Stories We Can Tell: Recent Episodes
Jim McGinnis
Welcome! I'm Jim McGinnis and this is a place for thoughts and musings of an old Floridian. At its heart, stories, and reflections on the lives of Americans. Alexandar Hemon said, "The whole character of my personal sovereignty is formulated through the act of storytelling. As long as we're trying to imagine someone else's life, someone else's spirit, we are all connected." Oftentimes, my studio is my back porch, where there are frequently sounds of crickets, birds, barking dogs, and trains. So I apologize for the raw recordings, but that’s me—unbridled and unvarnished. Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/jim-mcginnis/support
"Deciduous Man..." Thanks, Shane Bullard for a little inspiration on this one. A few years ago, Shane was playing some good tunes here on social media...just strumming his 6-string and singing some great old country songs. I haven’t heard much from him in a while. I sure hope he starts playing again. For now, he sits and thinks about the fight. The good fight. Emerging slowly from a darkness That got hold of him last night. Oh, whether you’re a man of means or measure, Or just a wolf in black sheep’s clothing.How pathetic to be stuck there In self-pity and self-loathing. And what we’re falling for.But he rallies. Gazing out upon the Flag, he sings a line or two from Hag— "Today I started loving you again. And I’m right back where I’ve really always been…" His mind goes walking, across the Edmund Pettus bridge, Walking on the moon. Walking into death in Normandy that June. Through dust and fires, Across rivers running red with blood. Down deep, the music plays, Bad news on the doorstep, Bud. His faith returns against all reason. In spite of, in the face of, because of, and for the grace of, everything that’s happened. Despite the wrecking force of greedAnd the weight of sorriness gone to seed,He still believes in goodness, though.Honor, strength, and courage—And other stuff, you know.In those who swim against the stream,Who refuse to think alike,Alice Paul and Lucy Burns waging hunger strikes. Woody Guthrie fighting fascists with two chords on his guitar.Samuel Clemens sitting, Cooly smoking a cigar While birthing Huckleberry Finn.Jefferson writes the Declaration while he plays the violin,John Coltrane and Einstein were probably there to hear it—Living out the mystery of the cosmos, The science and the Holy Spirit.And there’s more.Let him tell you about Austin and the Bakersfield sound, And half a million on a farm, outside a little New York town, Giving peace a chance.Tell me, what’s the matter with a bit of song and dance? In the mud, Dave.Jump in the mud.But then here comes the blues, trying to pull us underWith all the dark and somber news of pillaging and plunder.History talk— Of railroads and boomtownsAnd gold and silver riches foundFrom Comstock in NevadaAnd the Black Hills of Dakota—No more buffalo, James, no Lakota.And never mind the sixty bucks he paid to fill up on the way,He rails against the offshore rigsAnd spills in Prudhoe Bay.Now, we fight the Keystone lineAcross the Plains, today.The question comes, though not the first, Not about the vain attempts to curb our thirst, Just “Hey, what’s the use of knowing all the worst?”“I don’t know,” he just may say,And he probably doesn’t know.He’s not the lion anymore, But that won’t stop the preaching, just listen to him roarWhen he speaks of schemes of thugs and parliaments of whores.He can’t forget old Howard ZinnWho talked about the mortal sin,Of going along to get along, Giving up and giving in.The world has suffered most,Not from chasing Don Quixote’s ghost, Not from deviance and defiance, But from unresisting, unthinking, obedience and compliance.Gazing out again upon the Flag, he hears those favorite lines from Hag,And he’s right back where he’s really always been…In spite of, in the face of,Because of, and for the grace ofEverything that’s happened. Everything we’ve done.At the end of the day, he’s headed home to his sweet dogs.The river on the left is calm and clear, there is no fog,He can see all the way across.Greeted at the kitchen door,By the Shepherd and the Labrador—Joyful and hungry. He feeds them well and then himself.And leaves the Irish on the shelf.He makes a cup of teaAnd sips it slow.Accompanied by birdsong, To Kristofferson’s devil, singing low,A line from a song a brother taught him fifty years ago.“I don’t believe that no one wants to know.”Gone, for now, is whatever got hold of him last night.His faith returns against all reason.A greater fool for any season.
"Pool builders, Steamfitters, and Pilots"-a story about heroes and heroic tendencies...The old black man sat in a sliver of shade smoking a cigarette. He seemed puzzled by my fascination with his work. He must have wondered why this skinny kid was so intrigued by hard labor.“What’s your name, jitterbug?” he asked.I told him, but I did not ask him his. He was the darkest man I’d ever seen. He seemed ancient, yet his body looked chiseled from stone.“Jimmy?” he said, repeating my name as he stood up slowly and climbed back down into the hole.The way they built swimming pools a half century ago was a sight to behold. It was grueling, monotonous work—especially in the Florida summer sun— but to witness its construction was watching an artist at work. I was amazed by the old man’s meticulous efforts. His tender dumped a wheelbarrow full of fresh cement in the bottom of the hole, and with a square-point shovel, the man would start slinging it against the wire mesh on the walls. Two-thirds of the mud would slide down to the bottom, but never mind, he had already scooped up another shovel full and slung it, too, and of course, much of the cement slid back down. He continued the work for hours and this ten year old sat mesmerized. What seemed to be a terribly wearisome process began to take shape, as he formed the corners and edges with that square-point shovel, only stopping for a few cigarette and water breaks. I had no idea then about the dealing of cards and how they could be stacked against him. I didn’t know it then, but he was teaching me a lesson I would not forget. I never saw the man again, but I’ve spent many a day digging my own holes, slinging mud against the walls...
Intro: "The Lightness of Jimmy Buffett"
“Do you happen to know, He Went To Paris?” I askedher, on our first evening walk on the beach together. And before Kay could sayanything, I started singing it to her as we strolled along, holding hands. Andthat was the beginning. Little did we know how this pirate troubadour/jesterwould serenade us as we moved through our lives.
The last few days I’ve been thinking about Jimmy Buffett—hisstories, his images. And a funny thing happened: his words started coming to mein bits and pieces—so quickly, I had to brush them away from my face. I wrotethem down furiously and this little story came out it.
His music has accompanied us while floating in theAtlantic, the Gulf, and the intracoastal waterways. …through celebrations, road-trips,trials and tribulations, and even a wake or two. We’ve been blessed by so manygreat voices in our lives, and we don’t spend a whole lot of time ranking orrating them, but Jimmy holds a specialplace. Kay and I both were Florida born and bred, and he provides a saltwatersoundtrack, if you will—blue skies and ultraviolet rays.
He broadened my cultural horizons. He taught me about the magic, mystery and mischief in everydaylife, spirituality in natural beauty, and liberation in laughter. His lessonson the art of “noticing” our surroundings pick up where Hemingway and Alice Walker left off.
For half a century Buffett’s music has served as avisceral reminder to live in the world, as Muir said, and notjust on it.
With his words, he takes us with him, wherever he goes. Fromthat night in Montana with no room for doubt, to the corner of Walk and Don’tWalk, just sipping coffee from Café du Monde. A journey past the channelislands out into the cosmos, singing “Mother, mother, ocean,” from a hymn he taught me at an early age.
Now I’ve heard—and maybe you have too—Buffett’s workdescribed as an escape, but it’s not an escape, exactly. He gives our spiritslift when we are too much burdened by troubles, worries, and obligations. Challengingus to try to live happily ever after every now and then.
There is a lightness, in even his deepest work. “Followin my wake,” he says, and so we do.
Hope you enjoy...
JM
Guitar Story is something new about a few old friends: "And thenthere are the four guitars. He Strums and picks, Stirring sparks withstars." (a whole lot of folks show up in this one--from Tom Waits andGeorge Jones to Coltrane...and a dog that howls at A Minor)
He switchedto the Les Paul electric
And firedup another cigarette,
Then played a cool and jumbled set—
Cat Stevens, the Rolling Stones, Chili Peppers, and old George Jones.
This is the final draft of something I wrote, before the name came to me. I really like this version. You can find the finished work in "Sabal Palm," a compilation I recently published. Copyright 2023 by Jim McGinnis. Hope you enjoy it
Reading "Good Dog Loose," -for kids of any age- brought to life by Tamara's illustrations (she's pretty good) -available on Amazon
The Paragraph
The other night, I stumbled upon some excerpt while searching for a quote, and it kept me awake for hours—that one paragraph. Itsauthor had made “a list of things they don’t teach you in school.” He said thatschool doesn’t teach you how to love somebody, or “to walk away from someoneyou don’t love any longer,” or “how to know what’s going on in someone else’smind,” or “what to say to someone who’s dying.”
“They don’t teach you anything worth knowing.”
Now, that put a lot on my plate.
After a while, I began thumbing backwards throughthe pages of something I had written until I found what I was looking for. Ifinally fell asleep in my chair.
When I awokea few hours later, I still had that paragraph in my head. I couldn’t shake it.I was troubled by the writer’s choice to blame his social struggles—in or outof context— on school: theplace which for some, is their only hope for discovering a thread in theirexistence between themselves and other humans.
Now I know so many of us have had difficultexperiences in school, and I know many others who have found it to be theirsaving grace.
Perhaps the author’s list had a shred or two oftruth. School offers no instruction manual on how to love—school may well beguilty sometimes of hunting down spontaneity and killing it—but it can give ushints of what love is, and how it manifests itself a hundred thousand ways.
School can teach us the truth and power of love byshowing us in a a thousand stories, andthrough a thousand more examples of greater fools who drive to work each daywith an intensity of commitment and attention. I can’t help but hear the AllmanBrothers: “Love is everywhere.” If you discover those things, I’m thinking youcan figure out the rest. The “how” part will take care of itself.
My search had brought me to a verse halfway downpage 80.I had spent years exploring the nature of freedom, and I finally discoveredthat in its purest sense, liberty is driven by love. The realization came fromthings I learned from books and songs, preachers and priests and nuns, dogs andgrandchildren— Of course, I learned much from my companion…my significant other. And my family, and friends… and school.
From coaches and teachers, from strange kids whoslowly became familiar by spending hundreds of days with me in my classroom.
Some of whom gave as much as they took.
Now, schoolis rife with challenges and shortcomings. Cookie-cutter reforms can result inthe creation of all things unremarkable…unexceptional. Responses to politicalpressures have given us spoon-feeding approaches to education…thus lowering ourexpectations. Teachers and studentsalike have stood upon desks and challenged these things for decades.
But One thing School does not teach us, dear author,is weakness. Weakness comes from theworld outside of school—from readers and writers of such paragraphs.
School gives us a sad clear eye on the lies of thegrown-up world. A world that claims to care for the protection of theinnocent—granting refuge in cages
surrounded by the threats and dangers
created by those obsessed with their own vulnerability.
In school, we learn the countless disguises of fearand the granite hardness of reality. Anddespite the beigeness of institutionalized compassion and the madness ofaccountability and structure, school can teach many things worth knowing. Most importantly, love. It does not lose itsway in the politics of politics.
And if in fact, we’re able to discover that the endof our education is but the beginning of learning, well, then we’re on tosomething. The best lesson is learning how to learn. So, I reject the paragraphand its claims… happily…
"From the Left wing to the Right wing, Can’t you hear us singResentment Songs?The politics of protest,From the Angry North and Bitter SouthAnd Wild and Crazy West. We like our truth only half-undressed." -JM
"It's Good to Know," "Disenthralled, " and "To the Ticking Clock"--all found on the pages of "Sabal Palm-Selected Writings" by Jim McGinnis
- you can find Seven Times in my new collection, "Sabal Palm." This one's about dogs...and humans. Hope you like it-- "...Spirit animals Lost and found, Hanging with me, hanging ‘round— Island dogs, Mountain dogs, And everything in between. They swim in any water—muddy, brackish, Blue, or green. Run joyfully through any weather— Beats all I’ve ever seen. They all love truck rides through town With the windows down, And boat rides to the spoils Islands...
An Interview with Jim McGinnis after his recent release of Sabal Palm--a compilation of poetry and stories—much of which he's written over the past two years.
...Reflections, musings, and writings from the ragged but ever-growing collection of this old Floridian.
es, there is a moral in there. Maybe the Pledge shouldn't read "liberty and justice for all" but rather "liberty and justice for each." So, it may or may not be my best work (I'm fond of it), but perhaps it contains my most important message. I hope it makes you think.
"...once upon returning to a place Shared knowingly with other folk—Within sight of someone else’s chimney smoke, I must willfully concede Limits to my independence. As did my ancestors, And so it goes with me and my descendants. As a member of the human race, I must decide to act in such a way Relevant to anyone With whom I share a space..." -JM
"...I was rescued for a while, at least
By a recollection running around my brain—
The image of a girl on a yellow bicycle
Singing softly an old John Prine refrain.
a bit of an introduction for a lot of you, to one of the most creative souls I know—Tamara Fernandez. Her beautiful illustrations that help tell this little story we call "Good Dog Loose." But this is just small chapter of her story.
"Let me introduce myself. I’m your grandfather. I come and sit here at your grave beneath this ancient oak." I heard a guitar player say once, “It’s all about the blues, man…we sing the blues so we don’t have the blues.” But I think some blues are made to stick around, and I don’t mind that. This is for my daughter, Meagan and her boy, Tiernan.
From the Left wing to the Right wing, And some crazy folks in the middle, Can’t you hear them sing Resentment Songs?
"Jefferson on the Porch"
I was sitting on the back porch pondering Eliot’s treason, Reading just my second book, of this, the hurricane season. Again, it dealt with Jefferson—and yet another look At America.
My attention shifted First, to the brown dog lying at my feet And then to all my summer chores That would take me out into the heat. But then back again to the great Virginian. Something kept me there in front of the fan Planted in my seat....
Where are we now? Where are we headed, blue-eyed son? Ah, we know the way somehow
By dead reckoning—From distance and direction already traveled,
From stories and songs already sung. Voices beckoning Around turns and bends far flung.
Another Florida story--"a place gives up its nature only after hard usage" Hope you like it. -JM
Again, we need to remember the value of history. Tending to the Past revisited-With all the humility I can muster, I believe what is happening between us right now is a symptom of our national amnesia…or maybe worse, our cynical habit of cherry-picking the parts of history that serve us.
Unstuck
There he was, out on the porch When I pulled up. CR didn’t seem to notice me. He rocked away the summer morning With his German Shepherd pup, Slowly sipping on his tea With the spoon still in his cup.
“You’ll put your eye out,” I warned him But he didn’t seem to care. He just patted the dog and sang a song To someone who wasn’t there:
Jeannie won’t you lay with me And scratch my back a while, Whisper in my ear Sweet things that make me smile
Ever since he quit the booze He sits out here and reads the news And worries about his country. CR flies a little flag on a stick taped to the lamppost, A Christmas wreath still graced the door. Finding nothing to fall back on, He drops the paper on the floor.
“Sean,” he said, “They’re taking books right off the shelf And I don’t feel so good myself.” Staring out into the sunburned lawn, He kept on rocking, rocking on, still talking— “A bobcat killed the rooster down at Honest John’s.”
I wasn’t sure of what to say or just how I should respond But I promised I would buy him a flag of decent size. He told me not to bother And wiped the water from his eyes.
“I figure anybody who can fly a great big flag Can fly a great small one,” he said, Gazing out towards my pickup truck.
“A little girl gave me that one At the Veterans Day parade. She sat down right beside me on the curb And drank her lemonade. We spoke of kindness, love, and beauty In the universe displayed.” Then he sang another song:
Billy Pilgrim they will burn you, Just you wait and see. It seems you’ve made the list Of Moms for Liberty. Guilty of the heinous crime Of coming all unstuck in time, Billy, you’ve been a friend to me.
“Is that you, CR? Coming all unstuck?” I asked. I recognized the line from a book He made me read in high school. “I guess,” he answered.
“But Vonnegut was with your Pop in World War Two. A nightmare. No big deal, they said—just what they had to do. Billy, he won’t work on Maggie’s farm, And he sure won’t study war no more. That’s what got him banned.”
I leaned on the post and nodded But I couldn’t really comprehend. And CR sang his verse again.
Then, for the first time, at least with me, He spoke of Vietnam. “They drafted you right out of school,” I said, “According to my Mom.”
“Yeah, I won the lottery.” “Number 93, Spec 4, 25th Infantry.” He talked about Long Binh and Cu Chi, LZ’s and IED’s And losing two friends from Indiana. Sleeping in the rice fields To hear Charlie coming out, ‘Didi Mow!’ The GI’s shout— Dinki Dow and getting out of there somehow Before he turned 21.
“I made six fifty a month. Sent all but forty of it home Except for the time I went to Australia.”
“You went to Australia?”
“Hell, that was 50 years ago. Everybody was talking Thailand, Said Australia was way too far For just a week on R&R. I had my heart all set on Sydney, though, Spent a week there with an older woman, don’t you know.” He shook his head and laughed.
I told CR that I once had a science teacher who served. A Helicopter pilot. He wore an eyepatch like a pirate. Scar down the side of his face. Talked politics at the drop of a hat— Called himself a Southern Democrat I forgot I remembered him. He was always walking around Swinging his old baseball bat.
Offered no war stories—said he was just glad to be alive. One of the last to leave Saigon in 1975 Before it fell.
It was quiet for a time while— Neither of us said a thing, Both of us sweat the sweat that summer brings. Afraid he couldn’t hear the songbirds sing, CR refused to use the fan I gave him.
He stared out again across the lawn. He kept on rocking, rocking on— It seemed to comfort him, But then he stopped.
“She wore a yellow sundress.”
“Who?”
“The little girl with the flag. Dawn. She said her name was Dawn. I liked that name. Last week a shooter walked into her school And now she’s gone.”
“What?”
“Along with 19 others, she is gone.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked after a moment.
“I don’t know.”
CR ra
He kept playing for a few minutes, then muttered something else about wide open spaces.
Somebody needs to hold on—to remember. "The idea, the dark man said, is one we can’t forget just because we can’t live up to it."
It’s no load to carry.
Floridian is a story about a few folks who are dear to me--particularly Shelby Strother and Brian Karcher. Thank you.
A story about trees, among other things
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Something new. About dogs and men
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January 6-One day came-by Jim McGinnis
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A new verse about Noticing
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Picking up a Pat Conroy quote and running with it. Gratitude--
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It's safe to say that our endings and beginnings have a tendency to get all tangled up. This is a good example--this work has 40 years in it. Perhaps just a few months in the writing, but many years in the making. I thought I finished it a few weeks ago, but no. I think it’s finished, now and I hope it moves you in some strange way.
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Thanks, Nancy Tillman for another great book. I uploaded this reading on YouTube so you could see the pictures, but maybe you can use this one to follow along with your book. Hope you like it
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I figured the best way I might serve my friends these days is to offer a little perspective, and someone who has always given me a refreshing point of view is Jimmy Buffett. Hope you enjoy it
“Slack Tide”
I've got a fish on the line
But there won't be a feast
We've got too much in common
And he shall be released
I've seen day turn to night
And watched the changin' of seasons
Things don't just happen
They happen for a reason
Maybe we'll meet in Exuma
Or down in the Keys
If I catch the right current
Or capture a breeze
Out here, conflicts and chaos completely subside
Sailin' back to where I came from
Back to slack tide
Well, I think it's time to put some snorkels on
Turn your feet into flippers
Have some primal fun
Dance with a stranger in a Mardi Gras parade
Find an empty hammock, take a nap in the shade
You can't hold back the moon
Can't stop the ebb and flow
The water still comes, and the water still goes
It turns mountains to sand
Gave ole Noah his big ride
Then he dropped off his passengers
Down, at slack tide
I can't control anybody
Other than myself
Leave those half empty thoughts
High up on the shelf
If you cut me some slack
I'll return the favor
Open that bottle of fine rum
That together, we will savor
Well, we could use some quiet
We could use a little calm
Find the good in everybody
Share that "one love" balm
Watch the predators and prey
Swim along side by side
Beneath the blue sky and mangroves
Down, at slack tide
I wish the whole wide world could swim along at slack tide
Swim along, swim along, swim along, swim along at slack tide
Swim along, swim along, swim along, swim along
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For my grown kids, the grands, and all the chillers out there-- This one is a fable for all of us--"The Giving Tree" "a tender story, touched with sadness, aglow with consolation. Shel Silverstein has created a moving parable for readers of all ages."
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Epilogue
Greetings! I’m Jim McGinnis. I recently completed a Back Porch Reading of Tending to the Past here on on my podcast, “Stories We Can Tell.” It’s cut into 16 segments, so you can listen at your leisure.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRHK3klX348
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16 (of 16)-Final Reading-pages 265-281 of "Tending to the Past"--On Jodi, Storied, and So Much To Be Done...plus a bonus reading!
It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
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15 (of 16)--pages 245-264 of "Tending to the Past"--On Hemingway, Chautauqua, and the Fog of Idealism...and of course, more conversations with Jodi. Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
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Reading 14 of 16-pages 227-243 of "Tending to the Past"--On Culture, Heroes and More Conversations with Jodi. Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
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13 of 16--pages 209-226 of "Tending to the Past"--Biograph, Jodi, and A Few Things I've Learned--Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
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Reading 12 of Tending to the Past "On Splendid Indifference and Bringing History Home." Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
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Reading 11 In the Rain! Tending to the Past "On Free Ranging, Friends and Mentors, and Jodi." Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
*copies of Tending to The Past are available on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, and other fine establishments
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Reading 10 of Tending to the Past "On graduation, Mother Teresa, and Jodi." Another back-porch reading of a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. . Thank you for listening.
*copies of Tending to The Past are available on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, and other fine establishments
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Reading 9---A conversation with Jodi/Essay on Freedom and Leadership-pages 135-152. It's a back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings.
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Another back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Reading 8: "On Flags, Small Town Lament, and most importantly, Tom McIntyre." (pages 119-133). Thank you for listening.
*copies of Tending to The Past are available on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, and other fine establishments
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Another back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Reading 7 includes a chapter dear to me, called "Jackie and Jim," about my sister and brother in law. This episode--"Heroes, Mentors, and Driving the Loop" (pages 109-118). Thank you for listening.
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Another back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through narrative, essays, and poetry, this episode includes a 9/11 poem; The Importance of Math & Science to Democratic Values; and Songlines--pages 87-107
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Special Episode #4 of "Stories We Can Tell." It's a back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through Narrative, essay, and poetry--I explore what it is that makes teachers so fiercely loyal to the art of teaching, so committed to their calling. In this episode, we bring more Ray Donohue into the story. Also, there are important discussions on the role of Art and Literature in teaching American History, and of course, a look at the power of the words of Lincoln. Hope you enjoy it
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A back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through narrative, essays, and poetry, this episode includes a second encounter with Jodi, a poem I wrote while commuting to college, and more discussions on the American Idea. Hope you enjoy it.
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This is Special Episode #3 of "Stories We Can Tell." It's a back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through Narrative, essay, and poetry--I explore what it is that makes teachers so fiercely loyal to the art of teaching, so committed to their calling.
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This is a Special Episode of "Stories We Can Tell." It's a back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through narrative, essays, and poetry, I explores what it is that makes teachers so fiercely loyal to the art of teaching, so committed to their calling. This is a reflection on all that is good in the classroom, giving voice to the beauties, frustrations, and truths that make up a teacher's day.
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The beginning of Special Episodes of "Stories We Can Tell." It's a back-porch reading of "Tending to the Past," a book I wrote a few years ago. It is part novel, part memoir, part collection of writings. Through narrative, essays, and poetry, I explores what it is that makes teachers so fiercely loyal to the art of teaching, so committed to their calling. This is a reflection on all that is good in the classroom, giving voice to the beauties, frustrations, and truths that make up a teacher's day.
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What is a sense of place? A combination of characteristics that make a location unique. Your place doesn’t have to be remarkable or breathtakingly beautiful. It can be a common place that gives you an uncommon feeling of contentment. Another reason for tending to the past. Thanks to Shelby Strother and Thomas Woods for the help with describing "place."
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“no fear, no envy, no meanness”
So the story goes, Liam Clancy proposed a toast to a young Bob Dylan, and as Dylan told it, Liam raised his pint of Guinness and said it: “Bob, No fear, no envy, no meanness.” It struck me. I wear that quote on my wrist…but most days I fail to live up to it, one way or another. But many days, I do.
The word, resentment keeps coming up in my thoughts, these days, so the quote seemed appropriate. Resentment. It permeates our society. Feelings of being overlooked, ignored, marginalized and disrespected. We all feel resentful at times—hell, I feel slighted on a daily basis. We resent each other…for big things and small things. FDR said it’s all about fear and maybe he’s right, but it seems envy and resentment have crept up on fear these days.
It’s a question of “deservingness,” as Kathy Cramer put it. We gaze in “at undeserving groups who don’t work as hard as we do.” They’re not one of us…
Resentment didn’t appear out of thin air. America has a long history of it. We’ve been haunted by racism and nativism from the very beginning. Hell, ask the Irish…my ancestors--Help Wanted No Irish Need Apply. Of Course, a few decades later, they turn around and play a big role in the Civil War draft riots in New York City, targeting free blacks as scapegoats, so there you go. People in glass houses and all that.
Ah, the scapegoat theory. Politicians who cultivate race consciousness and demonize others—give many someone or something to blame for their fears, frustrations, and failures. The politics of resentment rages on.
Resentment has become a driving force in politics—from the left and from the right. Angry citizens who feel they have no voice, are feeding off it. It grows from a disaffection and distrust for traditional institutions and leaders. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t be pissed off at our representatives. There is plenty to be angry about.
But maybe a cure for all this is to start looking up at people rather than down.
I don’t have to look very far to find people who work harder than I do…who do more for others; endure more hardship; more pain; who complain less; tolerate more. That act of looking up and around—rather than down— is humbling, liberating and inspiring.
Take it from an old moody Irishman—being angry and resentful is exhausting. It takes much less energy to be joyful and cheerful. Now if I could only practice what I preach.
While I’m convinced that there are only spiritual and moral remedies to all this, a good dose of truth would help. We need to get out of our information silos and embrace some semblance of reality. Dostoevsky said, “The man who lies to himself can be more easily offended than anyone else. And he will revel in his resentment till he feels great pleasure in it.”
It’s obvious that we all need to be a little more grateful, more understanding, more humble; less envious… The reality is there are people who are less deserving of help than others, but when I stop and think about it, I realize that I have far more blessings in my life than I deserve. I don’t know about you.
And as far as my complaints? Mea Culpa…Mea Culpa, Mea maxima culpa. When it comes down to it, my problems are mostly my fault. So Let’stop blaming others! Let’s deal with our failures just as we deal with our successes. I think if we start there, the solutions to real problems become much clearer.
NO FEAR, NO ENVY, NO MEANNESS
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For my grown kids, the grands, and all the chillers out there--Bestselling author Nancy Tillman celebrates the life-long bond between parent and child. Hope you like it.
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(the title comes from a Springsteen song—reason to believe)
Believe in what? You ask. Well, I believe men walked on the moon; that the Earth is a round place, and to each end is a new beginning. I believe my vote counts—that all votes are created equal, but all opinions are not…that noticing beauty is a form of grace. I believe goodness is more important than greatness…
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For Kids #15-"A Party to Remember" by Tim Tebow and Ann Gregory. Illustrated by Jane Chapman For our grands and all our cool chillers. Thank you, Tim Tebow
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Fair Winds, Indie--our sweet girl. See you in the next life.
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It was “a trail of deceit that plundered the generosity and good will of millions of Americans who wished desperately to believe their president was not a liar.” That was Goldwater, that magnificent conservative of the 20th century, speaking of Nixon and Watergate. He went on to call it “the manipulation and misuse of this vast American storehouse of bigheartedness that history will condemn.”
Maybe this helps explain why so many of my fellow citizens still doggedly support President Trump. They too seem to be wishing desperately. Surely, their bigheartedness has been manipulated and misused...
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"We are friends...we must not be enemies"
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I Love you Americanly...by Lynn Parrish Sutton, Illustrated by Melanie Hope Greenberg. For our grands and all our cool chillers. Thank you.
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Caroline Randall Williams' recent essay--"My body is a Confederate Monument"--has got me thinking.
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We need to begin at the beginnin' -- Understanding America as an experiment with human nature--the product of the Enlightenment
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Men and women are terribly flawed, but each of us are capable of extraordinary things
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A while back I wrote a book called Tending to the Past. The time is right to revisit the points I tried to make in Tending...
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This is a recent reading of a narrative I wrote a while back. You may recognize a few lines or recurring metaphors. I've been known to return to familiar places. Hope you enjoy. Thank you
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For Kids #13-"I Love you Oceanly," by Lynn Parrish Sutton, Illustrated by Hazel Mitchell. For our grands and all our cool chillers. Thank you.
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My Granddaughter, Delaney's favorite: -"The Very Lazy Ladybug" by Isabel Finn, Illustrated by Jack Tickle
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For all my grandkids, nephews, nieces, and all the other chillers. "Sometimes you Fly" by Katherine Applegate/ Illustrated by Jennifer Black Reinhardt
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for the Grads: -endings and beginnings: congratulations, thank-you's, and good wishes
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Another reading for the chillers
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Welcome. I’m Jim McGinnis and This is the first episode of Stories We Can Tell. It’s a place for the thoughts, musings and passages of this old Floridian. What can you expect? At its heart, reflections on history, literature, and music…stories about individual journeys and struggles and victories. It’s about Americans, America—or as much of it as I have seen. I’ve been teaching and coaching down here in my hometown of Melbourne Florida, for the past 35 years, mostly American History…but this is not some collection of oral history lessons (actually that’s not completely true) But anyone who knows me will tell you I’m a hoarder of quotes, and one of my favorite is Will Durant’s description of civilization: “Civilization is a stream with banks. The stream is sometimes filled with blood from people killing, stealing, shouting and doing things historians usually record; while on the banks, unnoticed, people build homes, make love, raise children, sing songs, write poetry and even whittle statues. The story of civilization is the story of what happened on the banks." I like to think that Mr. Durant’s words better describe where I’m going with these conversations. Three years ago, I wrote a book called “Tending to the Past” (imagine that!) —“Reflections of an American History Teacher.” Since then, I published a collection of poetry called “Points South,” And surely a verse or two will slip in from time to time. As far as the podcasts go, oftentimes, my studio is my back porch, where there are frequently sounds of crickets and birds, barking dogs, rain hitting the tin roof, and trains. A siren works its way in from time to time, along with a motorcycle screaming down 192 . So I apologize for the background noise and raw recordings, but that’s me—I kinda like it that way…I hope you do too…unbridled and unvarnished.
Well, let’s get started shall we?
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The greatness of Pat Conroy allows you to drop in right in the middle of 700-page novel and find a paragraph that floors you:
"Now I know that a part of me would like to have traveled the world as he traveled it, a jester of burning faith, a fool and a forest prince brimming with the love of God. I would like to walk his southern world, thanking God for oysters and porpoises, praising God for birdsongs and sheet lightning, and seeing God reflected in pools of creekwater and the eyes of stray cats. I would like to have talked to yard dogs and tanagers as if they were my friends and fellow travelers along the sun-tortured highways, intoxicated with a love of God, swollen with charity like a rainbow, in the thoughtless mingling of its hues, connecting two distant fields in its glorious arc. I would like to have seen the world with eyes incapable of anything but wonder, and a tongue fluent only in praise.”
― Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides
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Tis the season, so I thought I'd throw in some Christmas things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. "The Littlest Angel" is a story I remember my mother reading to me.
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Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. This one is A magical adventure from music legend Paul McCartney.
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Stories we can tell that may help us understand the present state of our republic
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As I've said many times , Few people on the planet could tell a story like Shelby. If you're interested in reading more Shelby, you need to pick up Saddlebags: A Collection of Columns and Stories. Thank you.
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Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. This story is called 123...by the Sea. Written by Dianne Moritz and Illustrated by Hazel Mitchell. storieswecantell@outlook.com.
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excerpts from Ad Fontes Media founder Vanessa Otero. "We love Junk Food and Junk News, and both are wreaking havoc on our collective physical and mental health..." On a quest for information fitness, Otero's analogy sheds light on some possible remedies for "a polarization epidemic." She has created a method for measuring the credibility and bias of new sources.
"Most of us are consuming vast quantities of white bread, mashed potatoes, and cereal, like watching a ton of CNN...Most of MSNBC and Fox News are donuts and fries." -V. Otero
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Hello again, It's McGinnis. Figured I better get back on here and take my medicine. Don’t want to be accused of hit and run! Thank you so much for the comments. All politics is personal –someone else said that, and I believe it. Let’s not forget how hard it is to put yourself out there, and how equally difficult it is to keep our passions in check—no matter what your views. Our patience wears thin—we get pissed—but we need to start listening better to each other, and keep listening.
We have to learn how to use this social media to it’s full potential. We gotta keep the pictures of kids and dogs and boats and what have you—but we can’t be afraid of political exchange to go along with that…mix it all into some gumbo. Hell this country got started in a bar and that was even before most of the Irish got here!
A major reason I wrote my first book—Tending To The Past (shameless plug, ha!), was to try to explain the importance of knowing our history and the dangers of not knowing it. With all humility, I believe what is happening between us right now is a symptom of our national amnesia…or maybe worse, our habit of cherry-picking the parts of history that serve us. We all do that, by the way.
So, I’m going to throw some stuff out there—a few things from previous videos and podcasts—but maybe they’ll seem more pertinent as we discover the context. If you don’t want to look at my face (that’s perfectly understandable), you can find me on my podcast: “Stories We Can Tell”
anchor.fm/jim-mcginnis. Along with political commentary, there are literary works and even some readings of kids’ books, so don’t freak out.
The videos are also available on my rather obscure YouTube channel. Please let me know how that works out.
Let’s keep our humor about us, okay? Carl Hiaasen taught us that we can talk about some pretty serious stuff and still keep our humor. Come on now.
this video is a flash back to Lincoln's birthday. Why all the Lincoln and Jefferson? they are the two most optimistic Americans, and boy we could use a little optimism...
words
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Speaking up and Speaking Out--
I can’t speak for others, but I can speak to the thousands of students who came through my classroom door: I taught you better. You know better. To defend the president’s policies and actions are your hard choices. But, to defend the division, anger, and hatred that he is instigating is wrong…regardless of your politics; regardless of your distaste for the political opposition. And the hard truth is you can’t separate a leaders actions from his words.
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Reading An Essay for believers, non-believers, and folks in between: Andrew Sullivan: "Christianity in Crisis" Christianity has been destroyed by politics, priests, and get-rich evangelists. Ignore them, writes Andrew Sullivan, and embrace Him.
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Today, we do what we want to do, here in America. Whether we’re afraid or not won’t stop us (didn’t FDR say something about that?). We’ll go to the beach, the park, or the ball field. Maybe we’ll just hang out in the back yard and have a cookout. We’ll do what we want—please, no preaching today. It’s the Fourth, for crying out loud. We’re going to drive down the highway with all the windows down and play the music loud; maybe float the boat, searching for an ideal spot to watch the fireworks. We’ll probably eat or drink too much...we’ll surely play that music loud.
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Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. The Jolly Mon sing! Songwriter Jimmy Buffett and his daughter, Savannah Jane Buffett, collaborate on a original tale about a magic guitar and the lucky man who finds it. Pirates and trickery, music and enchantment, friendship and the loyalty of a very special dolphin, create a timeless story of adventure that will be treasured by young and old alike. storieswecantell@outlook.com.
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-adapted by Cedella Marley...Based on the song, "One Love" by Bob Marley; adapted by Cedella Marley; illustrated by Vanessa Brantley-Newton. Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories.
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"Are you liberal?" someone asked. "Liberal enough," was my answer. "Are you conservative?" asked someone else. "Conservative enough," I replied.
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Children's episode: a reading of Leslie Kiddy Maloney's "Mermaid Meg..." A great story about protecting the Indian River Lagoon
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Based on the song, "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley; adapted by Cedella Marley; illustrated by Vanessa Brantley-Newton.
Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. storieswecantell@outlook.com
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an excerpt from Rawlings' memoirs...telling a story about a wild, remote Florida. Dedicating this reading to Sammy McGee, Mike Ferguson, Keith Barton, Scott Matthews, and Tanner Rowell...and so many more who love this place even more than I do.
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There has to be a point where moral persuasion is replaced by political persuasion. If we believe our cause is just, if we the teachers are convinced of that, then we must stop asking and start demanding. “Power,” Frederick Douglass said, “concedes nothing without demand. It never has and never will.”
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Along with our weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in some things for the kids. My grandchildren sure like books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. storieswecantell@outlook.com
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`Otro loco mas,’
said the barman and turned away.
--Ernest Hemingway
storieswecantell@outlook.com
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Along with our regular weekly episodes, I thought I'd throw in a few things for the kids. My grandchildren sure love books, and since I don't always get the chance to read to them, I thought this would be a good way to share some of their favorite stories. storieswecantell@outlook.com
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It may matter that Patrick Smith, who wrote the consummate story of frontier Florida, was Mississippi born and raised— This of course lends credence to Smith’s claim that we can have more than one sense of place. storieswecantell@outlook.com
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"To believe that patriotism will not flourish if patriotic ceremonies are voluntary and spontaneous, instead of compulsory routine is an unflattering estimate of the appeal of our institutions to free minds" -Justice Robert Jackson
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As Bob Dylan proved years ago, there are times when you must let the audience come to you, rather than the other way around. Sometimes, a teacher must do something close to that-- inspire the love of knowledge by simply loving it yourself.
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a short stay, but a fun few days on Eleuthera—filled with swimming, fishing, cliff diving, and a rollicking time in Gregory Town...and then the crossing back storieswecantell@outlook.com
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America is currently awash in clanging clashing certitudes...this is a lesson right out of the classroom storieswecantell@outlook.com
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A day on the boat at Sebastian Inlet...green water.
storieswecantell@outlook.com
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"heat it up, boil it down, boil it over! Out into the Gulf of Mexico"
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Grab some bench with Jodi and Ray, and talk of Francis Quinn's journey down to become the very least
storieswecantell@outlook.com
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on fish camps, guitars, and the will to power
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Part1 of a discussion on guitars and debates and Ronald Reagan
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flashback-reintroducing Quinn and Ray--An excerpt from "Tending to the Past"...about tending to the past of all things.
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Reminders...of what this is all about. When I see the Flag, I see my father and grandfather. I see my friends and former students who lost their lives in service to our country. And I see my mother and sisters, and Alice Paul and Billie Holiday. But I also see my children and grandchildren. You may see something different. Take from it what you need.
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Who knows more about being Irish-American the Denis Leary?
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Here's hoping your whole weekend is festive. Maybe,you’re taking part in parades in Chicago, New York, Boston, Savannah, or right here in Melbourne…or maybe you’re sitting in the dark listening to Van Morrison--no matter, I hope you have a great time.
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There is a force afoot--an impulse to resist new ideas; new arguments, at the risk of becoming something else. But for the curious mind, the only risk is becoming something more. Big thoughts.
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Who are these young men and women? Where did they go and what did they become? Once unknowing, bemused; now storied . And thanks Jon Jordan...
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Tending to Place: Back Porch Recollections of a therapeutic trip to Savannah...the continuing story of Francis Quinn. I can't quite shake this guy.
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Jim Bouton reminds us that we spend a good piece of our lives gripping a baseball and "in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time."
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food for thought--Jefferson himself urged Americans to accommodate even the most extreme forms of expression. “Let them stand undisturbed,” he said, “as a monument of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is free to combat it.”
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Again we're tending to place--of trucks and dogs and baseball...and everything in between
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Dead Reckoning: establishing one’s position using the distance and direction already traveled. “And this is why I feel like my best lessons are the accidental ones?” Jodi asked. “Times when I either strayed from the script or decided to just wing it?”
“Absolutely!” said Quinn, slapping his thigh. “That’s when teaching happens."
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"Mind if I sit?" "Not at all," Quinn lied. -- more musings and passages of this old Floridian--this one, a piece of dialogue from Tending To The Past
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Out, out and away--that's where I like to be...an American Verse
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The Mako is a bit rough, and it needs new canvas; the gelcoat is oxidized and has some spider cracks; and the teak is faded. But the Evinrude 225 is in great shape, and it'll get that old hull up on a plane quicker than you can say Jackie Robinson.
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A teacher's reflection on Jim Harrison, American Indians, and Tending to the Past
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Placing character above talent and achievement--Our national discussion should be turned on its head. WHAT a person does with his or her life should be measured by the HOW. The means should justify the ends—not the other way around.
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The Season wouldn't be complete without a story by Shelby Strother. As a journalist, and as a writer, Shelby shared his gifts with folks all over the place, and we're all better for it. This particular piece--a Florida Christmas memory-- is something I've been sharing with friends and family for years. Hope you like it half as much as I like reading it.
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This week we celebrate the birthday of the late, great Marley Donegan McGinnis, Brown Dog Prophet. He was perfectly suited for a Christmas birthday, since to Marley, every morning was Christmas morning.
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Each December, my family would embark upon a journey south of here to cut down an authentic Florida Christmas tree--a Sand Pine
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Art--painting, photography, music, writing, what have you-- reminds us of our humanity. It puts faces upon us, and breathes the human spirit back into our bodies. Oscar Wilde said nature imitates art instead of the other way around. “Once the painter saw colors in shadows,” he said, “shadows took on colors for the first time.”
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This particular piece is based on a memory I shared with my niece, Robin. Few on the Earth love her Christmases more--and this story stemmed from an ill-fated attempt to give her a unique present.
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Speaking of dogs, some friends of ours recently lost theirs and I was searching for some words of comfort. I found John Grogan: These are some things he said he learned from his dog. “Loyalty. Courage. Devotion. Simplicity. Joy.”
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Few people on the planet could tell a story like Shelby. This one is The Storied Past of Honest John Smith, the legendary Florida homesteader. His sanctuary on the north bank of Mullet Creek still bears his name. The stories of Florida "come like waves," as Shelby said... "of a life commandeered by an irascible soul, a pirate, a cowboy, a free spirit who survived the rocks and the sandbars..." If you're interested in reading more Shelby, you need to pick up Saddlebags: A Collection of Columns and Stories. Thank you.
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The thoughts in my head over the last few days were about improvisation, audacity, passion…and youth...ah, to again be bravely naive about the possibilities.
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Returning to "the Loop" for a conversation with Jodi Richardson--The loop took Quinn down A1A, past Sebastian Inlet, all the way to Wabasso. He would cross the Indian River and head back north on US 1, through Roseland, Micco, and Grant. By the time he got back to Melbourne, things always seemed better.
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confidence is brimming, you see, that Thanksgiving will bring something resembling a change of seasons. In fact, it brought much more. Thanks for listening
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November 19 is not quite a national holiday, but it should be. It jumps out at me every year.
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The story about the tropical shirts dates back long before Brian and I. Way Back to another Satellite Beach boy, Shelby Strother, a great sportswriter who celebrated his love for Florida by wearing those prints through the cold winters of Denver and Detroit.
The shirts became sort of a Remembrance for me—Brian never told me how his fashion statement started. I never asked. It seemed to fit him. But Once, I made the mistake of going non-Tropical two days in a row and he called me out—right there in the hall. “What’s going on with you? You tucked in your shirt two days in a row? You selling out?” Lord, I think I had socks on, too…I didn’t tell him that. But I untucked my shirt right then and there! I did not wish to be a cultural infidel!
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Quoting Flannery O'Connor, Quinn told Jodi that sickness is a place more instructive than a long trip to Europe. This is a story about that "conversation." For obvious reasons, it's among the harder things to talk about, or write about...but certainly one of the most important things. I guess this episode is about tending to my own past. Comments? Questions? jdmcginnis@hotmail.com
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Doing a little Tending to the Past, I suspect. Comments? Questions? jdmcginnis@hotmail.com
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Quinn rears his head in many of my writings. This episode centers on a father and son conversation around the bonfire. I'd like to dedicate it to two of my brothers-in-law--Roger Colyer and Bill King--and of course, to two warriors of decades past--my Uncle George and my dad. Comments? Questions? jdmcginnis@hotmail.com
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A list of sorts--but there ain't a big enough bucket. Comments? Questions? jdmcginnis@hotmail.com
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Searching for Sense of Place--history is at the core of an individual's identity. It is the glue of a friendship, a community, and ultimately a nation...and the connections we make can also tie us to a place--a sense of belonging to a part of the natural world. The knowledge of place grows out of working, investing, sacrificing, and of course, telling the stories of those experiences. Each individual must sweat and bleed for himself, but the stories, now, they can draw him in to something deeper.
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an excerpt from "Tending to the Past" --a dialogue between an old man and a young woman. It includes some great Kristofferson work. Comments? Questions? jdmcginnis@hotmail.com
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Francis T. Quinn is a character you had to meet sooner or later. He's the guy who takes us into the classroom and into his head while he wrestles with his own relevance and ego.
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This is fresh from the back porch...Hemingway insisted that truth can be manifested in fiction as well as fact. A figurative expression can be as powerful as a literal one.
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As I grew older, I finally began to see how song connects us to place and people and things. Not only do ballads chronicle the past, but the rhythms and melodies also bind us together and link us to a strange but common history. We begin to see links in the chain. The original songlines served to guide the wanderer in the footprints of his ancestors. With a four-mile an hour walking pace and a four-beat rhythm to his song, he encountered landmarks and sacred places which kept him on the line to his destination. Our lines seem blurred today, only visible when looking back through memory. But it is the music that conjures up the vision of our pathways.
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I believe that this was Shelby's last Florida column before he and his family moved on to Denver and ultimately, Detroit. Florida was always in his heart. "His whole life has been a play on words...I thought as the editor of a Florida Daily called TODAY, that the day might come when Shelby Strother would be the best sports writer on any newspaper in the country. The day came, but I can't give you the when and where of it. The who and what are a lot more important anyway. His talent wasn't limited to the games people play on fields and courts; he also was at home telling you what the political social and economic games they play...what else is there to say? Style can be taught. Soul cannot." -Buddy Baker
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