys’ department. Henny looked around for a few minutes and then called Bee-bee over. It was her practice to size up the new salesladies and break them in to assure that she would be treated as a very preferred customer. “What’s your name?” “I’m Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Culpepper.” Good! This new one at least had enough sense to read the society pages and to recognize one of Monroe’s leading socialites. Henny’s husband, Bud, had made it big in the oil patch over in Dallas and he was always on Henny to move over to Texas. But Henny was so fool. She reveled in being a big fish in this itsy bitsy pond . She’d hardly be noticed with all the competition in big D, and she knew it. “Mrs. Smith, I want to buy my grand- son an Easter outfit. Do you have any suggestions? He’s five.” “Why, Mrs. Culpepper, when my boys were that age, they hated like the dickens to have to dress up. So when I bought them dress pants, dress shirt and tie, I’d always let them pick out something fun too, like a Captain Marvel tee-shirt.” Just the memory of Jackie and Stephens and the Captain Marvel tee-shirts had a calming effect on Bee-bee. Henny took her suggestion to heart and clasped Bee- bee’s hands in her own after signing the charge slip. “Welcome to the Palace, honey.” Untitled by Karen Neuhaus Randall always thought of the Palace

12 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati as a necessary evil to be tolerated until he by god, I’m a damned preferred cus- could move on to something more pres- tomer and he’d better get the hell those tigious, perhaps the Maison Blanche in parakeets out of this store!” New Orleans or something on Peachtree After that, whenever Henny came Women in in Atlanta.. He had recently attended into the Palace, she specifically asked for the Kitchen a trade show in New Orleans and the Bee-bee. When Bee-bee complimented theme of the show had been theme, her on her latest hair-do, they exchanged by Judi Morress knowing glances and if Randall hap- theme, theme. So Bee-bee had only been Women in the kitchen pened to pass by, they suppressed their at the Palace for a few weeks when Ran- Using skills remembered giggles. Bee-bee’s awe of Emmaline also dall called Emmaline into his office. From a bitter learning began to fade as she realized Emmaline “Emmaline, I’ve got a winning idea for Keeping home fires burning had to suffer Randall’s foolishness on a a Spring theme. Live parakeets!” His left Cooking on their own. eyebrow arched ever so slightly. Emma- daily basis, just like the rest of them. A few weeks after the Parakeet deba- line picked up the telltale cue, assumed Women in the kitchen cle, Emmaline told Bee-bee to call home a poker face and kept her mouth shut. Spreading peanut butter at her coffee break. Her first thought Randall stared her down until she finally Children running past them was that something had happened to the said, “Sounds great, Randall.” Got to do it faster boys. One or the other of them was al- “I knew you’d appreciate my genius. Now they’re never home. I’ll handle the details myself on this one.” ways falling out of trees or getting stung by a bee. She nervously called and the For the next week, Randall outdid Women in the kitchen minute she heard Jack’s voice she knew himself. He had the parakeets shipped in Whisp’ring family secrets the news was good. from a wholesale pet outlet, specifying a Keeping family customs “Honey, it’s over; the strike’s over. I’m variety of Spring colors. When the time Washing family linens going back to work.” came, he ran a full-page ad: “The Palace Never all alone. welcomes Spring! Come do your Easter Bee-bee held back her tears as she returned to her cash register. That night shopping at the Palace, the store that Women in the kitchen she composed her resignation letter and welcomes Spring!” Drinking cups of coffee was visited by unexpected emotion. She The next morning, workmen came Staring out the window was going to miss the Palace. She had in about 6:30 a.m. or thereabouts and Wond’ring where the days go become a confidant for many of her cus- installed the parakeets. They were every- Frozen to the bone. where in wondrous profusion: Ladies, tomers and she knew their stories: which boy could not learn arithmetic, which Cosmetics, Faux Jewelry, Infants, Boys; Women in the kitchen boy was on his way to the state spelling no department was unworthy of partici- Moving round each other bee, and sadly the boy whose mother pating in the Spring theme. Doing it by memory needed to buy extra pajamas when he The store opened at 10 as usual, and Knowing each and every became Monroe’s latest polio victim. the morning customers sort of got a kick Rag and hank and bone. out of the parakeets. You had to admit, There was a lump in her throat as she handed Emmaline her resignation letter. they did bring Spring to mind. Randall Women in the kitchen The ensuing days took on an air of unre- threw Emmaline a superior smirk. Holding Grandma’s ladle ality. When Henny Culpepper heard the The first hint of a problem arose about Seeing Grandma’s hand there news, she burst into Emmaline’s office. 2:30. The birds started to get restless. Knowing I belong there. “Now look here, Emmaline, Mrs. Smith The surroundings were unnatural. They Now I’m finally home. began to flap their feathers nervously and is one of the best salesladies the Palace has ever had. You have to give her a raise their chirping became high-pitched and grating. After about three days, everyone or something to keep her.” was questioning Randall’s judgment, even Bee-bee was flabbergasted when Em- the preferred customers. Henny dropped maline approached her with an invita- Joy and excitement tugged at Bee- by the Palace to pick up one more outfit tion to stay at the Palace. bee’s heart. What a perfect idea! All she for her grandson and stage-whispered She responded, “I’m sorry; I have to could say was “yes.” to Bee-bee, “Sugar, this smell is awful. say ‘no’; Jack and the boys need me at On Bee-bee’s last day, Emmaline gave Shouldn’t the management be notified?” home.” her parting instructions. “Have your Henny wandered over to Girls, but Emmaline was thoughtful for a mo- dress dry-cleaned and return it to Fine returned almost immediately. This time ment and then said, “I’ve got an idea. Dresses.” And then, she added with a she did not bother to be discreet. “Sugar, Why don’t you come back just for the warm smile, “Mrs. Smith, why don’t you one of those damn parakeets went to the back- to-school sales. We always need just keep the pearls.” bathroom right in my hair. You be sure extra help then, and your salary would and tell that so and so Randall Bryce that buy your own kids’ clothes.”

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the sweet age of five. This pleased my grandma, who was a hard-liner in the local WCTU – that stands for Women’s by Barry Raut Christian Temperature Union. Because AMEN of my strong character and iron will, that’s If you ever seen him, youda re- the pantry—and to the lives of every sor- Mama’s words, I held out till junior high. membered, that’s for damned sure. And ry soul he called the sheep of his pasture. Daddy Duncan hated Catholics. Lord help you if he ever seen you back—I Our Father, that was God, like in Our Mackerel snappers, he called ‘em. He was mean looked you square in the eye like Father who art in heaven. No argument really hard on ‘em during Easter, when he did me most Sundays when I was there. But Daddy Duncan was numero they’d shuffle two-by-two from Good little. It’d curl your blood, and that’s God’s uno in the here and now. You watched Shepherd past our building on Palm honest truth. what you done, or covered your tracks Sunday, not makin’ any trouble, just He had long white hair that had like a damn Indian. If he found out, look waving their palm leaves, tauntin’ us, he’d turned yellowy, like old men’s hair gets. out. The shit would fly. say (which I could never quite figure… He combed it straight back, and it hung Any of us who took a drink was going tauntin’ us about what?) He had a thing, an inch or two over his wore-out collar. straight to Hell—do not pass go, do not too, about prayin’ to the Virgin Mary: If The shoulders of his old black coat was collect two hundred dollars. This was I’m sick, I call the doctor! I don’t call the covered with dandruff most days. I never really hard for the guys in our railroadin’ doctor’s mother! seen him that he wasn’t in that under- town where we had a saloon on every Daddy Duncan never said much taker’s suit he wore every Lord’s Day, corner, where they’d send any kid who about Jews, except how they crucified mornin’ and night, and at Wednesday could find his own way home to fetch Jesus and all. And as for Jesus bein’ a Jew prayer meetin’s and Campground in July a bucket of suds after supper. The fact hisself, he never talked about that, but it’s when it was hotter’n holy hell and when that Jesus drank wine, we boys used to right in the Bible! Go figure. They weren’t he done funerals and weddings and such. tell him, cut no ice with Daddy Duncan. any threat, I guess, since nobody knew His face was the color of wallpaper Jesus could drink what he pleased. You any Jewish people anyway. But Catholics cleaner, if you can remember that, like he can’t. So under the double whammy of were another story. They were right there lived his whole life in the church cellar. Daddy Duncan and the evil eye of sister in our own neighborhood. They walked Come to think of it, it was like the dead Esther, who’d scan the pews from the among us. body I seen ‘em fish outta Greasy Creek organ bench like a hoot owl on a tree I remember the smell of Daddy Dun- once, up by the dam, or the corpses branch and take careful note of who was can. An old man smell, sour-like. Like I seen over at Dale Duckett’s funeral screwin’ around or dozin’ off during her the smell in a nursin’ home or in Uncle parlor next door. His hands were soft and daddy’s sermons, I signed My Pledge of Ned’s house after Aunt Florence passed. sweaty, not like my daddy’s which were Abstinence, was what they called it, at I remember the smell of the church, too. hard and rough and dry from his work. His eyes were the queerest part. Pig’s eyes—tiny little eyes, and blue. They were the Devil’s eyes, swear to God. And when he’d rise up over that old carved-mahog- any pulpit of a Sunday mornin’, clutchin’ his ole tattered bible and workin’ us over good, them creepy baby-blues glowed like red-hot pokers. They made me sweat, and I was only a little kid. The long and the short of it was, Daddy Duncan was the scariest son- of-a-bitch I ever did see in real life, not counting the mummies and such at the Saturday matinee. We never called him rev’rend or pastor or any of them other names set aside for preachers. He was Daddy to us. Daddy Duncan. Daddy Duncan, along with his daughter, Esther, hair white as Jesus’s robe, who played the organ, they ran the Wesley Methodist Church, the both of ‘em together, from the tip of that squatty old bell tower down to the rat-holes in Untitled by Muriel Foster

18 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati If it burnt flat to the ground, like the Lu- in the hollyhocks, he clearly knew a thing Just about when we thought the old therans over on Elm Street that got lev- or two about it. An eye for the ladies, you man’s pencil had pretty much run outta eled by a bottle rocket on the Fourth of might say. I guess they couldn’t smell lead—I mean, what was he, eighty-two, July, 1943, those smells’d still be hooverin’ him. eighty-three?—they find Daddy Dun- over the ashes long after like a cloud, and Anyhow, once I seen him put his hand can shot dead as a doornail in the bed I think I could pick ‘em out, one by one: on my Aunt Sarah’s be-hind, and she of sister Judd, whose German chocolate the moldy plaster, the damp limestone didn’t do a thing. Either she was afraid, cake took first prize three years runnin’ foundation, the wormy old wood floors, or she liked it. I never asked. And there in the summer bazaar. Shot once, right the steam of a thousand church suppers was stories about some of the ladies through his Ladies Eye. She was plunked seepin’ up from the kitchen—sauerkraut, whose men-folk just walked off for no twice in the chest, the extra one for good German sausages, boiled potatoes, green good reason, or so they said—the men measure, I guess—like the extra egg, beans cooked in hog fat till they turned skulkin’ away to God knows where, but which Mama said was likely how she black, the drift of snuffed-out candles the women stayin’ put and still flouncin’ got her cakes so moist. We mourned for from a hundred Christmas Eves and five around Daddy Duncan every chance they some time, mostly for the loss of sister or six generations of weddin’s gone good, get. He was somethin’, that’s for damn Judd’s German chocolate cake…except bad or downright ugly. sure. for sister Baker, I expect, whose Amish Even the wheezy old pump organ had And don’t get me started on Esther apple pie took two seconds and a third an odor to it. An oily, machinery odor Duncan—a maiden lady, Mama used to them years. Brother Judd give up his old which I liked, actually—like the locomo- call her. The way she’d google the young Colt from the War, still smokin’, some say, tives down at the yard. I sat next to it bucks in the first couple’a rows (her push- and went quiet as a church-mouse with most Sundays, in the cool breeze of its ing sixty) while she played In the Sweet Sheriff Studley, an easy smile on his face cracked leather bellows, up front where Bye and Bye. . .We shall meet on that and visions of sister Baker’s little green Daddy Duncan could keep his old pig’s heavenly shore, made ‘em laugh. Good apples dancin’ in his head, no doubt. eye on me. But when a good whiff of that Shepherd has their virgin, we got ours, More power to him. old harmonium, which was okay by itself, I heard ‘em wisecrack one evening at Brother Judd got off, if you’re inter- mixed with the smell of Esther Duncan’s prayer meetin’. Sometimes they’d egg her ested. And sister Judd took her recipe to perfume, it was all I could do to keep on, sit up close on purpose, make little the grave. A sad day. from pukin’. puckers at her that nobody else could see, Daddy Duncan woulda got off, too, if Daddy Duncan never preached much which made her play faster and louder he’d’a made it. He woulda preached the about sex, far as I can remember. Or and louder and faster, pumpin’ the old sermon of his life, weepin’ about how if maybe he did and I just didn’t know it. pedals for a fare-thee-well, until Daddy sweet Jesus can forgive him, we can, too, But the way the women buzzed around Duncan gave her a look, and it was back and how all men’re weak because they’re him at socials and after service like bees to business. not The Almighty. Then, skewerin’ us with them icy blues like F. Lee Bailey eye- ballin’ a jury, gathering wind like a hurri- cane hell-bent for Tallahassee, he woulda twisted it all around in one mighty blast with somethin’ like You’ve got to know sin to fight it, my children! And believe you me, Daddy Duncan knows sin! The ladies woulda bought it. And most of the men, too, I suspect. He had the gift…he definitely had the gift. Well that’s just about it on old Daddy Duncan. We started with the Baptists right after that because Mama was so upset. Aunt Sarah went, too, and a bunch more. Said they could never darken the doors of the Wesley Methodist Church again. Don’t know what happened there after that, but they had to get ‘em a new Daddy Duncan, don’tcha think? Or a Daddy Somebody to keep the flock in line. The straight and narrow for the here and now, he used to say. And I say Amen to that. Untitled by Muriel Foster

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 19 CreativeV oices 2011

Untitled by Melissa Goldstein Untitled by Melissa Goldstein The Production: Curtain Call by Daphne Williams Robinson Brad couldn’t get comfortable. know what woman you’re talking about. we hardly ever make love anymore.” Every time he tried to get to sleep, he felt Where do you get these crazy ideas?” “Cynthia! I’m through talking about the weight of his anger getting in the way. “Listen Brad, I’m not crazy. You can’t this. Just shut up and let me get some He and Cynthia had a big argument just fool me. Mona spilled the beans. She told sleep. I have a big meeting tomorrow.” before he went to bed. Cynthia’s unrea- me she saw you eating lunch the other For a moment there was silence, but sonable jealousy was more than he could day at an exclusive restaurant on the the air in the room was so thick you take. She had just begun her long ritual outskirts of town … said there was some could cut it with a knife. The vibes were of getting ready for bed. As she lathered thirty-something woman with you. Did still bad. That there was hostility between moisturizer over her neck and face, she you think I wouldn’t find out?” them was obvious. Brad knew there was verbally continued to hash over a never “Cynthia, you are being foolish, no sense in trying to get to sleep, at least ending argument about Brad’s straying ridiculous really. You know you’re the not in this room listening to Cynthia’s eyes. only person I’ve ever loved. Don’t you haranguing. He thought to himself, ‘Good Lord! I remember when we met during our He got up and put on his robe. “Listen am so sick and tired of this.’ freshman year in college? You know. Cyn, I am going to work on the computer “Brad! I saw you staring at that floozie That’s when we co-starred in the college for a while. Why don’t you finish getting in the red leather dress.” Cynthia’s harsh drama production?” voice interrupted his thoughts. “You try “Bradley Lyons …that was twenty- to act like you don’t know what I’m talk- five years ago. How dare you tell me I ing about, you lying cheater. You’re too am foolish. I know I don’t look the same old to try to act like a player.” as I did when we first married. After all, Brad interrupted with a big sigh. He no matter how hard I tried, having your had tried to get a word in, but Cynthia babies helped change the way I look. Fur- wouldn’t let him. thermore, you are somewhat to blame. “I saw you at that last party we went You come home … barely speak. I never to. I tried but I couldn’t see her face. get a hug or a kiss when you leave nor Although you insist she’s a stranger, when you get home, and then you claim your actions make it clear that you know you’re too tired to carry on a conversa- her. You thought I couldn’t see you. tion.” Well, I did! I’m not blind. In fact, there’s “Cynthia, you are usually fussing and something familiar about that woman. I arguing as I come in the door. What do haven’t figured it out yet. I just can’t put you expect?” my finger on ….. “We used to never run out of things Al by Jeanne Crandell “Cyn! This has got to stop! I don’t to say to each other. And another thing,

20 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati looked uncomfortable. Cynthia stared yourself ready for bed. Then perhaps we Everyone went to shower and change with a self- righteous, angry look on her can talk reasonably over a cup of hot cof- their clothes. face. Both Brad and Cynthia bore expres- fee or hot cocoa … for just a few minutes. Cynthia and Brad were more than sions that told the real story. Maybe then we can settle down for the just actors in Jenny’s production. They Together they saw Jenny climb into night and try to get some sleep. This jeal- were truly married to each other. her BMW, wearing a slinky red leather, ous tirade is getting us nowhere.” As they walked to their car, Bradley form-fitting dress. Bradley left the room, but much to his sorrow, Cynthia was hot on his heels. He hurried to his home office with the intent of locking her out. “Don’t you dare, Bradley Lyons. This conversation is hardly over. Now you’re trying to say that I’m crazy. I am a reasonable person; at least other people think so. I even thought of talking about our problems to our kids, but they’re grown and have their own issues, so I haven’t shared my frustrations with them. Bradley took a big breath, and then sat down at his computer. He was so sleepy, he could hardly keep his eyes open. Under his breath, he muttered, ‘What the hell am I doing trying to get along with this mad woman? Our kids are gone … there’s no need for me to put up with this any longer.’ No sooner did this thought cross his A Day at the Races mind when he heard Cynthia’s sharp voice. “You lying dog. You think you can by Linda Doctor fool me. I discovered your email pass- I want to capture a racehorse. word and logged into your information. I know well the odds. All the evidence is right there. You are I study their moves, involved with someone else.” The look in their eye, “Okay Cynthia,” Brad said in a re- Their spirit and sinew. signed voice. You found me out. I admit Sizing up each silk-clad mount, it. There is someone else. Do you wonder I note the grit in his grip. why? Now that you know the truth, will How fierce, you let me get some work done here so I how gentle, can get a few hours sleep before it’s time how intuitive, for me to go to work?” The curl of his shiny boot “Cut!” The director, Jenny Marsh inside the stirrup. yelled. “People! The acting is great! This I gamble is going well. We just might have a hit on With my camera alone. our hands. We have a few rough edges to Its viewfinder smooth out. I think we’re about ready to My only betting window. practice without our scripts. Thanks for I calculate a trifecta agreeing to take part in my play. Cut the Of light, aperture, perspective; cameras Joe … that’s all for today.” then bet to win across the board. She thought a moment. “Listen every- “They’re OFF!” body! I’m going to collect your scripts. My heart pounds Put them here in this box. Let’s get out of With each click, click, click. here. Soon as we all change, let’s to head In breathless collusion over to The Thespian Cocktail Lounge. With beast, man, machine It’s my treat. We can have a drink or two I collect my winnings; before we head home … Brad, I need a Mourn each near-miss. few moments with you tomorrow to ad- dress some issues about the production.”

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 21 CreativeV oices 2011 It’s Nearly Sunset in Florida by Ella Cather-Davis

It’s nearly Sunset in Florida, The elderly are arriving for happy hour at the pub. their drivers deposit them at the door, like package delivery.

At an outside table, a lone red-faced man sweats in the remaining sun. He’s nursing his beer, cynically observing their slow debut.

Life teems within the dark interior. At the wooden ba4 a news-channel drones monotone, while the beer-brave crescendo, raucously laughing at nothing.

Nearby, in the shadowy dining area the hungry relish the food and contact for which they have waited all day, in their secure air-conditioned cells.

This eternal day’s heat and loneliness are mercifully receding on a sigh. Set aside is the ever-present fear of predator, pain, and what lies ahead. Kathy by Jeanne Crandell lt’s nearly Sunset in Florida.

You and I are Stars by Ralph Meyer You and I are stars, my Friend, When first the stars were born, ’Twas from the Universe we came On that the world’s first morn.

Electrons, protons, neutrons that Of which we all are made. And when the time has come for us, We’ll return them unafraid.

Listen to the Universe, Listen to your heart, my Friend. You and I are stars, you know, Stars that shall never end.

22 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati The Turkey’s Last Stand by Jane Biddinger

Thanksgiving would be different this year. It was her first without George. Norma offered to pass the roasting pan on to a new generation of basters, but her daughters balked at breaking tradition. Susan, the youngest, had even suggested they set a place at the table for George. Norma nixed that notion. President Obama may pardon the White House turkey, but Norma wasn’t that lucky. She was doomed. Doomed to prepare yet another Thanksgiving dinner. She requested off the three days leading to the holiday burning the remainder of her vacations days. Norma spent Monday tidying the house. There was a time she’d clean the place from top to bottom checking each corner for cobwebs, routing dust bun- nies from under the couch, and wash- ing windows. But this year, she limited her efforts to the areas where the action would be—the kitchen, dining room, and bath. She prayed for a cloudy day, mak- ing the dust harder to spot. Tuesday was shopping day. Norma circled the parking lot of Porky’s Butcher Shop and eased her silver ’89 Civic into a spot vacated by one October by Bernadette Clemens-Walatka of those SUV’s all the young folks drove nowadays. For the past forty-five years, Norman’s sporting only the Pilgrim hat she’d used with it in his hand. order had been the same—a thirty pound as a centerpiece. When George unwrapped the turkey and Porky’s special marinated The line at Porky’s looped around the phone, Norma teased that she’d drag oysters. The oysters were the secret in- store and stopped at the door. Norma him into the age of technology. And gredient in the stuffing George loved so. took her place at the end of the line. this way she’d be able to reach him in This year she could ax those nasty slimy Porky caught sight of her on his way to case of an emergency. As fate would things. Ah, there was something to be the refrigerator and called, “How’s my fa- have it, several numbers were pro- thankful for after all. vorite red head? I’ve got you a great bird. grammed into the phone and while ex- Norma could always count on George I’m short on oysters, so I put back the perimenting with it, George accidently to be amorous on Thanksgiving night, last three pounds for you.” He winked. dialed a woman named Gloria. Gloria claiming the oyster stuffing to be an “Got to keep George happy, you know.” was bored and chatty as well as half aphrodisiac. Year after year as Norma Evidently Porky hadn’t heard about George’s sixty-eight years and double stuffed the turkey, mashed the potatoes, George. She thought everyone knew. Norma’s cup size. In time, George and assembled the green bean casserole, It all started with a cell phone Norma Gloria were checking out more than th baked both pumpkin and pecan pies, and bought on Ebay for George’s July 4 one another’s APPS. By Halloween set the table, George promised later that birthday. George was technically chal- George lost 17 pounds, exchanged night he’d make her the most grateful lenged and bound and determined to his faded flannels for turtlenecks, and woman on the face of the earth. That first stay that way. The one exception was moved in with Gloria. Norma filed for Thanksgiving she’d thought he meant he’d the remote control which he managed divorce. clean up after the meal, but just as she’d to master in less than fifteen minutes. Norma forced a smile, thanked put away the roasting pan, there he was Norma had planned to have him buried Porky for the oysters, and shoved them

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 23 CreativeV oices 2011 into her recyclable bag. the envelope. It was a huge bottle of pills. “Airport?” Once home, Norma jammed the tur- Those male enhancement drugs she got “Glo doesn’t cook, so no sense hang- key into her over-stuffed refrigerator and all those annoying emails about. ing around here. I’m taking her to Can- tossed the oysters into the trash and emp- The next morning George called. cun for a long weekend.” tied the grounds for her morning coffee From his cell phone. “Hi, Norma. Any- “Cancun?” on top just as the doorbell rang. thing come there for me? I’m expecting a “Norma, don’t start on me. Just have A man dressed in brown matching a little something.” that package ready for me.” Click. truck parked at the curb, handed her a Norma asked, “And why would any- Norma dumped the pills from the package and said, “Overnight delivery for thing for you come here?” container and dug the coffee-covered George Bungler. Sign here, please.” George stammered and said, “Well, I oysters from the garbage. She tossed the Norma shook the package. It rattled. might have put my old address on it. Out mixture into the blender, poured the The return address was a drug company of habit, you know.” pulverized concoction into the bottle, in Canada. Norma convinced herself that “Came yesterday.” slipped the bottle into the mailing enve- opening a UPS parcel was not tamper- “Thank God. I’ll stop by in a few min- lope and resealed it. ing with the US mail as she ripped open utes. On my way to the airport.” George’s package was ready. So very ready.

From Pogue’s Garage by Judith Lubow A friend showed a photo, taken, he said, from Pogue’s Garage, looking up Race street: beige buildings, church steeples, etched against the bright blue sky.

Old sweaters mothballed to bottom drawers bear witness to the Grand Old Dame. Her ice cream bridge had stretched across Race Street, beckoning new shoppers,

soothing the weary laden with packages, or destination for ladies lunching with children. The bell of the first floor elevators arriving and leaving had punctuated the genteel hum of the counters displaying cosmetics, hose, purses and scarves. Further up Race Street

Shillito’s had served a wider range of shoppers. Surviving name changes and corporate takeovers, Lazarus turned Macy’s was built over the teardown of an elegant movie theatre, when Movies were a Designation, like Opera.

Once upon a time horse clopped up Race Street. Once upon a time there was a Cincinnati flood, before the sam was built, and canoes sailed up Race Street, all beneath the same blue sky,

as seen today from Pogue’s Garage.

24 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati Average Equality by Dottie Rockel

There is a terrible truth our had a come to Jesus meeting that resulted family has always had to live with, but in a conversion they’d like to share with I’m finally ready to out us. We suffer you over the next hour and a half. Either the ignominious fate of being average that or they may have a sudden relapse Americans. We are not Irish-Americans, and rip off all of the purses in the ladies African-Americans or Pan Americans room before the night is over. and because we lack diversity we are the Some adults are more clearly defined least celebrated of all people. Perhaps you by their stuff – the guy who arrived in the don’t realize how rare average is. Oh sure, ’56 Corvette, (he may have just rented people say they are average, but that’s it for the night, but you’ll never forget just before they announce that they’ve it) the homely woman with the mas- seen a UFO or won the lottery or done sive three carat diamond ring, a fourth Untitled by Karen Neuhaus something phenomenal. Sully, the pilot husband, and a fifth of vodka, or the who saved all those lives after the plane wealthy but infirmed ninety year old who crash in the Hudson River said he was an has found true happiness at last wedded average guy. Hardly! to his impoverished but buxom twenty Great Blue Heron Years ago when people asked us about two year old caretaker. A snazzy chalet, by Karen Jaquish our son Doug (and they seldom did an interesting tattoo, charges pending since they equated asking parents about – these are all things that can save you A Lyle Lovett sort of bird, their children to asking old people how from appearing drab and elevate you to gawky-footed with ruffled pompadour, they are.) Well – if they did ask us about above average. yet we’ve taken a shine to him, seek him Doug we told them about our average Ernie and Bert and Mr. Rogers were on our evening walks when he flies child. They were astounded. “What? You right. We are each special in our own way low over the creek, have an average child? You mean he’s not but some of us think we are more special neck in an S-shaped arc, gifted or special or in the 90th percentile than others. A generation ago people toes flapping like Chaplin. of anything? How rare! Surely he excels wanted to blend in but now they demand The books say what at something. When did he get his first to be individuals. They examine the ways magnificent hunters they are, tooth? When did he crawl?” in which they are singular, then they patient, standing perched on one leg We, of course, thought he was out- form a special interest group of other quick-eyed for the flash of prey standing in all ways and his “averageness” singular people just like themselves to through meandering water. made him an easy child to rear. We didn’t express their individuality. We only see him on his own have to employ any Yo Yo Ma relatives Being average has definite drawbacks. which is why I call him widower, for his music training or travel across There is not a not-so-special Olympics. and wonder what you’ll be like state lines for select soccer games or drill Where would you go to raise money in when I’m gone. You single again him on impossible spelling words for support of the straight WASP parade? and growing old. Driving home at night competitive bees or agonize over his Ha- There are millions of vanilla people who to whiskey and jarred spaghetti, mill camels in the Olympics. He played are either decent leaders or followers, talking to your buddies on the short-wave knothole baseball, and neighborhood who deal well with success or failure, and crawling into bed for first few months football. He was abnormally normal. who plod along in a realm with no I hope, alone. I can just feel how your arms spiking highs or lows, whose lives, jobs, will come sneaking across to rest Adults will tell you in an instant how houses, and vacations qualify as conven- against my empty pillow. special they are. If you don’t believe me tional, customary, or downright ordinary, Thwarted, your hands will wake long then just hearken back to your last cock- but you almost never hear about them. before the morning chorus of birds. tail party or class reunion. Surely it crept So I ask you,” Where is the “Average Sometimes it’s weeks before out that the person voted least likely to Rage?” What’s happened to the indig- our favorite bird appears and I worry succeed in high school had become a nation, the outcry for recognition and about where he is, what company he’s keep- corporate CEO and had three vacation breast beating self acknowledgement?” ing. houses, the class cutup was now a priest, Three cheers for the middle of the road, We’ve yet to hear his song which I’m told and someone had slept with someone I say. A latent but rumbling voice that isn’t melodious at all; instead is deeply gut- who had slept with Madonna. People dwells inside each of us is beginning to tural with prison records seldom attend these bubble up. It cries out, no, screams for like the sound of a man keening. events and if they do it’s because they’ve average equality.

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 25 CreativeV oices 2011

Generations by Kandy Witte December 6, 1941 shirt of mine on the linoleum for you to want to see hanging over my bunk. kneel on and hold your hair back outta Tell little Arnold, (okay-or little Susie) Dear Ruthie, your face while you upchucked. Then that the old man can’t wait to meet him – or The mail finally caught up with me I’d wrap my arms around you and hold her. By the time I get leave in three months, and I was pleased as punch to find five you till your stomach settled down. I’d we’ll be real parents. I’m awful glad your letters from you in my batch. I’ve read fix you some cream of wheat or tomato mom and dad will be with you when the them over so many times I nearly got soup and I’d even clean up the dishes time comes. I get kind of sad knowing I them memorized! The ink is starting to while you ate. Bet you never thought I’d won’t be there but then I cheer myself up fade from rubbing my fingers over the be the mushy type, did you? War changes thinking about the next six or seven kids lines. I like to picture you sitting at the a man, Ruthie. Makes you realize what and I feel a little better. The first, though, kitchen table in the morning, that old really matters in life. Getting back to you that’s special. cracked mug I made you in Mr. Koenig’s and little Arnold (ha, ha) in one piece is Ruthie, someday, when the kids are art class our senior year filled with the most important thing to me. I swear grown, I’m going to bring you here ‘cause steaming hot coffee, writing and listen- I’ll never leave you again. Well, enough of there ain’t no sight like this in Indiana. The ing to your stories on the radio. Is Young that stuff. colors are like a whole box of Crayolas, the Widder Brown still your favorite? I’m learning a whole lot about radios jumbo box, just tossed into the sky and scat- I got the cookies you sent too. My and electronics, Ruthie. I’ll be able to get tered around as far as a man can see. The air buddies say ‘thanks’ as well. We all sure a real good job when I get home. Maybe is warm, but not hot or humid like home. enjoyed them. Marty stuck a lighted get myself my own shop. Everett & Son, Just right with a soft breeze blowing all the match in one and the guys all sang Electricians. How’s that sound, hon? Want time. There’s ripe fruit for the picking and ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. After lunch to- to be the wife of a business tycoon? fish practically jump right out of the ocean day, a bunch of us got shore leave so we’ll You asked me if there’s anything I onto your plate. I’ll buy you a Pina Colada probably do a little more celebrating need. Well, there’s a couple of things I – that’s a fancy drink with rum and coco- then. Don’t worry though cause we have could sure use. One is some kind of kit, nut – and make sure it has one of those little to be back by 24 hundred so I don’t have maybe a crystal radio or something small paper umbrellas that you can put in your enough time to get too loaded. Ha ha. that I could work on in my off time. hair afterwards. Are you feeling any better? Is the There’s an awful lot of time with noth- Keep the letters coming Ruthie and I’ll morning sickness passed? I sure wish ing much to do and as you know I’m not do the same. I’m gonna wrap this up so I was there. I’d put that soft old flannel much of a card I can get out in today’s mail. I love you, player so the honey. time can really Always, drag. Not that Les I want to see some action The woman smiled at the baby nestled like these against her breast. A tiny hand wriggled free young guys of the fuzzy pink blanket wrapped papoose who don’t have style around the little girl. a wife or family “Your Daddy was a real, honest to to worry about. goodness hero, Susie. See here, Presi- But some- dent Roosevelt says so,” Ruthie smoothed thing so’s I can the blue and gold lettering of the official improve myself document signed by FDR himself. She read while I’m kil- aloud, “The Medal of Honor is presented to lin’ time until Leslie Christian Everett, Radio Electrician, I come home. U.S. Navy. Born: 6 December 1920, Har- I’d also sure rison, Indiana. For distinguished conduct love some new in the line of his profession, extraordinary pictures of you. courage and disregard of his own safety dur- I know you said ing the attack on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor, you’re as big by Japanese forces on 7 December 1941.” as a house but “Yes-sir, Susie, a real hero,” she said wip- you’re the only ing the child’s cheeks, damp from her own Sunflowerby Jane Tougas pinup girl I tears.

26 Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati Fragrant Memory by Sally Moore

Beautiful, fragrant freesias revive ancient memories. Whenever I catch the scent of these sweet-smelling, pastel- colored flowers, I am transported back to the maternity ward which I endured for a week after my son was born. I still recall the pretty trumpet-like flowers stretching along each bending stem, with a scent particularly powerful and haunting for such a small flower, hardly bigger than a crocus. The freesias were the bright- est spot in my ordeal, and I remember my joy when I was finally released to go home. I was living in the north of England in the early sixties, a time when the Beatles were emerging and values were begin- ning to change, even though we hadn’t yet reached the height of the Counter Culture which arrived a few years later. I was assigned to have my first child at the Princess Mary Maternity Hospital in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. This was a forward-looking hospital, striving to be progressive, and caught up in the start of Just One by Bernadette Clemens-Walatka a decade of freedom which would cul- minate in Flower Power and the Hippie ented with the unstructured environment Did I take the flowers home with me? revolution. and lack of help in coping with a new- I can’t remember. But I do know my son I was not prepared for the situation I born. is indelibly connected in my mind with encountered after my baby was born and Daytime was better although, natu- freesias, a story I’ll have to tell him some we were both transferred to a ward of rally, all the same baby activities con- day. eight mothers and babies. Following the tinued. But I had the pleasure of a daily new philosophy, we were given no guid- visit from my husband, and as we had ance about how to care for or feed our no relatives in the area and not many babies – it was going to come to us “natu- friends, having recently moved to the rally” I suppose. There was no attempt to city, I received a large number of flower establish a schedule - it was the rule that arrangements from different parts of all babies were to be fed on demand. The England and even from overseas. And babies were at our side day and night, so it must have been the time of year for there was never a moment during my stay freesias because I was overwhelmed with when a baby in the ward was not being them, and their glorious scent. Mine was fed or changed or crying. the only table on the ward overflowing For an entire week, I have never had with flowers. It wasn’t the custom then in less sleep; lights were on during the night, the north of England to have extravagant and one mother or another was heating flower deliveries - instead my neighbors a bottle of formula, changing a diaper, or had visits from their families. rocking a crying baby. I don’t recall seeing The other mothers were so bemused any nurses around - we had to fend for by the colorful display that one asked ourselves and help each other out. I don’t me, “Are you the Duchess of Northum- even recall interacting with my new baby, berland?” whom they had heard was a although I do remember he was in a cot patient in the hospital. Of course, she was on my right hand side. I was too disori- in a private room.

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of Cincinnati 27 University of Cincinnati Osher Lifelong Learning Institute PO Box 210093 Cincinnati OH 45221-0093

Vision Statement Mission Statement To be the premier organization The mission of the OLLI is offering educational and social to provide opportunities for experiences to mature residents of lifetime learning and social Greater Cincinnati by: interaction to the mature •Nourishing intellect, residents of Greater Cincinnati. expanding knowledge and exploring new ideas • Sharing interests and experiences • Cultivating friendships OLLI contacts Board of Trustees Chair Board of Trustees Ex Officio Program Director Tom Noonan Janet Banks Stephen Appel Fred Bassett, Ed.D Frank Bloom Fred Bassett 513-556-9174 Board of Trustees Vice-Chair Rosemary Deitzer Melody Clark [email protected] Jim Goyette Lin Domis Gloria Giannestras Chairman Carol Friel Joe Hirschhorn Tom Noonan Curriculum Chair Richard Goetz 513-556-9186 Jim Goyette Jim Goyette Advisory Committee Administrative Secretary Pamela Gribi Barbara Bardes Shyra Cross Finance Chair Richard Hellmann Jeanne Bonham 513-556-9186 Tim Langner Kirtland Hobler Richard Friedman [email protected] Donald Hordes Hon. John Gilligan Address Friends Chair Neil Jeffries Richard Hait OLLI Carol Friel Tim Langner Sr. Jean Patrice University of Cincinnati Governance Chair Richard Lenz Harrington PO Box 210093 Donald Hordes Thomas Noonan Marjorie Motch Cincinnati, OH 45221-0093 Marilyn Ott Kenneth Schonberg Web site Marketing Chair Jerri Roberts Greg Warshaw, MD www.uc.edu/ce/olli Martha Schimberg Martha Schimberg Henry Winkler Nancy Schpatz Candas Stacey Founder Jane Veite Aaron Levine Joseph Warkany (1918-2004) UC4792