Chap 31's "Mrs. Klinkhammer" got me thinking last night back to some of my own youthful summers and the fine, nostalgic names that were a part of them. Here, just a few:

Mr. (Harold T.) Muckenfuss ran a corner neighborhood store on the other side of town where we would ride our bikes to buy firecrackers, sparklers, treats, and great kites. A large rotund man, he crowded everything you could ever possibly want (as a kid) into his establishment, attached to his home. What a candy and ice cream selection! Our power as consumers was maintained primarily by scavenging soda bottles for a few days (at 2 cents each).

Mr. (Antonio) Catania had the big garden across the street where all of our best hit homeruns eventually landed. A meticulous gardener by profession, he spoke only broken English and would state in his rich, deep voice, "Boysa, boysa! Usa da gate. Pleasa no climba da fence. Watcha outa for my plants. Ok? Be sura to closa da gate when you leave. Ok? Gooda boys!" We often helped him carry heavy loads of produce when he was leaving after a long day in the garden. (Now, Mrs. Cantania, on the other hand, she just yelled at us in beautiful Italian. I think (pretty sure) most of what she said was better left untranslated!)

Mr. (Jimmy) Ezeau the shoe mender. His shop always smelled of sweet leather and exotic polishes. He was the best fisherman of all of my father's business friends. He could catch large mouth bass better than anyone we ever went out with. He had a big, old 18' wooden boat and knew all the best shoals. He always smoked a crooked old cigar. If you went fishing with him, 5 a.m. "sharp" was departure time, for he wanted to get back for a couple of hours of work by late afternoon.

Mrs. Barnes. (She was so old all her life, she never got a first name. She minds me of Mrs. Bentley.) She fed pigeons the few-day-old bread that was intended for return to the bakery. Not just loaves, mind you! Boxes! Sometimes 2-3 boxes, with 24-30 loaves in each. There were always a thousand metallic-hued pigeons in the air, on her lawn, or marching down the sidestreet toward her weatherworn house. She and her husband (a retired bank manager) were said to be worth "lots of money." Their home was a museum of magnificent antiques, wood stoves, glass jars and bottles of all colors, and stacked newspapers from decades past. Eccentric and private, but always kind.

Well-remembered AND well-written, Butch!

Ok then, Sundance! "Hows abouts" shaking off some of those dust-laden characters you may recall? Bring a few back. I bet they would appreciate it!

Having grown up working for my folks, starting at an age when I was knee high to everyone else alive, I still recall the millionaire pilferer - a blind (tap, tap, tapping) machine worker - so many down and outs looking for a meal (never refused once they agreed to sweep the front walk or help with a chore, then M&D said "thanks" and so did the helper) - the most bizaree looking bagwoman in town (aka, The Witch - I never liked to hear kids say this), who face to face was very kind and interested in you - the countless others who had a story (sounds like Dragnet) and left an impression on a kid who took every once of it in.

The best education ever, bar none!

Great stuff, fjp451. I wish there was still a Mr. Muckenfuss’s store. I need to go there.

Don't forget Grandma Loblilly and the Great Tombling Day!

By the way, happy Father's Day yesterday!
And happy Juneteenth today!

Couldn't pass up posting this beautifully written article in the National Review about Dandelion Wine and Ray Bradbury. Some books will never get dusty on the bookshelf.

http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=MjQwNWM2ZTAyYjJjND...MjY5ZTY3Y2IwNTRkM2Y=

Lake

Wow.
One of the best reviews I've ever read.
Thanks!

You're welcome, Braling.

RB doesn't look at the world with rose-coloured glasses. Well, maybe one lens is rose-coloured (thank God), but the other lens is telescopic and crystalline...visionary and realistic. Wonder-filled.

Lake

Nice catch, Lake. I was just dropping by to post the link and you beat me to it. Good for you. And good for anyone who checks out the story.

Best,

Pete

“Dandelion Wine” stands on its own. No one needs to defend it. But it was nice to see someone championing it! Thanks, Lake.

Thanks, Pete. Good to "see" you here again.

All the more reason for us to get excited about October rolling around and "Farewell Summer" being released. Here, once again, is what the dust cover will look like.

Farewell_Summer_Dust_Jacket.jpg (264 Kb, 10 downloads)

Can anyone remember wooden screen doors? Perhaps some still have them but I haven’t been around one in over thirty years. The other night, trying to sleep, the sound of one opening and closing came back to me and I can’t get it out of my head. The creak of the hinges and the spring when it opens and then the bang when it closes—and the sound the spring loaded latch near the top makes.

And when I think of one, my perspective is always from the cool dark of the interior of the house gazing out at a bright, hot sun porch. And the railing is probably to hot to hold my hand on for long and is between me and the steamy green grass of the back yard. Sweet rapture if it’s just been cut and I can smell it. Then as I look out on the lawn the screen door creaks again as it opens and then bangs shut behind me.

I can’t get the sound of it out of my head.

In the UK we don't have screen doors, although they would be remarkably useful in summer. Although they are 'alien' to me - never had one, never seen one in real life - they are remarkably familiar, thanks to a lifetime of American films and books.

Chapter 31, your description is very evocative. The strange thing is I have no direct memories to evoke, only atmospheric recollections from the media!