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Cotulla Cowboys

Cotulla Cowboys

I began my teaching career in deep South Texas, in a place called Cotulla. One thing I learned right away about Cotulla was that it was the same school district where Lyndon Baines Johnson taught as a young man. It was the site, at the Welhausen migrant school where LBJ taught, that the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) of 1965 was signed. I later learned that LBJ had referred to Cotulla in his autobiography as the “donkey-hole” of Texas. Of course, he used the biblical word for donkey. He must of loved that town in much the same way as I did. Cotulla made the nightly news often enough that my relatives in Iowa all discovered where it was. It made the news as part of the weather report… hottest place in the nation. I guess we averaged about 107 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Hot, hotter, and hottest… I made friends with the mayor of Cotulla, William L. Cotulla whose family had founded the place two generations before. I taught there long enough to become the middle school English department head. I had three whole people in my department. I regularly went to the Wild Hog Cook-off and LaSalle County Fair. It was the kind of place where you have to be a cowboy. And I was. It was the high school team name after all. So there you have it… love it and hate it both… the reason I am a cowboy.

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May 9, 2014 · 12:25 am

The Blue Dragons of Somber Ceremony

The Blue Dragons of Somber Ceremony

Today the faculty of Naaman Forest High School held a retirement reception for me and four other teachers. All of us around 30 years of work in education. The school is losing 150 years worth of experience. Math, English, and Special Education… I managed to go through the thing without crying, but stiff upper lips get melted by the blue dragons of sadness. I will cry yet before the year is out. I still haven’t faced the final goodbye with students. How do I do that? I will bite holes in my lower lip and still fail to stop the waterworks. What a hopeless ball of wimpishness I am! But I’ve fought dragons all my life… dragons of one sort or another. Remember the intestinal gas contest started by Little Slick Pooflinger? Oh, wait, you weren’t there, were you…. Well, believe me, fart dragons are real. So, it was sad… blue dragon sort of sad… and I fought dragons one more time.

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May 8, 2014 · 12:37 am

Bad Kids

Bad Kids

They are a puzzle to their teachers, sometimes with only 493 of the 500 pieces. They act out at the worst possible time, calling attention to themselves… sometimes the kind of attention we would label scorn or hatred. Sometimes classmates have less patience with them than I have. But I have always had a soft spot for bad boys… right on the bottom of my left foot. Seriously, they often have an aching need that no one in their lives seems willing to fill. One child finally told me that it was the separation of his parents that kept him awake nights and reduced him to a caterwauling clown on the classroom floor. Another revealed to me that he could only deal with loneliness by smoking weed. Their stories, once you dig them out, can seriously make you weep. And I have always believed that there was a key to opening up any kid. It’s a real shame that sexual predators can find the keys more easily than a classroom teacher can. And believe me, people look at you as if you are a monster too if you open up bad kids and try to find treasure inside. Only pirates and monsters do that, right? Well, I am neither. And I can’t reach every child.
But I have reached some. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls.

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May 7, 2014 · 12:57 am

The Book of Life (an Eight-Syllable Poetic Photo)

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(An old drawing of Milt Morgan, the magical-me portrait)

The book is opened to page one…

A boy is born in a blizzard…

Page two reveals the night that he…

Stayed up for first steps on the moon…

And page three sees the girl he loved…

Though he never spoke the real word…

Page four ends with high school’s pain…

Loneliness and some self loathing…

Page five reveals in college days…

That one can achieve anything…

But page six admits the truth that…

One will always be a young child…

And page seven tells the sad tale…

Of teachers in the monkey house…

Page eight is twenty years and more…

In middle school, the wonder years…

Page nine is learning competence…

Is only in your mind and heart…

Page ten is learning all again…

And digging toward the hidden light…

Page eleven reeks of hard work…

 And making lives grow solidly…

Page twelve makes doubts seem useless dross…

And faith in men truly returns…

And page thirteen brings some sorrow…

For endings inevitable…

And so I do not turn the page…

For every book must somehow end…

And I am not yet finished here…

There’s so much more to see and read.

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(Me as I was about to start teaching in South Texas)

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The Girl on Skates

The Girl on Skates

Honestly, I only saw her from afar at the Wright County Fair in the Summer of 1977. She was perfect. She could skate backwards as well as I could skate forwards. She dipsy-doodled all around the rink, never noticing me watching with my mouth open. Beautiful auburn hair and a smile that could melt butter better than the August Iowa weather… I wasn’t sure how old she was, the main reason I never tried to talk to her. I was already a college sophomore at the age of twenty. I suspected she was a mere high school girl, not yet eighteen. All I felt safe doing was looking and longing, wishing only to adore and draw near. This Paffooney of checkerboard and stripes is not actually her. It is inspired by my niece and some actress from the musical Annie. But it makes me remember. A sweet, sad summer crush that never went anywhere but into a sappy old Paffooney post. Forgive me. I am old. And just maybe I will soon be a dirty, evil old man.

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May 3, 2014 · 12:34 am

I am Mickey

I am Mickey

So, here’s a picture of Michael Mouse surrounded by friends and admirers of all sorts. I can’t help the surrealism any more than Salvador Dali could, but the point here is that I, like Mr. Mouse, am a Mickey. I am filled with Mickey-ness. I am a part of all of Mickey-dom… but never Mickey-dumb! “Sweet Mickey, warm Mickey, little ball of yucks… Cool Mickey, wry Mickey, nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.”

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April 30, 2014 · 1:37 am

Life is as Hard as Bowling with a Moose (A Poem)

Life is as Hard as Bowling with a Moose (A Poem)

Life is like Moose Bowling,
Because…
In order to knock over all the pins,
And win…
You have to learn HOW TO THROW A MOOSE!

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April 26, 2014 · 3:12 am

Making Fan Art

My homage to “the Ghost Who Walks” was carefully chosen.  I scanned my Phantom comics from Charleton looking for the right pose.  I found an image of him punching toward the viewer.  I thought, “Why don’t I put that view on horseback and have him riding toward me and punching.”  Why did I think that?  Who knows?  As an artist, I’m kinda erratic and crazy that way.  I guess that’s why I claim to be a surrealist.  I do believe all comic book artists have to be surrealists to do their job.  That’s true whether they do super heroes, ducks who hoard money in vaults and wear spats, pigs who wear a coat and a tie but no pants, or alien monsters hungry for the nearly naked flesh of Dale Arden.  Uh… maybe I’m revealing way too much about my thought processes here…  So here’s step one, the pen and ink.

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Then I had to give it some colored pencil treatments.  Black and white with crosshatching is cool, but it is also like bare bones, without life and energy.  So I used the powers I have over cheap Roseart pencils and madly scribbled in colors carefully balanced to show just how truly chaotic my perceptions of action and adventure really are.

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Now, I know the Phantom’s horse is either black or pure white, depending on which version or generation of the Ghost Who Walks is being depicted, but I did a yellow horse.  I know… I know…  I did pansy colors when I really should’ve gone fire red or all bloody crimson.  I’m completely violating continuity.  But I never completely do what I intend to do.  If I don’t screw it up at least a little bit, then it really isn’t me.  Besides, what else is there to yell at myself about and twist words around to make it sound like I’m being all comedically gifted and funny?

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The Elf with the Bow

The Elf with the Bow

Sometimes I just get all Middle Earthy!

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April 23, 2014 · 1:04 am

Publishing in the 1940’s

Yes, I think I was born entirely in the wrong time.  I could’ve been a great pulp fiction cover artist.   Of course, I would’ve done great work and starved to death, because that’s what most of them did.  It was, however, a time when art was blazing with brightly-colored surrealism.  I was inspired by the artwork in this book; Pulp Culture, the Art of Fiction Magazines by Frank Robinson and Lawrence Davidson.

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I used to find secret treasures like this in my Uncles’ bedroom when I played there at Grandpa’s house in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  They were full of cowboys with sixguns, pirates and skeletons, poisonous snakes, nearly nude ladies, and science fiction heroes from the future.  So I decided to create one of my own.

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What’s it all about?  Surrealism’s quest to make life more like art.  Pretty heroines can strike back at the heart of evil with goodness, and sweetness, and most importantly, nearly nakedness.  We can skew the future by applying the wisdom learned in the past.  You know, pure unadulterated fantasy.  And hopefully we will be making a skew towards goodness and the light, not darkness and evil.    

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