Henry didn’t like being referred to as the “dummy”. Well, no one does do they? But he did have a job with Yuley Simmons, the talented ventriloquist from Las Vegas.

Although Henry couldn’t move his own arms or legs, or head and especially not his own mouth, Yuley was very adept at manipulating Henry so that the audience actually thought that Henry was alive and could talk.
When Henry’s lips were moving, Yuley’s weren’t, and that is the essence of ventriloquism isn’t it?
Henry would sit in a large box backstage between shows with nothing to do. There were no lines to memorize and he didn’t have to worry about sleeping through a show. Yuley always got him at just the right time and directed all of Henry’s moving parts when they were on stage. Henry didn’t even mind the spotlights shining directly into his eyes since his head was made out of wood!
But one afternoon in July, Henry was thinking about his right hand and it began to move. He looked down and found that he could lift it up and lower it. Then he moved his left hand, then his head and finally his mouth and he said “Wow!” in his OWN VOICE!
“Wait until Yuley finds out about this!” he thought.
But wait! If Henry didn’t tell Yuley about his newly discovered abilities, Henry could exert some control over what Yuley was trying to make Henry do and say.
Henry recalled that there was a yellow and black book in the dressing room titled “VENTRILOQUISM FOR DUMMIES” and with Henry’s new ability to do so, he opened the lid of his box and grabbed the book and read it clear through!
“So THAT’S how it’s done!” Henry was amazed and empowered by his new knowledge.
The very next show when Yuley thought that he was speaking and moving for Henry, Henry said…”Wait! I’m NOT a DUMMY…maybe you are!” And Henry turned his head and lifted his arm and pointed to Yuley!
The crowd loved it and laughed and some shouted “Yeah! You go Henry. You tell him!”
“What are you doing?” whispered Yuley.
“I’m claiming equality in the act Yuley.” Henry whispered back, without moving his lips by the way!
Yuley could do nothing but smile at the audience.
“Move your mouth.” Henry demanded and Yuley did so.”
Then Henry shouted “Now which one is the dummy now?”…and the audience went wild.
“Take a drink of water.” Henry told Yuley.
As Yuley drank, Henry recited “Mary Had A Little Lamb!”
The crowd went crazy again.
It’s been a while since that first show when Yuley became the “Dummy” and now Henry has his own five bedroom home with swimming pool and drives a new Porsche.
The marquee outside of the Las Vegas showroom reads “Henry and his Dummy Yuley!…appearing nightly.”

Grandpa Sanders was looking high and low. Into every drawer and into every closet and even into every mirror although his grandson Mark didn’t know what his Grandpa was searching so much for, especially in mirrors.
“Ah, Papa…what are you trying to find?”
“Oh….I’m looking for something that I think I lost and can’t seem to locate.”
“Maybe I can help Papa.”
“Naw…I don’t believe so. It’s all up to me and me alone to find it.”
“Well…what is it, Papa? Is it a book or a piece of jewelry…or a key…yeah…you are always losing your keys.”
“No…not those things. I lost something that you should never ever lose. Something you need every day no matter how old you get to be.”
Mark was searching around under chairs and behind cabinets but admitted he actually was just trying to be helpful and had no clue as to what his grandpa had lost.
Then Grandpa Sanders stopped and squatted down and spoke directly at Mark.
“You’ve still got it and I want you to promise me you’ll never lose it no matter what!”
“Ah…well OK Grandpa…but it would help a whole lot to know what it is that I should never lose.”
“The “KID” in you. Even after you grow up and be a man and even when you get to be as old as me…always keep that kid that you are today inside of you.”
“Well…I think I kinda see what you mean Grandpa.”
Then Mark started to think and then a huge smile lit up Mark’s formerly sad face and he took his Papa’s hand.
“C’ mon Grandpa…I think I know where you can find it again.”
Mark led Grandpa Sanders outside into the backyard and onto the playground filled with swings and a sliding board.
His Papa started to smile and run, not too fast, but still running, straight for the sliding board, climbed to the top and as he whooshed down the slide yelled out an unmistakable “WHEEEE!” and just about at the middle of the slide, Mark’s Grandpa found his lost “KID”.

“Get your heel outta my face please!”
“Hey…like I can help it or somethin’!  I got some ugly argyle toe in MY face!”
“Ah watch who yer callin ugly Laddie.”
“Yeah…well…I just want my mate…I haven’t seen Lefty in weeks.”
“Me too…it’s so nice in that sock drawer chattin’ with those other matched pairs…ah…I really  miss it.”
“The WORST are those athletic socks…they never really do get completely clean and they’re so thick and take up so much of our space here!”
Then there was a whimper and sob coming from the top of the pile.
“There there…you’ll be OK little one…we’re all here with you.”
The baby sock with it’s pink ruffle was very sad having just come from the last dryer load.
“I….I….think my match is…..ooohhhh….still in the dryer….CAUGHT!”
“Yeah…happened to golf sock over there…never did find his mate. Oh I shouldn’t have said that should I?”
“Boo Hoo…I’ll never see him again.”
“Now Now….it’ll be OK…you’ll see.
Then all of a sudden the woven basket that held them was lifted and dumped on the big bed. Then soon after, another pile of socks was thrown onto the bed.
“Hey….there’s my….HEY OVER HERE!”
Then human hands started matching up all the socks and folded and tucked the pairs together and threw them into the sock drawer. All of the socks were happy except one old striped one with a hole in the toe.”So long guys maybe I’ll see you all again soon.”
The little baby sock with the pink ruffle was still sad so the striped sock let it snuggle up as they were placed back into the woven basket.
“Maybe next time little one.”Then whispering to himself….”I HATE dryers!”

I was helping my grandson
To read a book ’til it’s done
Just me and him
We were not at the gym
We sat on the sofa and had fun

“Gus And Grandpa” was the book’s name
And reading it was just like a game
The two in the pages
With their names and ages
Had been read about and gained fame

Well Gus and I said “What’s the deal”?
“We should also be famous we feel”
But there’s something we’ve got
That they have not
Our “Gus and Grandpa” are REAL!

“Here Nosy….sniff!”
Judson was holding his brother’s, shall we say, “soiled” sweatshirt in front of his new bloodhound puppy’s nose.
Nosy sniffed and sniffed and then barked a very immature sounding bark that would eventually mature into a deep loud one.
Nosy perked up his ears and looked around, then put his amazing nose to the ground and in a crooked, twisting path, sniffed his way to the laundry room and the laundry basket!
Even though none of Judson’s brother’s clothing was actually IN the basket that was “sniffed out” by Nosy, the tracking was deemed a victory.
On subsequent sniffing and tracking tests, Nosy however, was less successful. While attempting to sniff out a previously hidden used sock, Nosy “found” an unhidden plate of dark meat turkey that Judson’s Mom had placed on the table for lunch. Nosy never did find the sock.
On another occasion, Nosy found an opened box of chocolate covered cherries instead of Judson’s Dad’s baseball cap and was a very sick bloodhound puppy all afternoon.
After a trip to the local Veteranarian and a testing of Nostrildamus’ olfactory glands (his “smeller”) it was theorized that possibly Nosy was not “all” bloodhound but “could” have a bit of Beagle on his family tree. Not a bad thing, but not bloodhound.
“He may develop a better sense of smell later as he matures, but I wouldn’t count on it!” the Doctor sighed after the exam and test.
Judson was a bit disappointed at the news but vowed to keep “training” Nosy’s scent tracking abilities.
As Nosy grew older and larger, his percentage of “finds” as Judson called them, grew to about 10%.
There were also some unscientific successes which, although Judson considered a “find” his parents did not for the simple reason that food was always involved.
But one morning, a bright sunny day in August, the doorbell rang and when Judson’s Mom opened the door, a policeman was standing there with a torn piece of cloth in his gloved hand.
“M’am, I’m Sargent Cole of the local police department and we are on the lookout for an alleged thief that apparently tore an article of clothing, looks like a piece of shirt, during a small robbery and we were told that you own a bloodhound. Is that true?”
“Ah…why yes we do but you see…”
“GREAT! Can we borrow your dog to possibly track the alleged criminal?”
Judson’s Mom looked at Judson and at Nosy who was wagging his entire body and they both looked so excited that she just replied “Okay!”
Well, to make a longer story shorter, Nosy tracked down the culprit hiding behind a holly bush over in the woods and the Police Department awarded Nosy a special ribbon for “Excellence In Police Work”.
After that, Nosy still wasn’t very successful tracking clothing objects from the family but, even though no one close to Nosy ever said anything to each other, they all felt that it was very lucky that among the stolen items that were taken by the sniffed out crook, was a large box of chocolate covered cherries!

Since Samantha got her red leather-bound diary with the heart-shaped lock for Christmas she had been entering each day’s activities and thoughts into it.
She had to admit after re-reading many of her entries in the last month that her life was…well…pretty dull.
“If this was anyone else’s diary I would actually feel sorry for the girl. But it is what it is and I must be completely truthful to myself and my diary.”
Then one night in February as “Sam” was lying in her bed and entering another “average” day’s activities into her diary she added…”And I wish that my boring green bedroom was a pretty soft pink.”
As she closed her book and inserted the key into the lock a flash of soft pink light glowed all over her room. And as she looked around she was amazed that her old boring room had turned into a beautiful pink with frilly lace curtains at the window.
Well naturally Sam was startled and she rubbed her eyes and looked again but her new beautiful bedroom was still her favorite shade of pink!
She got out of bed and went over to the window and touched the lace curtains and the perfectly pink wall and admired them both.
“How? What? and Why? were the first thoughts that entered her mind. Then she saw the diary.
“That must be it! When I entered my wish…Oh MY!”
Sam gently pinched herself to make sure that she was awake. “Ouch…yeah I’m awake all right!”
Then she put her key into the lock of the diary and opened it back up to today’s page. To Sam’s surprise, there was no line written wishing for the pink bedroom…it had completely disappeared!
She sat in her bed wondering what had just happened and as she looked back up at her window the old curtains were there and her room was back to its original pale green.
Sam thought and then decided to try and enter her “pink” wish into her diary again and once again as she locked the book her room turned into a lovely pink.
So Sam laid back on her bed with her head on the pretty pink pillow and soon went to sleep.
When Sam awoke the next morning her room was back to “Green Normal” and she just shook her head in wonder. She decided not to tell anyone about her magic diary but each night thereafter for many months she wrote her pink wish into her diary and slept in a lovely pink bedroom.
The “Magic” stopped on September 23rd…Sam’s birthday. The very day her parents had her bedroom redecorated in soft pink with pretty lace curtains at the window.

”Hey Mister James!” Ten-year-old Eric Samuel, from just down Clancy Lane, the one way street named for the very first family to build a house on the once dirt road leading out of the tiny town of Denver, North Carolina, yelled, then stopped and peered in at the sunlit porch of his old neighbor.

Ezra James, whose actual age had been possibly mentally forgotten by him or deceptively hidden from the knowledge of all other residents, was either sleeping in his Kennedy rocker, or was dead.

Eric was “sore afraid,” an expression he had picked up from Mr. James,…well, the boy feared that his very old friend was not asleep, but just looked that way.

Eric yelled again and leaned in a bit farther over the front yard, white, but needing paint, picket fence. Suddenly, Eric saw a hand move, then he spotted an arm go up and he breathed a long sigh, and just as he was about to say something, Ezra James yelled out in a strong clear voice…”Thought I was a goner did ya? Ha…well, not yet. Plenty more to do, plenty more! C‘mon in and sit a spell.”

Eric, having nothing to do besides trottin’ down to Mr. Shipley’s corner store to get a quarter pound of American cheese for his Mom to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, opened the gate and then quickly got outta the way as the heavy cannonball on the chain slammed it back shut.

“Did the gate gitcha?”

“No Sir. I was quick. That’s fourteen straight times I cleared it!”

“Good for you. What’s the record?” Ezra asked.

“Twenty nine!”

“Got a ways to go yet, but we’ll surely celebrate thirty! Grab a chair.” Ezra pointed to the nearest one.

“Now today we’ll continue on our lessons about bein’ old and bein’ a young boy in the town of Denver.”

“You first Mr. James.”

“Well, it’s important when you get to be older that you keep track of following’ your dreams and your heart, and how you are doin’ on both.”

“You mean like getting good grades at school?” Eric tried making a comparison.

“Yeah, except it’s you givin’ AND gettin’ the personal grades and you gotta be honest with yourself…always! That’s important.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know about heart, but I still wanna be a major league ball player when I get older. Is the heart stuff some kinda code for likin’ girls or something?”

“Well, that will sort itself out, but it’s all accordin’ to how you feel about the world and your place in it.”

“The world’s not very big in Denver.” Eric said.

“No, but big league ballplayers have come from tinier towns than this one!”

“ARE there tinier towns than here?” Eric asked.

“Sure! You’ve got lots to learn, but I do too and that’s one of the great things about life. You can keep learning all the way through!”

“What have you learned today Mr. James?”

“Well, I learned that your “not getting’ hit by the gate record” is at 14, and I ain’t dead! I’d say that’s a real good start!”

Then Ezra said “Now, I’m gonna teach you something’…how to shake hands in a manly way. Put out you hand.”

The boy complied and Ezra clasped his hand with Eric’s and squeezed and shook it up and down.

“Ouch!” Eric was rubbing his hand after the handshake.

“A might too strong maybe, but never be a weak limp hand-shaker Eric. That’s important.”

“Who invented the handshake Mr. James?”

“Not sure anybody knows, but it was a great long time ago.”

“I bet it started with cavemen. One guy had some food in his hand, and another caveman from a rival cave tried to snatch it out for himself and they grabbed hands; one trying to take it and one trying to keep it, until they both decided to split the food and become friends!”

“Well, Eric, if that ain’t the best explanation to the beginin’ of shakin’ hands, I don’t know of one!”

Then Ezra rocked back and said “So now teach me about bein’ a modern boy!”

“Well, it isn’t easy. Not by a long stretch!” (that expression, he had picked up from Ezra and felt that it was the perfect place to put it into a sentence) I mean, you aren’t in charge of anything, not even your toys. And you’re shorter than most all grown ups and they ALWAYS treat you younger than you really are!”

“And they make you eat food that’s good for you instead of food that tastes good, and you have to finish all of it, and also watch them eating whatever they want and as little of it or as much as they want!”

“And bedtime is always 9:30 and they stay up until all hours and I hear them laughing and enjoying everything and it keeps me awake sometimes!”

“Now calm down Eric, don’t get too riled up. The best thing about it is you’re young and when you grow up you can do whatever you want, within the law of course.” Ezra smiled at Eric.

“I know, but time goes too slow and I want to be an adult right now!” Eric folded his arms to his chest and looked very unhappy.

“Tell you what. “You be me and I’ll be you for ten minutes. Whadaya say?” Ezra suggested.

“Ok.” Eric stood and went to the rocker.

“Oh I gotta get up?” Ezra asked.

“Of course, you’re the kid and I’m the ol…ah…adult!”
“Would you be kind enough to go get me a cold coke outta the fridge young man?” Eric said in a crackly voice.

“Do I really sound like that?” Ezra asked as he hobbled through the front screen door and went to the kitchen and got two cokes and slowly made his way through the house and back to the porch.

“Thanks, but you can‘t have a coke until you eat all of your supper young man!” Eric admonished.

“Well, Ok.” Ezra laughed, but he enjoyed being referred to as “Young man!” and he watched Eric gulp down, and thoroughly enjoy, his soda.

“Your ten minutes is up! Now get outta my chair boy!” and they both laughed and resumed their places on the sunny porch and Ezra slowly drank his coke.

There was a sad little 16th note that wanted to be much more in the staff of life. He didn’t even like his name. In Britain he was called a semiquaver but that wasn’t much better even though a “semi” IS better than a sixteenth of something.
“I wish I could be a quarter note or even an eighth note. I don’t dare hope to be a half note and whole notes act like they don’t even know I exist!”
Then one afternoon in a semi-famous composer’s music room the old gentleman drew the sixteenth note incorrectly and only placed one flaring line instead of two.
The 16th note was suddenly now an eighth note and was happy for the first time in ages.
But then he noticed that he was also a “B” note.
“Well…that’s disappointing”…the eighth (really sixteenth) note moaned. “I always wanted to be middle C!”
The moral of this little story is…”Be proud of who and what you really are and be the best that you can be. And every time you get the chance, make sure to do your finest and always be kind to 32nd notes.”

Arthur was by all accounts a rather quiet, rather skinny, eight year old boy of average mental ability and,well, nothing special. He always did his homework (almost) and nearly always brushed his teeth and said his prayers and ate all of his food on the plate (except for spinach of course.)

He and spinach would stare at each other for the longest time at dinner until Arthur and the spinach were the last two left in the dining room.

Arthur lived so close to school that he could actually see the school building from his bedroom and so Arthur would walk the short distance to Freedom Elementary each day.

There was a traffic guard, Miss Watson, that watched the walkers and helped the kids that had to cross over to Arthur’s side of the street.

It was a sunny Tuesday spring morning and Arthur had just left for school when he smelled smoke near his next door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell’s house.

“It’s funny that they should be making breakfast on their outdoor grill.” Arthur thought. But then, the Campbells were older folks and did a lot of things differently than his family did.

Yep. There was smoke rising up from the back of the house where their barbeque grill was.

Arthur was thinking “I wonder how breakfast would taste cooked on a grill.”

Then suddenly he noticed the Campbell’s dog Ruffy barking and jumping at the front window. Arthur and Ruffy were good friends and Arthur just figured that the dog was happy to see him.

But NO!

Ruffy was tearing up the curtains in the window. “I’d better go into the back and tell Mr. Campbell that his dog is ruining their curtains. So Arthur went around to the back of the house.

That’s when he saw it!

Thick dark grey smoke pouring out of the upstairs window of the Campbell’s house. Arthur banged on the door and while he was knocking the second time Ruffy was jumping at that door and barking.

“THE CAMPBELL”S HOUSE IS ON FIRE!” Arthur knew he had to get help and call 911 as soon as possible. He ran back to his own house and yelled for his Mom but picked up the phone and pushed “911”….”What is your emergency?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“There’s a fire at 3806 Freedom Lane….hurry… people and a dog are trapped inside! I’m Arthur Rogers and I live at 3804 Freedom Lane.”

“OK we’re sending someone…please stay on the line…..”

But Arthur was already running back over to the Campbell’s. Arthur grabbed the pitchfork

that was leaning against Mr. Campbell’s shed and broke the back door glass, reached in and unlocked it and went into the kitchen. Ruffy ran around Arthur in circles as the boy yelled MR. CAMPBELL…MRS. CAMPBELL….” But he heard no answer. Just then Arthur heard the fire engines’ sirens and so he ran to the front door of the house and unlocked it as three firemen ran in.

“Upstairs….they’re upstairs…hurry!” Arthur shouted as the fourth fireman grabbed Arthur and picked him up and carried him outside where Ruffy followed.

Soon Arthur saw Mr. And Mr.s Campbell still in their pajamas and wearing oxygen masks being helped outside by the firemen.

“ARTHUR….are you alright Darling?” It was Arthur’s Mom.

“Sure Mom I’m fine.”

“Oh I was in the shower and didn’t hear anything until the sirens…are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yeah me and Ruffy are great aren’t we boy?”

Ruffy wagged his tail and rubbed up against Arthurs petting hand.

An ambulance took the Campbells off to the hospital and one of the firemen came over to Arthur.

“That was mighty brave of you son but next time just call us …don’t try to go into a house on fire …OK?”

“Sure..OK..Are the Campbells gonna be OK?”

“Yeah… just a little smoke….they’ll be fine…Thanks to you! And… M’aam….your boy there is a real HERO!”

“My well….yes I guess he is. My little HERO!” Arthur’s Mom smiled down at him and hugged him a little too tightly.

“Aw Mom…anybody would have done what I did….I’m nothing special”

Of course I can’t remember when I was just an idea in the creative brain of my author. I’m fairly certain that I am far from the first book thought that was had, but I’m grateful for the creation and pursuit.
In fact, my first memory was when I was about fifty-five pages old and my protagonist had just been taken into custody by the police.
I had to keep reminding myself that I was FICTION and not to worry because there were probably hundreds of more pages to go to straighten everything out.
But I DO have story friends that didn’t have hundreds of pages and wound up bound along with others of their kind into a book of many short stories. But I digress.
I’m going to let you in on a secret here, I really wasn’t fond of my main character during those early pages but I’m just the book and have no control over the story that I am forced to tell.
I must also interject here. There are good authors and some not so good authors and we books can’t choose our creators but I am fortunate because I was lucky to have been given a good one.
When I was about ninety-seven pages long it seemed like ages before I turned the page onto ninety-eight. But I found out later that it is not uncommon to go through that as a young book and I went through those sort of stages many times until I was finished.
As I added pages I also added many literary characters and plots and subplots and I actually got quite confused myself as to who I actually was and where I was headed.

Just between us, I had a bit of wavering faith in my author many times but always was happy that at least I was not one of those SciFi books. They never seemed quite right to me even though there are a few near me on this bookshelf so I shouldn’t make too much of it here.
Things were going along smoothly until page two hundred and
Seven, Chapter ten.
My hero, main character, protagonist… died! My author
“Killed Him Off!” I was not ready for that, I must tell you.
Of course, I found out why my author did that and it made sense to me by the end.
And by the way “The End” is just the beginning for a book. I mean it is actually when you graduate and go out into the world to entertain the readers that will hold you and caress you and yes, also sometimes dog ear you or spill coffee on your pages or worst of all, make notes in your margins!

Which brings me to the modern challenge of E Books. Well, I don’t mean to sound aloof but does anyone really think that holding an electronic device is really preferable to a hardbound book with its tactile luxury and even library aroma?
The jury is still out on that I guess and I am a bit one sided on that thinking.
But the reason I asked you to listen to my story today, other than making my case for traditional printed and bound books is that I am so proud.
I am announcing today that have a new just born, ah first printing I should say…SEQUEL!
I’m saving a place on my bookshelf for it right next to me.
So in the meantime, keep reading and going to bookstores and library’s and enjoy real books and stories just like mine!