Foundation Stories - "Newclear Stories" new for 2016

GWEN NEWCLEAR THE POET
Foundation Stories
Visions of a New Age
Gwen Newclear The Poet
2/25/2012
The stories that ignited my Visions of a New Age.
Spelling; and Fiction Writing & The Truth I refer to as my foundation
stories because they help to explain the framework of my work and how I came to look at Truth and the
English Language. They were written in 2003.
From 2004-2006, I wrote a series of fantasy stories about my literary heros. I have included my story:
Henry David Thoreau and Me
Thoreau inspired and influenced me to become the poet that I am today. I guess you could say "Thoreau
was my first".
It's all in the intrepretation.
Gwen Newclear The Poet
Spelling
In the game of life, by far, the worst card I ever got dealt was the “can’t spell”
card. Every elementary school teacher had tested proof that I was not too bright.
I never believed for a minute that I was stupid. Why, if I were so stupid, how was
it that at age five; I could whip my grandpa, uncle, and dad in a game of cards? My
grandpa would always crack up at me because he taught me every trick in the book.
But because of my spelling, I always looked so stupid in school. I tried so hard to
spell well because all of my teachers put so much emphasis on spelling: Like spelling
was your “make-it” or “break-it” ticket in life.
Dr. Ballard [scientist/founder of the Jason Project] would have been proud of me
as a child because I started asking the question he always encourages children to ask and
that is: Why? Only I was not asking the question “why” with regards to science; I was
asking why I couldn’t spell.
Now, as Dr. Ballard has demonstrated with the Jason Project: it is impossible to
find answers to the why questions in American public schools. No, our children must go
to college for that! (But home-schoolers have demonstrated on the Jason Project that it IS
possible to answer some of those WHY questions at an early age.)
Yes, because I am a product of the American Public School System, I had to go to
college to find out why I couldn’t spell. And boy, did I find out.
Against the advice of family and counselors, and contrary to SAT scores, I
majored in English.
I will never forget my first day at the university in my Structure of the English
Language class. I just about fell off of my chair when I found out that Dr. Sears, the
professor, was a Harvard graduate. It was at that moment I knew I would write the paper
of my college career. Sure enough, when I looked at the syllabus, a research paper would
constitute a large percentage of our final grade. The paper I ended up writing was “Our
Inefficient Alphabet.”
What an opportunity of a lifetime to be evaluated by Harvard at the price of a
State University! And Dr. Sears wasn’t just ANY Harvard graduate. He graduated five
beta capa (I’ve heard that’s a big deal!). He had been published as the expert on
prepositions.
For years I wondered why a man as brilliant as Dr. Sears would waste all of his
time studying something as insignificant as prepositions. Years later I read that
prepositions are the key to unraveling and understanding the structure of the English
Language. Wow, maybe those Harvard guys are on to something!
Dr. Sears gave me a B+ on my paper; he had to mark me down for technical
errors, like spelling.
Unfortunately, I lost that paper some time ago; but I clearly illustrated with my
research that we do not have a phonetic alphabet. OK, it’s semi-phonetic and that is to
give it more credit than it deserves. This explains why elementary schools switch back
and forth between teaching phonics and whole language. Both methods confuse children.
Why not just tell kids the truth: they are just going to have to muddle through the mush
the best way they can.
You see, a phonetic alphabet would have a letter or combination of letters for
each sound in that language. Since there are 42 sounds in the English language, the
perfect alphabet would have 42 letters or combination of letters. Of course, our alphabet
only has 26 letters. We do use combination of letters to make up for the deficiency;
however, this is where the inconsistency really mushrooms. The only example I
remember from my paper was that the letter combination “ough” has eight different
sounds. So we don’t have slow kids in America, we just have an inefficient alphabet to
work with.
When our nation was establishing, there were a couple or three phonetic alphabets
proposed for America to consider. The one I liked the best was the one proposed by
Benjamin Franklin (he also proposed we go with the metric system). Now there was one
brilliant man!
But our early Americans held fast to their inefficient alphabet.
Shakespeare is a required class for every English Major in America. I figured
since he was so important that everyone referred to him as the Master of the English
Language, I would take two semesters of Shakespeare. It was in my second semester
where I learned that Shakespeare spelled his name six different ways. Do you think he
was trying to tell the English-speaking people something?
For having such an inefficient alphabet to work with, Shakespeare transformed
the English Language into one magnificent language!
Up until just last year, I believed that America should have gone with Franklin’s
phonetic alphabet.
I was walking through the library one day and a book literally jumped off the self
at me. The title of the book was, The Most Dangerous Man in America. It was a book
about Benjamin Franklin.
Now, one thing that Franklin and Shakespeare had in common was that they were
manipulators (like me). In fact, they were mass manipulators. There was another mass
manipulator in history named Adolph Hitler. I study mass manipulators because I believe
I am living in an ignorant society. Ignorant societies are ripe for the taking by a mass
manipulator (like me?).
Anyway, I didn’t read that book The Most Dangerous Man in America but it got
me to thinking: What if Franklin HAD convinced a new nation to adopt a phonetic
alphabet?
As an English Major I studied Chaucer in Middle English. If you ever get the
chance, get a hold of a Chaucer book and take a look for yourself at Middle English. It
looks like a foreign language!
Here is a scary thought: had we adopted Franklin’s phonetic alphabet,
Shakespeare’s beautiful Renaissance language and the language of the King James
Version of the Bible, would have looked like a foreign language to America!
A democracy based on Christianity, like our alphabet, is not the most efficient
system. But is there something in that inefficient system worth preserving?
Before we let Christianity slip away from America, maybe we should take a look
at our American leaders of the past; leaders of different religions and mind-sets, but with
a common thread of belief ------ Christianity.
Is there something about Christianity that is worth hanging on to?
This is the question America needs to ask.
I have come to believe that if our inefficient alphabet was good enough for
Shakespeare, it’s good enough for Gwen Newclear. Our alphabet may not be that good ------ but it’s good enough!
Fiction Writing and The Truth
After home schooling my children, I decided that it was time to finally write that
Great American Novel I had always dreamed of writing. And boy, did I have writing
material; the engineering profession had given me that! I could even write about the
medical profession since I had worked in a hospital and was a patient for a month in a
mental hospital.
So I took a class at the University of Las Vegas called “Fiction Writing”. I can’t
remember the Professor’s name (lucky for him) but I remember I really had done my
homework. He had just published a new book (he had about four previously published
books) and I read it before the class started. I can’t remember the whole name of the book
but the word “Revenge” was in the title.
The setting of the book was in Africa. This professor was well traveled. After
reading his book I decided that this guy must be a real “macho man”. The story is told
through the point of view of a woman named Nora. She must have been his idea of the
ideal woman; I have never known a woman even close to this one and I can’t imagine
one ever existing.
My first day of class, I thought he was a striking, good looking, manly man. He
seemed shocked when I told him that I read his book. I could tell that all of the other
students were jealous of me; they wished they had thought of it first. He asked me what I
thought of it. I told him, “It was Fascinating!” and that was the Truth. Actually, I thought
it was borderline Science Fiction it was so far-fetched.
We were given an assignment that we had to write two twenty page pieces to read
out loud to the class and be evaluated by everyone. This worked out pretty good for me
because I had just about this much written already. I had taken a stab at Fiction Writing
with my engineering experiences for subject material. I chose fiction to protect the people
in my story.
The instructor did give a lot of writing instruction. I learned things about writing
that I had never read about or been taught. For instance, you are supposed to use short
sentences, medium sentences, and long sentences all mixed up. He was one of these guys
who thought writing should sound good ---- “Be Lyrical.”
Actually, I couldn’t believe that anyone would write like this. The thing that
puzzled me the most was when he told us that fiction writing had to be totally made up. I
figured that this could explain some of the bizarre junk I had been reading.
One by one each student presented their work. We were given copies in advance
to mark up. All of the writing was bad and in some instances it was total nonsense. When
it came time for mine, each student gave his evaluation of my work. Finally, the professor
said, “You were all way too kind to Mrs. Gomez [my married name back then].” He
looked at me and said, “Yours has been the worst one so far.” Then he proceeded to tear
it apart. He really blasted me for using the same word seven times in a single paragraph
and when I told him I did it on purpose, he really went into orbit.
I really thought he was out of line by degrading me in front of everyone this way;
but I have had so much “unfair experience” to draw from, it really didn’t bother me that
much.
Since he insinuated that I shouldn’t even be writing, I decided not to go back to
class.
About a week later he called me at home. He wanted to know if I would be
coming back to class. I told him no. He had convinced me that I shouldn’t be writing
fiction. He said, “Oh no”. And I could tell he felt really bad. Men always feel so bad at
that moment when they realize that I am a nice person after all.
He said I should come back to evaluate the work of the other students. And I said,
“Why would I want to go back and read all that dribble when I could stay home and read
something really good?” That class was the biggest waste of $500 I ever spent. (That was
1/3 the cost of my total college education for a BA in English.)
I decided that when I wrote my book, it would probably have to be non-fiction
because I don’t have that great of an imagination. This really disappointed me. See,
almost all great literature is fiction. The reason for that is because fiction is about truth.
Where non-fiction is about writing what is true.
Fiction is frozen. The writer gives you his story and you interpret it. Only what
the author gives you can be examined. You don’t worry about whether it is true or not.
You just look at what the writer is showing you. Hopefully, you will discover A truth
about the human condition. (And the key word here is A truth). You see, only God has
THE Truth because only God has the big picture.
The reason I wanted to write fiction is because fiction survives. I want my work to
go down in history. Non-fiction does not survive because: What is true? And true
according to whom?
For many years, non-fiction was extremely boring to read. To sound true, writers
use a more journalistic style of writing, which is dull.
Then someone got the great idea: “Hey, let’s use fiction techniques and call it
creative non-fiction.” This is a relatively new genre ---- just brilliant!
Well, when a writer like me comes along; why, I can just really cut loose on that
word “creative”. It’s kind of a “general” term; wouldn’t you say?
In fact, I thought I would get real creative and just tell one little, significant,
deliberate lie in my book “Free in America”.
The Lie
In my story “Persians” I never looked at Surry’s work.
Now, this lie does nothing to diminish the integrity of my argument for
Christianity in the American Public School System. However, it opens the door wide
open for another argument and that is: America can be bought. Sorry, but I say (through
my lie) that AMERICA IS NOT FOR SALE! Now ain’t dat creative!
Here are some questions for the Great State of Nevada Legislature:
 Is it ever OK to lie?
 Does one deliberate lie make creative non-fiction --- fiction?
 What is the difference between creative non-fiction and fiction?
 What is the difference between fiction and science fiction?
This is what I have arrived at:
There is only fiction or science fiction. And there is no such thing as
unbiased writing.
Gwen Newclear
Let’s not confuse anybody to think that anyone has got THE Truth when the best
that we can do as human beings is arrive at A Truth ------ Fiction.
Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.
Jessamyn West
Only the truth has the power to offend.
Oh, did I say that?
Poets tell a lie every once in a while just so people don’t take us too
seriously. (How’s that for protecting my profession?) -Gwen Newclear
Henry David Thoreau and Me
When my daughter, Brooke, was three years old, we went on vacation to
Yosemite. This was a time when I was interested in drawing and water color (I was not
good at either artistic endeavor). I worked on drawing the most. I could not draw from
life or pictures but I learned to copy other artist’s renderings. My drawings always turned
out different which made them my own.
While we were in Yosemite, I took a much needed “mom’s break” from Brooke
and the family; I took a water color class. Matt, my husband (at the time), was always an
angel to give me these breaks. He took it as his opportunity to enjoy his children and
bond with them in a special way.
I wasn’t really that great at drawing, but I was much worse at water color. In the
middle of working on my painting I went off by myself to sit on a bench where the others
would not see me struggle to accomplish nothing. I was working diligently when I felt
something before me. When I looked up I just could not believe my eyes! It was Henry
David Thoreau. I stupidly asked, “Aren’t you on the wrong side of America?” He said,
“I’ve seen spending a lot of time on the west coast since you were in the fifth grade
Gwen.” I thought back to the fifth grade and I remembered my first memorized quote:
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he
hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however
measured or far away.
Henry David Thoreau
He sat down next to me and continued, “Gwen, you know the times you’ve been
in a class, crowd, or among family and you feel a warm breeze on your face and your
thoughts go — as you put it ---- into another world?” I shook my head “yes”. He
continued, “Well Gwen; that was me. I have been your distant drummer.”
I looked at him and said, “You know Henry, most Americans don’t even know
who you are or your significance in this country and the world. This is because you are
not introduced to American students until college age. Even then, only a few of us
humanities people catch on to your ideas. I didn’t really even know who you were when I
was a child. I only knew you from reading quotable quotes. But I will tell you this Henry:
I could have never made it through childhood without you.” And then (being the woman
that I am) I broke down in tears.
If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors, to live
the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in
common hours.
Henry David Thoreau
Dreams are the touch stone of our character.
Henry David Thoreau
If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost. That is where they
should be. Now put the foundation under them.
Henry David Thoreau
Be not simply good, but good for something.
Henry David Thoreau
Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around.
Henry David Thoreau
Any fool can make a rule.
Henry David Thoreau
Under a government which imprisons unjustly, the true place for a just man is
also a prison.
Henry David Thoreau, from his essay on Civil Disobedience
Read the best books first,or you may not have a chance to read them all.
Henry David Thoreau
Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes
for an instant?
Henry David Thoreau
The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. I have no wealth to
bestow on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving him, he will want no other
reward. Is not friendship divine in this?
Henry David Thoreau
A person who chooses to die or to risk death demonstrates that there are values,
principles, maxims, that are more valuable to him than is life itself. In short, he
places his immortal self above his mortal self. Nothing goes by luck in
composition. It allows of no tricks. The best you can write will be the best you
are.
Henry David Thoreau
When it is time to die, let us not discover that we never lived.
Henry David Thoreau
Henry said he came down from heaven with a very important message: “You
know Gwen; writers make up a very elite group in heaven which you will be a part of
when it is your time to pass on. I have convinced all of the writers in heaven for you to
become a member of the most elite group of the already elite group of writers. Yes Gwen,
you will be among the Harvard writers: myself, Ralph, Teddy, Robert and of course our
distinguished honorary member, Twain. And of course, because of me: Martin is a
member. Oh, and just recently we were finally allowed to make John F. Kennedy a
member. You know that whole Shaw ordeal took forever to straighten out.” Anyone who
has studied quotable quotes a great deal knows about this:
Some men see things as they are and ask why. I dream things that never were
and say, why not?
George Bernard Shaw or was it John F. Kennedy?
Henry went on, “Now Gwen; when you do start to write ---- stay American or remember
to give credit where credit is due. Sometimes American presidents can get us American
writers in a real fix.”
I laughed so hard. Then I got serious and said, “When is it going to happen for me
Henry? I’m already forty and I haven’t written a thing. I have the need to express myself
Henry, but I just don’t know where to start.” Henry looked down at my painting and said,
“First of all Gwen ---- stick with words. You know, you connected with God at a very
early age and you have learned how to bring yourself back to him when you stray. That
alone is more than half the battle of being a writer. God will show you when it is time and
when he does, you will know. Remember this quote of mine:
How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
Henry David Thoreau
Right then a blue jay landed in front of us. When I looked back to Henry ------ he was
gone.
I got up and strolled around observing the paintings of my companions. I found it
amazing how each individual person witnessed the very same landscape, yet we all chose
different colors and keyed in on a different aspect. And then it hit me about literature: It’s
not so much the work, but it is about interpretation. I decided then and there that when I
did become a writer, my work would go to illustrate how interpretation works: after all, I
am an English Major.
I never saw Henry again. But sometimes when there is a warm gentle breeze on
my face and my thoughts wander to a higher plane, I sigh and say, “Oh, Henry!”
It's all in the interpretation.
Gwen Newclear The Poet
Early Education
Fourth Grade
From kindergarten to the fourth grade I was a sweet, friendly little girl. I was
always recognized for my citizenship. I never had a best friend, but I would bring home
the poor little homely kids that nobody wanted to befriend. One time I befriended a little
Chinese girl who couldn't speak a word of English. My mom would always serve us
home-baked cookies. It was always nice to come home to a clean house.
I didn't read until I was in the fifth grade. The only time it bothered me that I
couldn't read was during reading where the children would be split up into groups
according to reading level. Of course, I was always in the "dumb" group and it was
humiliating. But the kids weren't too mean to me because I was one of the best ones in
math.
I never once in my life believed that I was dumb. In fact, I knew I was pretty
smart and I wanted to be smart more than anything else. I believed this because of my
Grandpa. The best thing Grandpa taught me was how to play cards. He was a card
shark. By the time I was five, at family picnic I would be found playing cards with all of
the men and I could “clean house on them all.” Grandpa and I played cards from my
early childhood into adulthood. I don't play cards anymore, but in the game of life I can
really play my cards. Education is all around; a person doesn’t need to go to Harvard to
get an education. My biggest problem in life was that on many occasions I got dealt
such a bad hand. But because of that, my playing has excelled. Right now I'm playing
the hand of a lifetime; and I'm playing to win.
The worst card that I ever got dealt was the "can't spell card." It was bad enough
that I couldn't read, but on top of that I couldn't spell.
Everything was going pretty well for me until I hit the fourth grade. My fourth
grade class was too large. It was decided that the class would be split. All of the slow
readers (including me) would be taken out of that class. This is where it became an
architectural problem: there was no classroom on the big kid’s side of the school to put
us in. So we were moved to the little kid’s side of the school. If that wasn't bad enough,
our teacher was not a good one. She treated us like we were less than human. Ms Lee
was Japanese and World War II hadn't been over that long. Our parents were told that
we were slow; in other words, stupid.
It wasn't until I was home schooling my own children that I learned through
Cobblestone Magazine about the atrocities America committed against our Japanese
Americans.
My fourth grade year was my worst year ever. It left me scared for life. When
adults get abused it rolls right off and they get over it. But when a child is abused he
never recovers, it goes with him to the grave.
I believe that every parent in America equips their child with a mud sling and
sends him to school to do as much damage to "different" children as possible. And all of
us in my fourth grade class were the ones getting mud in our faces. To avoid this, we
stayed away from the big kid's playground. We became the bullies of the little kid’s side
of the school. I hated every minute I was at school. I daydreamed every day away. I
learned nothing.
One girl ended up being held back. Many of the children in that class didn't
make it to high school. I believe I'm the only one that stayed away from drugs and
graduated from college. I did see two of them at my 20 year reunion and they looked
pretty good.
There wasn't anything different about these kids; they were great. This
experience ruined our lives.
This is a common happening everyday, everywhere, and all of the time in the
American Public School System. Is it any wonder that there are so many lawsuits
against the school system?
The only way to put a stop to the mud slinging is for the country to implement
Christianity in the schools.
The Christian belief says that all children are gifted. They are all given different
gifts. It is our responsibility to discover God's gifts within ourselves and in others, and
when we use our gifts, we are fulfilling God’s plan. Because we all have different gifts,
we depend on each other.
Anyway, we need to start respecting our gifts and the gifts of others. That is the
Christian belief of our country.
Today we have the Gate Program and as my son knows, I refer to it as "The Gate
to Hell Program." It's the gate that opened up the American Public School System,
letting the Devil in to rip the souls right out of our children. Only about five children are
chosen out of each class by the PTA to be gifted. God is totally out of the picture here.
Because it is Anti-Christian, it is against the law!
I was sitting in my fifth grade class one day when my teacher, Mrs. Stratton,
came up to me during reading and asked me why I was still on my first reader. I looked
up at her and said, "I can't read". She said, "What do you mean? You can read! Now go
get the next reader." I still can't believe it, but from that day on, I started reading; all by
myself. That's when I started reading quotable quotes. They were nice and small for me
to begin with. Little did I know that I was studying "power writing”.
Mrs. Stratton was a blessing, but I never got over the scars of my fourth grade
experience. More than scholastically, it affected me socially. I didn't have any friends. I
just wanted everyone to stay away from me because I thought they were superior and I
didn't want to be reminded of it. I was happier and safer in my own world.
My English teacher in the seventh grade, Mr. Morgan, was worried about me
because I was such a loner. She would always tell me, "You need to find friends; you
need to fit in." I just didn't know where I belonged.
In high school, I built up walls to shut everyone out. I just wanted to be left
alone. I found ways to make myself totally unapproachable. But don't feel sorry for me,
I enjoyed all of those years, but just not the way everyone else did.
I came alive in college; it was the first school I belonged in. I was always a B
student and I was content with that because I thought I was doing great considering I
couldn't spell, I didn't read till I was in the fifth grade and I was proclaimed stupid in the
fourth grade.
When I looked at those architectural drawings at the Fluor Corporation I knew
what I was looking at. I didn't do anything because I felt so inferior. I just figured, "who
was I?" This all goes back to the fourth grade in our anti-Christian public school system.
Think about this, I came from a middle-class family and I had my Grandpa, who
believed in me. Now, look how it affected me. Just think about those poor little ones
that come from troubled homes. They come to school to get mud slung at them and then
they're told that they are not gifted on top of that. It's no wonder to me why all of our
kids are doing drugs.
We have got to get the Devil out of our schools by getting rid of "The Gate to
Hell Program." We must implement Christianity immediately!
I have heard that all through the government are the words:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL
I believe those words represent Christianity.
Throughout every school should be the words:
ALL CHILDREN ARE GIFTED
So that we never forget! After all this is a Christian country.
When I first finished this story, I sent it to the President of the United States,
George Bush, and also a copy to the First Lady, Laura Bush. At home I was taught:
"Tell it like it is and when you know you're right take it straight to the top." In the mail I
received a certificate indicating that they had received it.
A Conflict of Giftedness
I take my son to church
I tell him that he is gifted
I tell him that all people are gifted
I send my son to school
He is told only five children
In his class are gifted
And he is not one of them
The Tweenagers
It’s not what you have; it’s what you do with what you do have!
Tweenager motto by Gwen Newclear
Sometimes life’s biggest challenge is determining just what it is that you have.
Gwen Newclear
The biggest battle in home schooling is getting your children with other children.
Positive peer experiences are essential for healthy human development.
Of course, we had chess, karate, Boy Scouts, and church groups, but we needed
something more. Searching for a home schooling group led me to the Tweenagers. It
was a spirited young girl named Kimmy who inspired the creation of the Tweenagers
and her story is so critical and important that I have decided to dedicate a story to her
called “Kimmy’s Story”.
The Tweenagers never grew beyond the original group consisting of Monica,
Linda, and myself as mothers and nine children of various ages. Linda was Mormon,
Monica was Christian, and once I explained that I was the Mother Teresa kind of
Catholic, everyone thought I was cool.
Monica was the one who came up with that fabulous name “The Tweenagers”
that gave our group so much “esprit-de-corps”. This is how she came up with the name:
You see, Monica thought up the Tweenagers to try to satisfy her oldest child’s needs;
her daughter Kimmy. Kimmy was 11. Her mind was venturing into all kinds of thoughts
that took her desires out of the home schooling world: that isolated home in the desert
that Monica and her husband had to offer her.
Monica observed that Kimmy was not that content little girl anymore, but she
wasn’t a teenager either. She was somewhere “in between” and walla: The Tweenagers.
Monica did feel that “Tweenagers” was a cumbersome term so most of the time we
could just refer to the kids as “The Tweens.” (The kids just hated this).
Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve always been jealous that it was Monica that came
up with this brilliant term. After all, Tweenager is something that I should have coined;
given my creative mind. Well, I just could not be outdone. If I didn’t create the term
maybe I could at least expand on it. With my critical eye, I observed that only three of
the children were 11, falling into the definition of Tweenagers. So I came up with the
brilliant idea that we could refer to the three 11 year olds as “The Tweenagers” and the
rest of the kids could be our “Pre-Tweens”. Well the Pre-Tweens covered quite a span to
where the older ones didn’t like being lumped into a category with the two little fiveyear-old-girls. And walla, I excitedly said, “I know, let’s call Heidi and Brooke “The
Tweenie-Weenies”! Well, right away Heidi and Brooke laid it on the line that they were
not going to answer to “Tweenie-Weenie”.
Well, it was at this point that Monica grabbed her head with her hands; she
always seemed to get a head-ache around me. Then she announced, “We are the
Tweenagers and we will call ourselves “The Tweens” for short!” Well, Monica was the
leader; she always knew when to cut off the nonsense. But you have to admit that
“Tweenie-Weenie” sure made “Tweens” sound so much less objectionable.
In the beginning, the teenagers were a social group, but when Monica introduced
us to the Jason Project we became so much more. At first we would only meet once a
week, but then we got so excited about the Jason Project we decided to meet more often.
We received our Jason books free from the Clark County School District (after
all, we pay taxes for those schools that we are so unhappy with). The books were made
up of “hands on” learning science projects. Monica had gone to “Jason training” with
public school teachers. She told us that we had a couple of decisions to make. First we
had to choose an aquatic site to study and then we had to decide which projects to do.
Well, I had the answers to the two questions right off the bat, it was obvious: the
Colorado River would be our aquatic site and we would do every single project in the
book! Monica pointed out that the public school teachers were only going to pick out a
few projects to work on. And I said, “Well it looks like our kids are going to kick the
butts of those public school kids all over the place.” Well, Monica was really into this
stuff and she was up for the challenge.
Really, when I saw that exciting title, Adapting to a Changing Sea, when I saw
who those sponsors were and that a heavy-weight scientist was heading up the project: I
said, “Now this is something I can sink my teeth into!” Yeah! The only problem;
Ballard’s project was about the Florida Everglades and our aquatic site study of the
Colorado River, the most important and exciting river in the world, just sort of blew his
project right out of the water.
The first year on Jason, we got together two to three times a week: usually, in the
afternoon. Monica was great with all of the projects; she was so fast. It looked as though
I wasn’t really doing much. Actually, I was very busy at home, but that’s another story
(see my story “The Jason Bulletin Board”). When we did our water tests down at Las
Vegas Bay Marina, we all had a blast that day and the kids had fun in the water. The
next year Nick, Brooke and I studied birds at the marina. I just loved taking the kids
down there; we never knew just what we were going to see. We would always top the
trip off by stopping at the visitor’s center.
One of the best field trips that we went on was the one that was my idea: to tour
the water treatment plant out at Lake Mead. When I worked at Fluor Power this was the
littlest piddly-ass project that I was on for three weeks until I could manage to land
myself on a decent sized project. I figured that this could be my big chance to see a
distributive control system in real life. Actually, Monica and Linda were pretty curious
to see the plant. We had people knocking on our doors every day wanting to sell us
water softeners because of that horrible hard (mineral rich) water we had in Henderson.
Our tour guide was one of the plant operators and he was very knowledgeable. He said
to stay away from using those water softeners and that mineral rich water was actually
good for us to drink, especially for women. A word of caution: some plants such as this
one, are not set up for touring five-year-olds around, so hold on to their little hands and
don’t let go. I saw several places where Heidi and Brooke could have easily slipped
through the railing into a settling pit. Finally, we came into my territory: the main
control room. All of the kids got to sit down in front of the computer screens. I said,
“Listen up now Tweens. This little red symbol here represents a pump. It is either red or
sometimes it’s green. What do you think red means?” Well of course, they all said that it
meant the pump was stopped. And I said, “No, it means the pump is ‘running’”. Boy
was the plant operator impressed; I believe he gained a new found respect for home
schooling mothers.
This operator was great. He took us into this room and told us all about how Las
Vegas was already using 100% of their Colorado River allotment. Linda pointed out that
Arizona wasn’t using all of theirs so we will probably get some from them to justify and
keep up with the Las Vegas population growth. He asked a great question: “Why would
Arizona want to give up any of their allotment to Nevada when they just got through
taking California to court?” California exceeded their allotment years ago; that is why
the delta is dried up and the Mexicali Valley, a mirror image of the Imperial Valley (the
agricultural center of the world), has succumbed to sand. Isn’t it ironic that one of the
fastest growing groups in Las Vegas is the Mexican, Spanish speaking group? We asked
the operator why he didn’t do something about it if he knew all of this. He said that he
has his job to think of.
Monica, Linda, and I stopped outside the plant and we agreed that somebody
ought to stop this population growth until we figured out where the water was going to
come from. Too bad we didn’t have time to do anything about it. We were too busy with
the Tweens, trying to make up for that crappy public school system that we all pay so
much money for.
The women of America represent a reservoir of talent that is still underused. It is
too often underpaid, and almost always under promoted.
Lyndon B. Johnson
Monica and I decided that we should top the year off with a trip to the Grand
Canyon. Linda’s family couldn’t make it. Looking into that Grand Canyon with the
Tweens was great. The best part of that whole trip for me, an experience I will never
forget, was at the general ranger campfire that night. One of the rangers gave a
presentation called “Shakespeare’s Visit to the Grand Canyon.” He did a fabulous job, it
was just hysterical; why, I believe Shakespeare himself would be pleased. What he
brought to light was just how much influence Shakespeare had on the settling and
development of the West. The early pioneers brought with them two books: The
Complete Works of William Shakespeare and The King James Version of the Bible.
Even the mountain men would not be without their Shakespeare.
The next year we studied birds. We visited the Museum at Las Vegas University
and we visited a bird sanctuary where I was inspired to write my great poem: “Golden
Eagle of the Sanctuary”. The wonderful people at the Yucca Mountain Science Center
had all kinds of educational, hands on projects for our kids. While we were there, we
showed the kids the planned transportation routes for nuclear waste to the Yucca
Mountain Nuclear Waste facility right here in our Nevada. The kids loved those pictures
of those truck accidents that proved that those nuclear waste containers were
indestructible.
We went on this great nature hike with a real botanist to study the flowers of the
desert floor. It was so interesting hearing what this specialist had to say. Then this lady
came up to Monica and me and said, “Are those two little girls over there yours? The
ones that are picking the last of the rarest desert flower?” Brooke and Heidi just could
not understand why we wouldn’t let them hang on to those flowers since they were
already picked anyway.
Of course, every March we had the Jason Telepresence to look forward to. The
kids got such a kick out of seeing Dr. Ballard himself in real time. We went to the Jr.
College on the north end of Vegas to experience it when it was open to the public at
7:00am. We had the whole place to ourselves.
Well, I guess all good things come to an end, but when the Tweenagers
dispersed, I felt like a part of me had ended. But the Tweenagers will always occupy a
very special place in my heart.
Kimmy’s Story
Kimmy was the reason for the creation of the Tweenagers. Kimmy loved her
three younger brothers and her adorable little five-year-old sister, but Kimmy wanted
something more: girl friends. She believed that the only way to achieve her goal was to
go to public school. She had always home schooled. Monica was determined to home
school Kimmy through high school. She created the Tweenagers in hopes for Kimmy to
find some nice young home schooled girlfriends, and to both of their disappointment,
the only other Tweenagers Kimmy’s age were Nick and Eric; boys.
I never knew just what Monica was trying to protect Kimmy from; but it was
apparent that Monica would go to the ends of the earth to try to make Kimmy happy, but
protect her at the same time. It didn’t take long to see why she wanted to protect this
spirited young woman that was emerging.
The great thing about Kimmy was that she was not afraid to “wear her feeling on
her sleeve”. It was not uncommon in the beginning to see Kimmy standing with her
arms folded, so bored; why, she was missing out on so much. If only she could make her
mom understand. This Tweenager thing just was not going to work out. The incredible
thing was that I could see Kimmy’s side; but I could also see Monica’s side. My Gosh; I
never did decide who was right.
Just before we started on the Jason Project, Monica found a way to break the ice.
She brought a volley ball; the park we went to just so happened to have a sand
volleyball court. Kimmy was able to release all her frustrations volleying and spiking
that ball, giving those two boys a challenge they never saw coming. I could tell that Eric
and Nick were a little bewildered by Kimmy. Why, to them, home schooling was a
heavenly break from that daily drudgery that most kids had to put up with. As we started
working on the Jason Project, I can’t really say that Nick looked forward to any of it.
But I would often hear him grumble under his breath, “Boy, today I’m going to kick that
Kimmy’s ass.” I would just laugh. Having been around boys so much when I was
young, I knew that it was Kimmy that Nick was looking forward to seeing the most. The
Tweens couldn’t wait for that Jason stuff to be over so the real fun could begin. Off they
would head for the volleyball court. And boy, Kimmy would make those boys work for
every point and she cut them no slack.
After about six months something started to happen. Kimmy, Eric, and Nick
could be seen just hanging out and talking. It was like they were enjoying themselves.
Something had grown out of frustration, bewilderment, and rivalry: friendship.
Everyone always tries to separate the sexes. It is a pain in the ass to have them together.
But the end results are worth it. They start to look at each other as fellow human beings
and only then does respect take place.
American women have never been known to be a happy gender. All through the
generations, women have been sold a false bill of goods. It all starts with the Cinderella
story that women just have to accept unhappiness and someday their prince will come.
There is one big problem with this story: there are no princes in America. Women are
raised to believe that they can only obtain identity through a man and the vehicle for this
is marriage.
I know that there was one thing I wanted to be when I was a little girl; I wanted
to be a man. It didn’t take me long to discover that the female condition was the pits!
Well, Kimmy is 18 now. I sure hope she found those girlfriends she always
wanted and I hope it is everything she wanted it to be. But even more than that, I hope
she still has that spirit and determination that we all witnessed in the Tweenagers.
Kimmy’s fight was a fight for liberty. Isn’t that why America was founded? to
grant us ALL LIBERTY?
Here is something American men need to realize:
Liberty is the only thing you cannot have unless you give it to others.
William Allen White (1868-1944) American editor & writer
TWEENS FOREVER!
A Trip to Yucca Mountain
When we were home schooling and studying the Jason Project, I wished so
much that Nick and I could be Argonauts; meeting Dr. Ballard and the other scientists.
It was hard sometimes for me, being the humanities person that I am, to give Nick
scientific background; but I had acquired an interest in general geology. Remember the
Tweenager motto:
It’s not what you have; it’s what you do with what you do have.
Gwen Newclear
I felt a responsibility to show my son what this meant and how it worked. Now, Matt
(my husband) was working on the Yucca Mountain Project at the time which inspired
me to think: “Now, there are geologists on that project. OK, it’s not the Jason Project,
but they are scientists. And, let’s face it; the Yucca Mountain Project was a pretty
important project. This was where the nation plans to haul its nuclear waste to be
entombed.” So I had Matt ask around at work about the possibility of Nick talking to
one of the scientists. Well, as usual, Matt came up with something way better: there
were trips to the Yucca Mountain site guided by a project geologist. It just so happened
that the next trip was coming up very soon. The only thing was: a participant was to be
at least 14 years of age and Nick was only 11. At first I was so disappointed. But, as
usual, optimistic Matt said he would look into it; “there has got to be a way”. Sure
enough; Matt got us tickets for the bus. This example was typical of our relationship: I
came up with an idea; and Matt was my “make-it-all-happen-man.”
Now, you might be wondering why Matt would not insist on going with his son instead
of me going with Nick. After all, this was Matt’s project; you would think he would
want to take his son to share such an adventure. Actually, it never crossed Matt’s mind;
he wasn’t the least bit concerned. He had already been to the site a couple of times, but
that still wasn’t it. He had something very special in mind to do. He had it in his mind to
spend a very special day with his little princess “the Brookster” (she was 5): just the two
of them with a whole day to spend bonding. And boy did he go all out! Brooke dressed
up for her daddy in her prettiest dress and they went for high tea at the Ritz Carlton,
overlooking the ocean in California.
Nick and I boarded the little bus; it was immediately obvious that Nick was the
youngest one on board. In fact, I was the second to the youngest. The rest of the people
were senior citizens (except for the geologist). I had to wonder: “What did members of
this generation have such an interest in an exploration as this? Were they just bored with
nothing better to do? Maybe it was because it was a “free-bee”. Or maybe they were
interested to see what their generation was leaving behind. No, better yet, knowing
THIS generation they were probably looking for some information to “cash-in” on.”
For Nick, the ride to the site was the best part. The geologist told jokes the whole way.
Nick, being the humor critic, felt this guy was pretty funny. Actually, I started feeling a
little unsettled. I thought to myself: “Gee, I sure hope he takes his job more seriously. I
mean, this IS a project you really wouldn’t want to joke around with.”
We knew we had made it to the site when we pulled over, stopped, and two armed,
uniformed men boarded to check us out. I guess they wanted to make sure that we were
not terrorists. When we were all checked out, the bus driver was given the OK to
proceed.
We were first taken to a high place to hear our geologist give a talk about the site. He
went into the reason this particular site was chosen:
1. Arid climate
2. Water table is separate from Las Vegas
3. Area was uninhabited
4. Lack of funds to study other sites
But he did point out some concerns under study:
1. A fault
2. Threat to already endangered species: primarily the desert turtle
3. Threatened Indian archeological sites
Why he chose this particular spot we were standing was because directly below us the
TBM (tunnel boring machine) was at work at that very moment tunneling where our
nation’s nuclear waste was to be entombed.
The TBM was the same technology used to get water from Lake Mead to Las
Vegas, which I don’t believe was such a good idea given the already overwhelming
demand on the Colorado River.
TBM technology is impressive though. I would have loved to have seen this piece of
machinery. But Matt warned me that the time we chose to go to the site would be when
the tunnel was being bored, so we wouldn’t get to see the TBM. Since I have been
studying gemstones, a lot of people throw it up in my face how torturous it is to the men
who have had to mine the rocks I wear on my fingers. This is one reason why I am very
“pro lab grown gemstones”. But knowing about TBM technology, my question is this:
“Why can’t we use TBMs for mining gemstones?”
I don’t know; it was such a beautiful day standing there. If you twirled around you could
get a 360-degree view. I know I was surprised to find out that Nevada is the most
mountainous state in the nation. The mountains are just very low. But there was
something about that site that seemed so beautiful. It was hard to think of it as
uninhabitable. I was inspired to ask myself this question: “Is there really no other place
to put our nation’s nuclear waste?” And being the spiritual woman that I am; I didn’t
care what this scientist said, if God wanted to contaminate the Las Vegas water table: he
would find a way! That’s why I say my prayers.
Our next stop was the tunnel opening. This was pretty exciting because we got to meet
with the construction manager. He was a sharp man. He let us know that they were right
on schedule and everything was proceeding as planned. He gave us confidence that our
tax dollars were not being wasted.
Then we listened to a scientist talk about the environmental studies going on and how
they were anxious to make the Indians content with what was taking place there.
And then an unexpected thrill: there was a little museum of all the endangered species
of the area. There were actual stuffed animals to experience and biologists-in-training to
talk to.
On the ride back to the Yucca Mountain Center in Las Vegas, Nick just wanted to sleep.
But I reminded him not to forget what he had just witnessed because I would be
requiring him to write a paper about this experience (I was operating at teacher capacity
even though it was a Saturday). I was so impressed when I read Nick’s account of the
trip. I just cannot believe the memory of that boy of mine! I just could not believe how
many of the geologist’s jokes he remembered in full detail! And if length of his paper
had anything to do with educational impact; I guess you could say that the trip made
quite an impact on Nick. And then I thought: “Maybe some of the trip content was a bit
sophisticated for an 11 year old boy. Or maybe God was showing Nick a truth.”
When we arrived home, Matt and Brooke were anxiously waiting for us to share the
adventures of their day. And of course, Nick and I could hardly wait to tell our stories.
We went out to dinner and had a wonderful evening.
My trip inspired this poem:
Nevada and Nuclear Waste
Nevada: driest state in all the Nation,
Where rivers do not flow to sea,
But disappear by evaporation,
Most mountainous state in all the country,
Is it in haste
That we decide here
To entomb our nuclear waste?
Is no other place clear?
40,000 tons of nuclear waste
Somewhere this poison must be placed.
Gwen Newclear
Education
My English teacher who had inspired me so much, Mr. Allaway, only taught
English 1A, I asked him for a recommendation for English 1B. He recommended Mr.
Bugg, they shared an office. The focus in 1B was on writing and introduction to
interpreting literature. I liked Mr. Bugg, I thought he was pretty good for this class. I
liked him so well that I took him for two semesters of World Lit. There were only about
10 students in this class. Mr. Bugg “out-did” himself that year; we play-acted all of the
literature that we read.
We had the trial of Socrates outside on the lawn. It seemed like half of the school
came to watch. After that day, we always had students coming by our class to see what
we were doing. If I was ever popular in school, it was in my sophomore year and because
of this class. I always had people coming up asking me about it.
We acted out The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Leo Tolstoy. We had a girl lay in a
coffin. Someone brought in a keyboard, I played the funeral march accompanied by a
violinist. We had the funeral.
When we were studying the Romantics, Mr. Bugg just sat in front of the class
smelling flowers for fifteen minutes. He had on a recording of the sounds of nature.
When we were studying The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, we turned out
the lights, had bread and cool-aid (representing wine), sat in a circle on the floor, and told
dirty stories. This is where Chaucer got his idea for The Canterbury Tales. Of course, his
work is completely different because he used his own ideas too. Plus, The Canterbury
Tales is in a different language: English. It’s fine to use other's ideas; to mold, fashion,
and make them your own. I consider this being inspired by others. I believe that God
wants us to inspire and be inspired.
When we were reading a work called The Goddess of Folly, Bugg came to class
dressed as a gesture. He looked so foolish we couldn't stop laughing.
One day he came in, turned out the lights, and one by one started slamming our
desks up against and facing the wall. He ranted and raved the entire hour as Fyodor
Dostoevsky's, The Underground Man.
Bugg made literature so much fun, he made it an experience. But most important,
he showed us how to approach the greatest minds that ever lived. He showed us that
those writers were just men and their thoughts were attainable.
After Bugg's World Lit class, I was ready for the university: ready to take on
Chaucer, Milton, Shakespeare, and all the rest. Bugg had shown me that literature was a
BLAST!
It was in my History class where I was first introduced to Henry David Thoreau
(in school -- I had discovered him on my own through quotable quotes). The Viet Nam
War was over, but we still studied Thoreau's essay on Civil Disobedience. That was the
document that fueled the fire for the Viet Nam War protest.
During the Mexican American War, people were being taxed to finance the war.
To protest, Thoreau didn't pay his taxes and ended up in jail. The story goes that Emerson
went down to bail Thoreau out. When he saw his friend sitting there, Emerson said,
"Henry David Thoreau, what are you doing in there?" Thoreau replied, "Ralph Waldo
Emerson what are you doing out there?" The difference between the two men is that
Emerson was married and Thoreau was not. It is much easier for a single man to live by
his beliefs. Really, can you see a married man packing his family up to go live at Walden
Pond just so he can live his beliefs? Did you ever wonder why Jesus never married?
The problem in America isn't that people are struggling to live their beliefs. I
think that a lot of people don't know what they believe, so they just do what they see
everyone else doing. This could be because we don't teach about belief in American
schools.
If you can understand what a man believes you can appreciate him and understand
his actions.
Gwen Newclear
The fact that we never mention belief in this country makes it appear unimportant,
where really belief is the driving force.
Even though the war was over, Humanities Majors still carried around a copy of
Walden Pond in their pants back pocket, and of course, I had my copy. What sticks with
me the most about Walden Pond is not so much why Thoreau went there or what he did
there, but rather, why he left Walden Pond. You see, Thoreau woke up one day and saw
well-trodden paths all around him. He interpreted this to mean that his life had become
routine. He believed that routine breeds ignorance; so Thoreau left Walden Pond.
Boy, when I thought about that, I was bound and determined that I wasn't going to
be ignorant. So I started eliminating all routine in my life. I wouldn't recommend this. I
about drove my family crazy; they thought my education was making me an idiot.
But really, what Thoreau meant was that when our life just becomes routine, we
lose purpose and it is purpose that gives our lives meaning. So do the things you do for a
purpose, and don't just follow the herd. Thoreau made me want to go out there and make
that positive difference.
I have racked my brain to think of one unfair incident at Mt. Sac Jr. College, and I
can't think of even one. I had a great time in Jr. College. I had a best friend and I was
popular. On my graduation day I cried. I didn't cry in high school; I couldn't wait to get
out. The difference was education. I was leaving Mt. Sac as a better person.
I believe that the Jr. College system is the best system in America. It makes
education available to everyone. The only thing that concerns me these days is that it
costs. When I went it was free.
I knew I had my weaknesses going into Fullerton, especially in writing
mechanics. But I could have studied more for two years and not have been ready. But is
anyone really ever fully prepared for anything they do? Sometimes you just have to take
the plunge.
I'll never forget my first day at the university. Walking from the parking lot, I was
so excited; it was a dream coming true. When I got to the sidewalk I just stopped and
people walked around me. I stood there in my favorite short pink dress with rose buds
and I felt privileged as I looked at those buildings in front of me with students
everywhere. I was ready; ready to take on the University of Fullerton's English
Department. I knew that I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. And you
know what? It was even better than I dreamed it would be.
I'm not telling you all of this to insinuate that everyone should go to college; I'm
telling you my experiences to inspire you to get an education.
Obtaining an education requires an attitude. Through the years, I have picked up
some wisdom that helps develop your attitude: be a person who evaluates. Take in
information through your senses and use your mind to interpret that information. Decide
for yourself what you like and what you need. And don't be afraid to say you don't
understand when everyone else does. Remember, that being educated isn't about
“knowing everything”: it's about thinking with the information you have and using your
God-given gifts. God gave you those gifts to use.
Whenever you are troubled, confused, or need direction; turn to God. Our
American motto is “In God We Trust."
When my son was little, I quit my job that I loved to stay home with him. We
probably could have put away money for a college education for him if I hadn't quit; but I
felt he needed me more at home while he was little. Just put your trust in God; he'll get
you the education you will need to accomplish in your life. Maybe education is about
BELIEF!
Before I wrap this up I have a couple of comments about The Catcher in the Rye,
the novel selected many times for high school students. I don't remember the kid's name,
the main character, but examine his attitude. I don't think that kid could get an education
no matter where you put him. Here's the question: would you want to be like him? Why, I
believe J. D. Salinger did a splendid job inspiring kids to GO to college. America just
needs the right kind of High School English teachers to get that message across. But our
teachers are too worried about comma placement to worry about insignificant ideas. Oh
well, that's what America wanted.
I believe we need our Persian Americans to write literature about what is to loose
your country. They were the ones making all the As in American universities. It is up to
them now to prove what an A means in America. I already know that they see "lack of
ethics" as American's problem; so do I. Their choice to solve the problem is the Koran.
Well, they justifiably got better grades than I did. Oh, by the way, I chose The Bible.
Looks like Americans better start studying the Koran. Yeah, I only got one A. The only
problem with the Persians is that they are so materialistic; they sure know how to LOOSE
A COUNTRY. I'm a Native American. And I am not materialistic in the least; I attribute
this to my CHRISTIAN BELIEF.
Just some things to think about: In my “Argument" story, I'm not fooling around:
I'll tell it like it IS. I will present THE ARGUMENT for Americans to reclaim their
country, and it's a winner!
Electives
My upper division work required that I take two electives. My first concern as an
English major; was to keep down the volume of reading. Well, I had enjoyed my Chaucer
class so much: The Canterbury Tales inspired me to want to know more about the Middle
Ages. I thought that they must have been wonderful times. So I took a class called
“Medieval Art". This was a mistake (I thought back then).
The first part of the class was all about Architecture. The teaching method the
professor used was to project slides onto a screen while she lectured. Between the lights
being out, the hum of the projector, and her monotone voice; the challenge was to stay
awake. We looked at one Basilica after another. Let me tell you, once you've seen one
barrel-vaulted ceiling, you've seen them all. I would love to travel and visit the Basilicas
though. But at the rate I'm going, the closest I'm going to come to site-seeing is browsing
the travel department at Barnes and Noble Bookstore. Thank goodness for good
photographers.
The second part of the class was studying Bibles. Now, during the Middle Ages,
most people were illiterate. So what these Bibles consisted of was four pictures of the
four Gospels. This was even more boring than the Architecture part. Don't get me wrong,
I love Architecture: but more from a “form vs. function” standpoint. Every one of those
Bibles looked identical. I didn't even think they were good pictures. And then for the test;
she would flash up a Gospel and we would have to identify which one of the four it was
and name the Bible. I am terrible at this kind of thing. I got a “C" in the class which only
helped to bring down my GPA.
For the second elective, I decided to take a class outside of the Humanities; it was
“Business Communications”. Everyone in the class was a business major except me. The
class was boring except for one assignment. Five of us would go up at once to the front of
the room and sit at a table that had a title at each seat: Architect, Engineer, Construction
Manager, Lawyer, and Client. We had an issue to discuss and we had to assume the point
of view of our title. Boy, you would not believe how difficult this was for these business
majors. After everyone had a chance, the professor called me back up to demonstrate how
it was done. So I changed seats fives times briefly taking on each view point. I was still
sitting up there when the professor explained to the class that I could do that because I
was an English Major and when we study literature we consider point-of-view. It was so
refreshing to see that someone outside the Humanities; understood that English Majors do
more than spell. Then a guy asked, “But aren't we supposed to tell the truth?" I laughed
all the way back to my seat. I didn't answer the question because it was not directed at
me, but rather at the professor. This was the only thing I excelled at in this class. I am by
no means a business woman. I couldn't believe that I got a “B".
No one ever asks the English Major. Our specialty is the truth. But I have to give
credit where credit is due. I learned a lot about the truth at home.
Always tell the truth. ----- Dad
Make sure the truth is on your side. ----- Dad
Tell it like it is, and when you know you're right; take it straight to the top. -- Dad
So you want the truth. Do you what my truth or your truth? ----- Gwen Newclear
Tell the truth if you dare. ----- Gwen Newclear (or was it my sister?)
I tell the truth because I was raised to. ----- Gwen Newclear (or was it my sister?)
No one ever asks an English Major. Why, our specialty is the TRUTH!
----- Gwen Newclear
The Art Project and Man's Flight
In Jr. College I took an art appreciation class. We only had one assignment. It was
given to us at the beginning of the semester. We were to use “found" objects to come up
with a work of art that represented “flight".
I worked at the local hospital, I had my other classes which not only were more
demanding, but I felt they were more important than an art class. I had a couple of friends
to go out with on week-ends. I had my family, and most of all I still had my grandpa. I
lived a full life, which put an art project at the bottom of my priority list.
At last the end of the semester drew near. Finally, the Sunday before my art
project was due, it still wasn't done. On top of everything, I had to work that night.
Sunday afternoon I was annoyed all day because I had to scramble all around trying to
put this thing together. What made it such an annoyance was that my grandfather was
over and I would have rather been playing cards with him. Well, I had no problem
coming up with the idea. I've always got ideas bursting out of my head; I can't keep up
with all of them. The challenge was to apply an idea so it looked like I put some time and
work into it.
I found the perfect thing; a Popsicle stick basket that I had glued together in the
fourth grade (I guess maybe I did do something useful that school year). A lot of work
went into that basket; no one had to know “when" I made it. Then I had this decorative
wine bottle with plants in it that my first brother-in-law had made me. I took a trip down
to the local nursery and bought 4 little plants (well I “found" them at the nursery, the
teacher didn't say anything about “purchasing"). The big question here was: were those
plants considered objects? As an English Major, I decided “yes".
Then I sat outside our front door by the planter, I arranged it so that the wine
bottle sat in the middle of the basket, I put each plant around the wine bottle, and then
filled in dirt all around. I stood back, looked at it, and decided it needed a little something
else. I couldn't figure it out just then so I decided to think on it while I went in and played
cards with my grandpa.
Finally, I had to go to work and I still didn't have that last finishing touch for my
project. At work I got called to clean an “isolation room". Usually, these rooms were
marked isolation because someone had contagious hepatitis. When I got called to clean
the room, it meant the person was dead.
I had to put a mask on to enter the room. I ran in real quick, opened the closet,
opened all of the drawers, took all the linens out, set up a fogger in the middle of the
room, I flipped the switch on, and ran out. Then I packed wet towels at the base of the
door. When finished, I leaned against the door and reflected how I just risked my life for
$3.50/hr. It was moments like this that made me not want to seek a career in hospital
work.
While I leaned up against the wall I felt something above my head. I took it down.
It was a sign that said “isolation". That was perfect for my project. I attached it to a wire
that I “found" in my dad's garage and then I stuck the other end of the wire in the dirt to
support the “isolation” sign. Walla, it was finished. My grandpa looked at it and told me
that he couldn't believe this was the kind of thing learned in college. Both he and my dad
questioned just what their tax dollars were going for.
I walked into class, set my project before me on the table like all of the other
students. I looked at the other projects. Then I felt embarrassed and mostly afraid about
what kind of grade I might get. I saw a couple of people point at mine and laugh. I have
to confess that the “flight" theme didn't come across as obvious in my project.
The teacher came in the room, walked around the table examining all of the
projects. When he got to mine, he just stood and stared with a questioning look on his
face. Everyone laughed.
Then he passed out 4x5 cards and told us to write an explanation of how our
project represented “flight". Before he sat down, he said, “And yours better be good
Rembrandt." That was my nickname in the class. I'll tell you how I got it real quick:
When the class first began, we had to go to the bookstore and buy a canvas. When
I walked into class, I noticed that everyone had a little canvas. Mine was huge. The
teacher pointed out that it was going to take a lot of paint to fill my canvas. He was right;
I spent a lot more on paint than I did the canvas.
Anyway, we got to paint anything we wanted. And I knew just what I wanted to
paint. My cousin Evelyn had a picture in her house that I just loved. It was of this little
Mexican girl's back. She was facing toward the sun. She had a long braid down her back
and her dress was white (which worked out good for me because it gave me a chance to
save on paint because the canvas was already white).
I'm not much of an artist so I thought this would be a great subject. All I had to do
was paint this big orange ball. Then I painted this black ball inside of it with the black
braid hanging down the back. Finished, it looked like a black dot that had dripped.
I don't know why, but on completion of my painting, the whole class started
calling me Rembrandt; including the teacher. Hey, maybe they saw something in my
painting that I just couldn't see.
Now, I'll bet you are dying to find out what I put on that 3x5 card; so was the rest
of the class. My teacher went up to each student and showed their grade to them. Finally,
it was my turn. This is where an English Major has an edge. I wouldn't call it bullshit; I
prefer to call it the “English major con".
I wrote this big spiel about flight as being “man's flight”: Man's Flight from
Society. He achieves this through alcohol, isolation, and ultimately through nature. When
he showed me my grade, I just couldn't help it; I busted up laughing. A couple of people
grabbed his grade book and announced that I got an “A". My con had worked. Then
everyone started grabbing at my card to see what I wrote.
See, not everyone got an “A". The guy next to me went through all of the trouble
to cut a bird out of metal and mount it on a board. He was pretty miffed that he got
marked down to a “B" because the shadow was off. Thank goodness, I found that
Popsicle basket that I glued together in the 4th grade so that everyone could see I that I
had done some work!
Of course, everyone in the class agreed that I got that “A" with my female charm.
No one ever wants to give me any credit that just maybe I might be talented.
And here I thought this was just going to be a fluff class. I believe that “Art
Appreciation" is a good name for this class. I came to realize that art is about problem
solving; as much so as any of my other classes. Now when I look at a work of art, I ask
myself: “What problems did this artist have to work with?" And then, as an English
Major, I try to dream up the “con" to justify their work.
Pat Warman
My dad was a supervisor at the Fluor Corporation; this entitled me to work there
the summer before starting at the University.
My job was to escort salesmen back to see purchasers. Basically, I just walked
around talking to people all day. I was there for security reasons for the Alaskan Pipeline.
When things got slow, I sat around and joked with Rhona, the lobby receptionist. When
things got really slow Rhona had me go help Rose, a secretary for one of the purchasers.
Working for Rose was torture for someone like me. Rose was the sweetest lady
with a heart of gold. But she was not a bright woman. All she had me do was run Xeroxes
for her; one at a time. She would examine each and every sheet I handed to her. If she
detected a speck of ink that was not supposed to be there, she would have me run another.
If it was too dark or too light, it had to be done over. Sometimes I had to do one sheet
over 3 or 4 times before it would pass Rose’s inspection.
I used to think to myself: “Good grief, how perfect does a Xerox need to be?”
Here’s a scary thought: If I had been more like Rose I probably would have gotten
straight ‘As’ in college and become a school teacher.
Well, OK, maybe I was the one who wasn’t too bright. After all, I ended up
jobless.
There were a lot of young guys working at the Anaheim facility. Most of them
wore white shirts and ties. There was one very good-looking guy who wore a
maintenance uniform. His name was Pat Warman and he had a nice smile. I only talked
to him a few times though; he was usually pretty busy lifting, pushing, and rearranging.
All of that physical labor paid off for him; he had a great body. His body was better than
any of those “white shirts”.
It wasn’t till the end of summer that I found out that Pat was summer help and a
college student like me. But the big shock was finding out who his dad was: a Fluor Vice
President. (I know I spell his name wrong, I think there is an ‘H’ in there somewhere.)
My question was always this: “What was a VP’s son working at the most demeaning job
for?”
I have to admit that I was really tempted by the Devil himself when it came time
to go back to school. I was offered the opportunity to stay on as a permanent employee.
What made it hard was that I had to train my replacement: a beautiful girl named
Lisa. She met her true love, Ozzie, while working there and was married within a year. I
can’t tell you how many times I thought, “That could have been me.” But all of my
doubts about going back to college vanished my first day at the university.
I will never forget my first day at Cal State Fullerton. I was wearing my favorite
pink dress with rosebuds. It had big pink buttons all of the way down the front. It was
fitted at the waist and had a short flared skirt. I considered it my “lucky” dress.
I walked towards the tall buildings with a huge arm load of books (you can
always tell an English major by the size of her arm muscles). It always took me two trips
to the bookstore to get all of my books each semester. The volume of reading for an
English Major is unbelievable.
I stepped up on the sidewalk and came to a complete halt. Students flowed around
me on both sides. I just stood there and looked at those tall buildings with students
everywhere. I knew at that moment that this was my dream coming true. I had stumbled
on my destiny; this is what my life had been about. I felt so privileged; so blessed. I was
ready to take on the University of Fullerton’s English Department.
While I stood there trying to envision what this adventure of a lifetime would
entail, a voice called from behind me: “Hey, if you stand there daydreaming all day
you’re going to be late for class.”
When I turned around I could not believe it. I almost didn’t recognize him without
his maintenance uniform on. It was Pat Warman and boy, did he look awesome in normal
clothes.
Pat said, “So where’s you first class?” I told him I didn’t know for sure, but I was
just planning to head over to Langdorf Hall since it was the Humanities Building.
Pat started laughing at me. He said, “You mean you haven’t been down here
finding out where all you classes are?” I just shook my head no.
He said, “Let me see your schedule.” I had him hold all of my books so I could
search through my purse. Then I panicked; I couldn’t find it! Then I remembered I put it
in the cover of my top book.
Pat cracked up as he looked over my schedule. Then he told me, “Your first class
is in the Science Building.” Now, that was the last place I expected to have an English
class. What baffled me was just how many classes I ended up having in the Science
Building. I have come to think that maybe it was one university’s last ditch attempt to
integrate humanities with science.
Pat carried my books as we walked over to the science building. I asked him,
“How come you didn’t tell me you went to Fullerton?” Pat just smiled.
Once we were going upstairs, I was really thankful I had Pat to carry my books. I
had to hold down my dress in the back so no one could see underneath it. That was the
last time I ever wore a dress to college.
Pat helped me find all my classes that day. I was so grateful. I would have really
been lost without him. The university was a whole enormous world compared to Jr.
College.
Pat continued to meet me after my Shakespeare class. He would carry my big
Shakespeare book to my Literary Forms class for me. After the first two times though, I
would only have him walk me to the elevator. My Literary Forms class was small and all
girls. I wanted to make friends. It was hard enough in that class because Dr. Yanko didn’t
like me. Once she even accused me of plagiarism (see my “Unfairness in College” story).
The only girl I ended up making friends with at the university was a Persian girl named
Surry. I liked all of the Persian students. I have always regretted not keeping in touch
with them.
Dr. Yanko used to spend a lot of time telling us how she had to work at a potato
chip factory when she was young. From the way she described it, it must have been hell. I
had a great job; why, cleaning toilets and washing bed pans at the local hospital sure beat
having to inspect potato chips.
Anyway, I used to cut Yanko’s class sometimes to be with Pat. I hated to skip
classes like that, but I found Yanko’s lectures to be tedious and unimaginative. It was
evident early on that I wasn’t going to get more than a ‘C’ out of her. Although she didn’t
like my ideas, Yanko, as my other professors, could not penetrate my arguments.
Pat was a communications major. I really enjoyed his company. It was great to
know at least one person on campus.
There was only one thing that bothered me about Pat: his belt buckle had the head
of the Devil on it. I wanted to ask him about it but I didn’t want him to know I was
looking down there. I wanted to let him know that he wasn’t going to attract many girls
by wearing it. Of course, maybe that was the intent. Pat was a pretty good-looking guy.
Well, that belt buckle kept me at a distance.
I’ve always been pretty furious with myself that I didn’t even notice when it was
that Pat disappeared out of my life. But that first semester was my most important. With
my job and all of that reading, I didn’t have a moment to spare. I wrote my most
important paper of my college career that semester and it has been evaluated by Harvard!
But that’s another story; Spelling.
Through the years, most of my college things have been lost or gone by the way
side. But one treasure did survive and it was not my paper on “Our Inefficient Alphabet
evaluated by Harvard”. It was my Shakespeare book. I have always kept it right under my
bed; you never know when you might need to look something up. I pull it out
occasionally, not so much to continue my study of Shakespeare like I thought I would;
but I like to read all of my writing in the margins. It takes me back to a time in my life
when every hour was a new revelation: a time of wonder and discovery. I was in awe
about how brilliant one mind could be. When I look at my spelling I can’t believe that
University even gave me a degree. But when I read the comments, even I am impressed
at my sophisticated thoughts at age 20. And then I remember that as I took those notes, I
was anticipating Pat carrying that book to my Literary Forms class.
Years later, I heard that Pat was happily married, living in Greece. I thought about
Pat’s belt buckle with the Devil’s head. I wondered if it was possible to get away from
the Devil by going to Greece. I would like to go to Greece but that is another story.
I’ve decided that I want to be buried with my Shakespeare book. I want my
tombstone to read:
Here Lies an
English Major
Free in America
I’m sure glad I know who I am.
Actually, I even knew back then that I was going to be a great writer. And I knew
my writing would have something to do with taking Shakespeare’s ideas into a new
literary form.
I can just envision the literary critics of the future examining my work and asking:
Is it a story, a short story, a short-short, or is it an extension of a quotable quote? I’ll leave
the answer to the pros.
Unfairness in College
My first semester at Fullerton University; I took a class called “Literary Forms”
taught by Dr. Yanko. One day she came into class and lectured for 20 minutes about the
evils of plagiarism. Then she informed us that one of us had committed the crime. We all
looked at each other. Then she said, "Miss Newclear"; I couldn't believe she fingered me,
I couldn't imagine what she was referring to. She went on, "Do you know how many
people have said that Robert Frost's Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening is about
death? That is ridiculous. It is about an old man who stops his horse in the middle of the
woods to contemplate." Then she just looked at me waiting for an answer. Finally I said,
"First of all, I don't have the time to spend hours in the library researching what the critics
had to say about one little poem. I have a job and I'm carrying a full load. I can hardly
keep up with the volume of reading I have. I spent a half an hour on this paper because
that is all the time I had."
The class busted up, because everyone could relate. I went on, "And another thing
Dr. Yanko, if so many people think that Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
is about death, then maybe it is." Dr. Yanko gave me a C and never mentioned plagiarism
again.
You know, if Dr. Yanko thought my paper was good enough to be plagiarized,
shouldn't I have gotten an A? Plagiarism is a serious offence to be accused of. If you ever
find yourself in a position like this, just tell the truth. The truth speaks for itself; it usually
explains and is believable. And always remember: The truth shall set you free.
I had another professor: Dr. Pollock who was my Advanced Composition
professor. We didn't meet as a class; we went “one on one” once a week. She would read
over my paper, mark it all up, and give me a grade. If I learned anything from her, I didn't
know it. I'll tell you this, she was a professor at a university, and Mr. Allaway was a
teacher at the Jr. College, yet Pollock didn't hold a candle to Allaway. I did OK in the
first half of her class; I was getting a B. Then I was feeling overwhelmed and pressed for
time. I asked her if it would be OK to use the same research for two different classes. The
one class would be a research paper and her class would be an argument paper. She
seemed OK with it until I told her that Dr. Sears had already approved it. Dr. Sears was a
Harvard Professor and the most senior professor in the English department. The paper
was about our inefficient alphabet. Dr. Sears gave me a B+ (I was always marked down
for technical errors). Dr. Polluck wanted to give me a D, but I fought her for a C. The rest
of the semester was one battle after another. She ended up giving me a C for the class.
She told me to go home and write about pretty dresses.
Dr. Sears was a Harvard Professor; my second favorite professor after Dr. Austin.
First I took him for “Structure of the English Language”. There were only ten people in
my class. I asked a lot of students why they didn't take him for that class. The answer was
always that he was too hard. He had published a paper on prepositions. This is one thing I
have found about Harvard Professors (I have read a couple of books by them): they go
into excruciating detail. I mean, can you imagine spending a substantial amount of time
studying prepositions? I wouldn't want to spend more than five minutes thinking about
them.
While I was at Fullerton, the department was lowering standards to accommodate
apathetic students. It used to be that Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Milton were required.
Standards were lowered so that Shakespeare was still required, but only Chaucer or
Milton was required. The problem with Chaucer was that you had to learn Middle
English to pass the class, which was like learning a foreign language. But students
preferred Chaucer over Milton. Paradise Lost is the most complex piece of literature I
have ever read. Anyway, I didn't feel that you could really call yourself an English Major
without Milton (the reason is a whole other paper). There were only about six people in
my Milton class and Dr. Sears was the professor. The class was almost canceled because
of low attendance. You know, it is cut throat in America to get a Harvard education. And
the cost is astronomical. But here at Fullerton students had the chance to get a little bit of
a Harvard education and hardly anyone went for it. People don't want a Harvard
education; they just want a piece of paper saying that they have one, so they can go out
and make a lot of money.
Well, after my first semester at Fullerton, I was down and out because I received
two Cs: one from Yanko and the other from Pollock. One day I was grumbling about it
when this girl came up to me and said, "There are three professors on campus that are
easy As. Everyone takes them. You don't even have to do anything to get your A." This
sounded like something worth checking out. So I signed up to take “Modern Drama” with
Dr. Garber. The first day of class was unbelievable. The class was packed, there were
people lined up all along the walls. What do you think? Do you think there was a mad
rush to study Modern Drama? Oh; and there were all majors represented: engineering,
business, science, etc.
I did read one play called Rosencrantz and Grildenstern (characters from
Hamlet). It completely made no sense to me. Dr. Garber (he told us to call him Steve)
never went over it. That class was nonsense; I didn't even go after a while. I had better
ways to spend my time. I turned in my two papers about nothing and got my A.
Modern Drama is the only upper division class where I got an A. Let me tell you,
a grade does not necessarily reflect what you learn.
For years I regretted not knowing anything about Modern Drama. But I have
come to think that maybe there is nothing to Modern Drama.
After Garber's class, I did some soul searching and decided that it was an
education that I wanted. I have never regretted that decision.
Here's the kicker: only the students with the highest GPA were selected for the
teacher's program.
But let me tell you; don't worry too much about unfairness. It turns out that these
are some of my best stories. I have entertained many with them.
And in the game of life, those unfair cards can play like wild cards.
I've got my best unfair college story in my story “The Black Experience."
The Black Experience
When I completed my first year at Fullerton, I realized that because of my GPA, I
had no chance of getting into the teaching program. This was a real disappointment
because I had wanted to be a teacher since elementary school. I was now looking to work
for my dad's company: Fluor. I decided that I wanted to get through college fast. From
career counseling, I learned that I could go to Cal State LA for the summer quarter. It
would work out that I would only have one class left to take in the spring, allowing me to
start work in February.
Since my GPA had suffered, I thought that getting through school fast could make
my degree look better. But to be honest, I felt that I was really only a B student. And it
was because of my weakness in writing mechanics. This is what would come back on
almost all of my papers: "For idea and content alone this paper is an A. However, at the
300 college level there are far too many technical errors to be acceptable." You know, we
didn't have computers back then with spellchecker and I just can't spell (neither could
Shakespeare). One time in my Shakespeare class, I was writing an interpretive paper for
Hamlet and I spelled ghost as “gost” all through the paper. I had this clunky old
typewriter to work with and we got marked down if we used white-out. I could never get
through a page without using it. Sometimes when I would get done typing, I would
decide that a paragraph should be moved, but I just didn't want to type it over again so I
would say: "This one will just have to fly." Sometimes I was just plain careless. I am just
not a "sweat the small stuff" type person. This was my curse in engineering too. I could
check my work 5 times and still find drafting errors. But for idea, idea development, and
argument I just couldn't be beat, and that's what got me through.
The best paper I did in college was for my Chaucer class. I compared the Wife of
Bath and the High Priestess; the only two women pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales.
My Chaucer professor stood up in front of the class and announced that one paper
was exceptional, it definitely should have been an A, but the number of errors was
inexcusable. He walked up to me, threw my paper on my desk and said, "I should have
given you an F." He gave me a B+. I'll tell you, I really put the passion into that one. This
is the way I have come to look at it: God gives us all gifts, but different gifts. Most
students had the mechanics part down and had trouble with ideas. These are the ones that
should go into teaching since that is all American parents want their kids to learn about
writing. Let's face it; most parents do not want their children to think. Our public school
system teaches kids to follow the herd. Maybe that's the way it is supposed to be. Can
you imagine a bunch of thinkers like me walking around? Plus, you have to be careful
WHO you teach to think. But God gives gifts to people who don't abuse them. I figure I'll
just become a writer. I'll just send my work to a tech writer for rework ---- every writer
does anyway; so what is the big deal? I'm sure glad that I'm a thinker; it makes my life
worth living.
Anyway, I don't remember too much about Cal State LA. I didn't think the
professors were as good as the ones at Fullerton. But one class made it all worthwhile. It
was my most unfair experience in my college career. Sometimes it's those unfair
experiences that not only help us grow but they help us to see and understand.
That class was called "Black Dramatists." The first day of class, there were only
three white students. Two of them dropped the class which meant I was the only white.
At first I thought nothing of it. Our professor was white. She was very dramatic, she
would throw up her arms and say, "We minorities, we minorities." One day she stepped
out of the room and I said, "Maybe it's just me; but isn't she white? I didn't know that
Italian was a minority." It turned out; everyone was just as baffled as me.
One day she threw her arms up and said, "Whose fault was it? Whose fault was it?
Whose fault was it Miss Newclear?" And I said, "It was the father's fault. He was
irresponsible. He was not thinking of his children's safety, he was only thinking of
himself." She came up to me, got right in my face and said, "Well Miss Newclear, not
everyone grew up in Whittier with a white picket fence around their house, having a
mother and father like Ozzie and Harriet."
Most of the literature we studied was from the 60's. It was when LA was on fire
and under fire. It was the most violent, hostile, and vulgar material I have ever read. I
always made sure that I had my assignments read and studied because she called on me at
every class. What I hated the most was when she would have me read out loud. The
dialect, the jargon; I stumbled over every word of it. When I would come to an obscene
word, I would always stop and she would say, "Go on Miss Newclear." When I said the
word, everyone would laugh.
There was a girl who sat directly across from me. She looked at me so angry one
day it gave me goose-bumps and she said, "If my mama tried to keep me from shooting a
white person, I would turn around and shoot her."
We were given an oral report assignment. I was to give mine last on the last day
of class. I was so excited; I chose Ed Bullins' In the Wine Time. It was the one play I felt
that I could begin to understand the black experience. I was looking forward to sharing
my revelations with the class.
I had my report completed two weeks before it was due. When a student didn't
show up for their report, I volunteered to give mine. The professor said, "No Miss
Newclear, you will be last on the last day of class." So finally the last day came. Other
students who missed their scheduled day had to give their reports. At last, it was time for
the last. I had 5 minutes to give a 20 minute report. When the bell rang, my white
professor was the first one to get up and leave. I was still talking when the last student
filed past. Then I put my head down on the podium. I was exhausted.
I received a C for the class. I was relieved; after all, I didn't understand the
material. But sometimes the best education is realizing that you are limited and seeing
that there are some things that you could never fully understand. I learned a lot in this
class and I appreciate the experience. A grade does not always reflect what you learn.
I didn't stop here trying to understand the black experience. Tony Morrison is a
Nobel Prize Winner for literature. I've seen her speak several times on TV. She is an
excellent speaker. I read some of her work and I wanted to appreciate it, but her work
totally escapes me.
When I first started in design at Fluor Daniel, one of my assignments was to stick
file for my group. It was kind of a “grunt” work job but I decided to take a designer
approach. I would study each drawing and try to see how it fit into the larger picture. The
Architectural drawings illustrated what the project was about.
Engineering is a science, but Architecture falls under the Humanities Department.
You see Architecture is about people-protecting people.
I was aghast when I looked at those drawings. There were eating and sleeping
quarters designed for the Afrcons and inhumane quarters designed for the Bantu. What do
you think? Was the Architect designing for a safe environment when he designed for
discrimination? But the bigger question is: did this happen in America?
Later on the project, I was in another area checking out the model. I happened to
overhear some guys talking. Evidently, a couple of guys were in from the field sharing
Bantu stories. Because this was a foreign project, there were low safety standards for
construction. Many Bantu lost their lives. One story was that Bantu would climb up on
the wheels of these huge trucks to sleep. In the morning, the trucks would run over and
crush the Bantu. They obviously resorted to this because of their inhumane sleeping
conditions. It was an outrage the way American guys laughed at the stories. I asked
myself, "Am I in America?"
Later in my career, the entire engineering industry in Southern California was
down-sizing, putting thousands out of work. This was a difficult time for me at work. A
chance came up for Matt, my husband, and I to go to South Africa. It would be a chance
to pull Matt back into the company. Black and white photography was an interest of mine
at the time. I thought that being in a country in the mist of social revolution would be
exciting. That's when I found out that I was pregnant with my son, Nick. That was the
first time he saved my life: my little hero.
Just before I came back to Fluor Daniel, after having Nick, I met a man named
Dr. Anderson. He had a highly educated daughter who was training the Bantu to live
back in the bush.
See how ethics and education play a role in engineering, business and country?
But most of all; see how education and ethics go together.
Verdugo’s and Pete
Matt’s grandmother owned a little tiny Mexican restaurant in LA near the old
Ferguson Fluor building. A lot of Fluor people went to Verdugo’s, including me. I went
there about a year and a half before I met Matt. Matt’s mom was a waitress and his
grandmother worked the register. The story goes that even the Fluor “mucky-mucks”
frequented Verdugo’s. And there was one Fluor “big guy” in particular, who became
friends with Matt’s mom, Helen. His name was Jay Reed. He got to be such a Fluor “big
guy” by marrying into the Fluor family. I believe it was JR’s sister that he married.
Anyway, when Fluor consolidated and moved to Irvine, the mucky-muck friends
of Helen (supposedly) helped relocate Verdugo’s to its splendid, prime new location in
South Coast Village just across the street from South Coast Plaza. Verdugo’s was not just
a tiny little restaurant anymore, it was a very nice restaurant with a bar, dance floor and
yes: mariachis.
When Matt applied to USC, it was Jay Reed that Matt used as a reference and
why not? Jay Reed’s own kids were going there; they were flown in every morning by
helicopter. Matt was immediately accepted. And Matt did have his five-year Bosco Tech
background. His parents had put some bucks into his education already! In fact, Matt’s
parents had invested more into Matt’s education BEFORE he even entered high school
than my parents invested in my TOTAL education, which included a BA in English from
a State University. Matt didn’t get his Fluor backed, Hispanic scholarship until he was at
the university and applied for it there. I tried for a scholarship or any kind of financial aid
when I was in college, but my father made way too much money for me to qualify for
anything. (And these were the days when kids couldn’t get credit cards). Man, I thought
Matt was the luckiest guy in the world! (I still do. Matt is the luckiest person I know. He
can get anything to go his way. Well, except for his health.)
At Verdugo’s, Matt’s Uncle Dick was in charge of the bar and his wife, Maria,
worked as a waitress there. It was a real family operation. Matt didn’t have any money
when he was going to college but between university activities, taking me to Verdugo’s,
and going out dancing all of the time which was either free, a small cover, or just a glass
of wine (which was $1.00/glass), Matt kept me well entertained on almost no budget.
Helen couldn’t stand the idea of me being Matt’s girl from the beginning. She saw
me as this older woman who seduced her little pride and joy boy. Matt was still in high
school when he was working at Fluor; he was there on a co-op program Fluor had with
Don Bosco Tech. Helen liked having Matt at Fluor for his adult-sized paycheck; she just
didn’t want him involved in adult-sized activities. But I understood Helen’s immediate
dislike for me and I forgave her. It is hard NOT to like Helen. No, she is not a woman of
virtue and pure ethics; however, she is charming and she charmed me. (Remember: most
women don’t like me, so I usually take up with any woman who is the least bit nice to
me; this has been a downfall of mine). I remember the many times Matt would take me to
Verdugo’s for dinner and she would join us. She would always end up calling over the
mariachis to our table to sing to us. She would put her hand on mine and ever so
romantically, she would translate the words to me. That did it ----- I was hers!
Anyway, there was one particular waiter at Verdugo’s who worked there for
many years. His name was Pete Lucero. He waited on Matt and me most of the time.
Matt’s family loved him and I grew very fond of him. Pete was gay, in fact, he was the
first gay man I came to know well and become friends with. He lived with his boyfriend,
Howard. He was always talking about Howard: “Howard this . . . . . . Howard that . . . . . .
. . . When Howard and I . . . . . . . and on and on.”
One time I remember everyone planning a party at Verdugo’s. I can’t remember
what the occasion was, but I do remember Helen and Pete both telling me, “Gwen, you
will get to meet Howard.” And I remember thinking, “Finally! I can’t wait.” After all, in
a way, I felt like I already knew Howard.
Then the big night came. I was sitting at a table with Helen and some other people
when someone said Howard’s full name to me for the first time: Howard Sellers. And I
said, “Did you say Howard Sellers?” And right away Helen jumps in and says, “Oh
Gwen, that’s right, you graduated from Cal State Fullerton. I should have told you
Howard is a professor there in the English department.” Just as she was saying this,
Howard Sellers walked into the restaurant with Pete Lucero, and together they walked up
to our table. Howard Sellers wasn’t just a professor in the English Department; he was
Head of the whole damn department! Did I know Howard Sellers?!
I will never forget the first time I saw Howard Sellers. The English department at
Cal State Fullerton did a nice thing for its transfer students when I came into the
university. They had an orientation for us. Most of us were transferring as Jr. College
graduates and we were all female. Dr. Sellers, the English Department head himself,
came in to give us a talk about the university, informing us of what we could expect from
being a transfer student in the department. In general, Jr. College graduate transfer
students did very well at Fullerton and went on to obtain their bachelor’s degree. It didn’t
take me long to see why we did better than many of the students who started in as
freshman. Many four-year students start experiencing financial trouble by the time they
are in their junior year. Many of them got too involved in extra circular activities. But the
biggest problem I saw for these students was that they would start taking three hundred
level classes before they completed their general education. English majors study fiction
in different time periods requiring knowledge of history, politics, warfare, social issues,
religion, and most important: human behavior. Believe me, the more general education
you can acquire before you take 300 level English classes, the better equipped you are
going to be for interpretation of the great works. I know even as a Jr. College graduate,
my greatest educational deficiency was the history of Western Civilization. See, I was a
public high school graduate. We cannot study the history of Western Civilization because
it is a study of the Catholic Church. Most Americans interpret “Separation of Church and
State” to mean “Let’s keep American children ignorant”. (For more on this see my story
“The Argument” in my book FREE IN AMERICA).
Anyway, when Dr. Sellers walked into the room, I thought he was incredibly
handsome. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. He came across so dignified, so
professional, intelligent and oh, so inspiring. He got me more excited than I already was.
When he left the room, one of the girls was kind to inform the rest of us that he was
single. I believe there was a raised eyebrow on every single face. I know what went
through my mind: “I am going to marry him”. Oh, what a dream!
I was disappointed when I found out that Dr. Sellers did not teach any 300 level
classes. He only taught a couple of beginning composition classes and that was it. So I
never had him as a professor. One time though, right after my first semester started, I
made up some lame excuse to go see him. I remember spending a considerable amount of
time deciding what to wear when I confronted him. Just before I went to his office, I
spent time in the ladies room to make sure my hair and make-up looked good. I even
practiced a smile or two. The answer to the question I had for Dr. Sellers was so simple I
don’t believe he looked up at me but for an instant. Unfortunately, this was the extent of
my interaction with Dr. Sellers during my two-year attendance at Cal State Fullerton
University.
And there he was just three years after graduating from Cal State Fullerton in
1976, standing right in front of me with Pete Lucero.
I spent that whole evening with Dr. Howard Sellers. Boy, what I wouldn’t have
given for an evening like this in college. But the whole time I was talking with him I kept
thinking to myself: “This is Pete’s boyfriend.” I couldn’t believe it! I mean, this is a man
who could have had any girl in the English department. And then I thought back long and
hard about those girls in the English department. Hell, expect for the Persian students, I
couldn’t even make one friend. And it’s not like I didn’t try. Man, I thought I was a shoein for this one sorority. There was a girl I knew from my high school band, a fellow
clarinet player. I used her name for a reference. But they rejected me. They said, “You’re
not our kind.” So, I guess you could say that anybody who didn’t like my name being
Sheeree could look to Nancy Carter (fellow high school band clarinet player) to blame.
Most of those English major girls were a bunch of complaining gossips. Well, I
guess you could say Dr. Howard Sellers and I had one thing in common: we both like
men better than women.
But, sexual preferences aside, this was one of the best nights of my life. Dr.
Sellers was a great conversationalist and he was so intelligent. He was anxious to hear
from me how my education had helped me in engineering. I believe this meeting was
early in my career, probably during my job shopping days. I told him how Bob Borneman
was head of the electrical design department at Fluor with a degree in English and he
laughed when I told him how Ebasco wanted to hire me because an English degree meant
that I could spell. And this is when I opened up to Dr. Sellers and I told him what I really
thought of the English department. I told him that I thought it was too bad that the
department placed so much emphasis on grammar and spelling because I felt the meat of
the English department was so much more. As it stands, the department only attracts tech
writers and teachers. And then I told him what I had been carrying around for a long
time: I believed that all American lawyers should come out of the English department.
Just to study law is not enough. Only by studying the great works, can we come to
understand the REASON for law. A good lawyer needs to know how to develop
argument with sound ethics that can best be achieved in the English department.
But to satisfy Dr. Sellers I went on to explain to him just how I saw my education
helping me in engineering. I told him that the best part of my education was learning how
to write, because writing is thinking. The first thing you do when you sit down to write is
to establish purpose. What do you intend to write for:
1. to persuade
2. to present research and conclusions
3. to show and illustrate through argument
4. to examine through comparative study
I told Dr. Sellers how staggering it is that most people I work with cannot
establish purpose. All they know is that they have a deadline and they can’t figure out
why they always miss it. I told Dr. Sellers how much of engineering is about pointing
fingers through witch-hunts. But what really set me apart from the rest was my ethics,
which allowed me to maintain autonomy. But that did not make me successful. Most
people view a truthful person in engineering as a sucker, a fool, or an idiot. People ban
together in groups for security and in doing so they remain ignorant. Because of the high
salaries involved, engineering is a real “ass-ownership” profession.
Ignorance is of a peculiar nature; once dispelled, it is impossible to reestablish it.
Thomas Paine
If money is your hope for independence, you will never have it.
Henry Ford (engineers don’t even listen to the genius of their own profession)
Of course, I told Dr. Sellers that Dr. Austin was my absolute favorite professor
but Dr. Sears took a close second. Dr. Sellers smiled and fondly nodded his head. He was
impressed when I told him that I took Dr. Sears for two classes. Yes; I am proud of my
slice of Harvard. I didn’t tell him my GPA though; and thank-God he never asked.
The Bible as Literature
So who does not want Christianity, the belief of this nation, taught in the
American Public School system? The shocking answer to this question is: American
Christians themselves refuse to have belief taught in public school. Americans want their
children ignorant. Americans do not want their children to think. They want their children
to obey them and go to school to learn to follow rules.
The single biggest argument keeping the Bible out of public schools is this:
The Bible cannot be taught as literature because it is the WORD OF GOD.
Many American Christians
I have had my heart broken many times throughout my life. But when my first
fiancé, Charlie Clark, broke off our engagement it was like my heart had been cut out of
my chest, thrown down on the pavement and stomped on. A year after this event, I was
living in San Clemente with a girl named Beth. We had gone through an electrical design
training class together and we were taking a Mechanical Drafting class through
Saddleback College at night. This was a very painful time for me because I sat just
diagonally from Charlie Clark at work. He was engaged to a beautiful Christian girl, and
all I heard all day, every day, was how he had never been happier in his life.
Although Beth and I were friends and she sympathized with my situation, she was
busy with her own life and her own boyfriend. I needed something more; a lot more. I
quickly became friends with an attractive guy in my drafting class, Mark, and together we
would end up staying after class to talk casually with our drafting teacher, Frank Henry.
The three of us just hit it off so well. In a short time after knowing them, I found myself
spilling my guts to them about Charlie: how he had ripped my heart out and had taken my
virginity (I don’t know why I feel more comfortable talking about this stuff with men). I
always feel like men understand me better and have a lot more compassion for me.
Another thing about men is that they always want to “fix-it” for me. Some men
just cannot stand to see women feel so bad. And it just so happened that Mark had the
solution for me. He went to a Lutheran Church in San Clemente, close to where I lived.
He was engaged to be married and he had met his girlfriend right there at church. Well,
he was part of a young adult group there. He assured me that his friends in this group
were the best people you would ever want to know. He asked me to come and be a part of
that group. When I told Mark that I was Lutheran, we both just knew that our meeting
was all part of God’s Plan; he was such a Christian. I figured, if Mark’s friends were like
him I would not only love it, but I would finally have found a place of belonging.
The young adult group meeting that I attended was on a Sunday night. I decided
to wear my new black gaucho pants with my knee high boots and a sweater. I was going
for a stylish but sophisticated look. To my disappointment, the group was smaller than I
had anticipated. There were six people there: three guys and three girls; and then there
was me. The two guys, Mark’s friends, were just as handsome and nice as he was. The
girls were all pretty blonds. Mark’s fiancée was the prettiest.
After Mark introduced me to everyone and explained that we had met as fellow
drafting students, we all sat down for a serious meeting. One of the girls really stood out
as the leader. She started out by asking me to explain my religious education. I proudly
told about how I became a Lutheran at age 14 and taught kindergarten Sunday school for
five years. She seemed very unimpressed. Then I remembered how some Lutherans
valued being raised in the church so I quickly thought of something else; I told her that I
had a degree in English. And even though it was not required for an English degree, I
took the Comparative Lit class called “The Bible as Literature”. I explained to them: that
since ALL literature of Western Civilization was based on this one book, that I took it
upon myself to study it in greater depth.
I guess telling them this was a mistake. The leader girl reared back in her chair
and said, “It is a sin to study the Bible as literature. The Bible is the WORD OF GOD!”
After the meeting, we all stood around and talked for a while. I was having a
pretty good time when the leader girl and her friend asked me to step outside with them;
they wanted to have a word with me.
What transpired outside was fairly unpleasant. Basically, they told me that I was a
sinner because I worked in a man’s profession and they would not tolerate having a
sinner in their young adult group; and I got the impression they were not trying to
persuade me to change professions.
Mark was so confused when I told him that his church just wasn’t for me. I don’t
know; I just didn’t have the heart to tell him about what I thought of his future wife’s
friends.
After this experience I vowed that I had “Had It” with the Lutheran Church (see
my story, “A Short Boy Tall” in my book FREE IN AMERICA).
I did go to this church just one more time. I went to Mark’s wedding. I sat with
Frank Henry, our drafting teacher and his wife.
Sometimes the last place to find Jesus is in a church.
Gwen Newclear
But I did find Jesus in my Mechanical Drafting class at the Jr. College.
If a church wants to believe that the Bible is not a work of literature but the
WORD OF GOD; that is fine. This is America where we have Freedom of Belief. If
people want to believe that the Bible was not written by men but rather fell from out of
the sky; that is fine; they have the Freedom in America to believe what they want. The
reason why our forefathers chose Freedom of Belief as one of the key privileges of our
Constitution was because the most important things in life are a mystery; mysteries that
science will NEVER solve. No matter what our belief is, we are ALL finally called to
believe in things we really don’t understand and we can’t prove.
But our forefathers were so brilliant that they realized that there is NO Freedom of
Belief until there is Freedom of Speech. And that is why without Freedom of Speech
there is no freedom. It is no coincidence that the First Amendment to the Constitution is
Freedom of Speech.
Our Persian Americans are perfect examples that people can study another
person’s belief and yet maintain their own belief. All of the Persians I met in college
studied Christianity since they were young children; and yet not one of them that I knew
was Christian. They ALL believed Islam. And here is the fact that saddens me the most: I
have always felt more respected by Persians than my own fellow Americans:
I am Sheree
When you understand what a man believes you can respect him.
Gwen Newclear
Only when we teach our children the many beliefs; can we grant them: Freedom of
Speech and Freedom of Belief.
Gwen Newclear
Since belief is the bases of all human action; belief is the essence of education.
Gwen Newclear
Short Boy Tall
The school that my son is in (located in Jamaica) is very structured. It has to be
that way because there is no belief taught. Without belief; there is the need for all kinds
of rules and regulations. When children and teens are taught belief, their behavior is
naturally appropriate. I didn’t have rules and regulations when I was home schooling my
children. I simply taught my children Christianity and we had no problems (at home
anyway).
In this story I intend to tell not only how I experience Christianity, but also how I
learned it.
My first recollection of going to church was when I was very little and Meme (my
grandmother) would take my sister and me to her church. It was huge and I think she
knew everyone there. She would give us each a shiny new dime to put in the collection
plate. I was closer to my grandpa than I was Meme. He was Mormon and he didn't go to
church. I loved Meme but I thought she could be mean to my grandpa. Grandpa was a
tease but I thought he always treated people with respect. I guess it was from grandpa that
I learned how to tease people. I remember one time grandpa and I were sitting out on his
patio. He was letting me try out his cigarette holder when Meme came out and caught us.
Boy, did she have some words. I held that holder between my fingers up in the air and
said, "When I grow up I'm going to smoke just like grandpa." She sure had a fit all the
way back into the house. Grandpa and I laughed and laughed (but I never did smoke).
Sometimes my mom and dad would take us to church at Christmastime but they
never took us to the same one. They only took us to Protestant churches. I remember
going to a Sunday school class once and feeling uncomfortable because all of the other
kids knew each other. Then I was petrified when each child took a turn reading out loud
from the King James Version of the Bible. When it was my turn, I just sat there and
shook my head no. I couldn't even read yet (I didn't read till 5th grade).
My sister and I had a frightening experience with religion once. My parents took
us to the south; visiting relatives. My uncle took us to his church where they preached
hell, fire and damnation. They told us that if we didn't read the Bible every day we would
go to hell. Debbie and I looked at each other in terror. I thought to myself, "Oh no”!
I was in the first grade when my dad suffered serious burns. He was lighting a
barbecue in the garage when he got liter fluid on his shirt, and then his shirt caught on
fire. It was a windy day. He ran out, rolled on the grass and ripped off his shirt. He
suffered some third degree burns. His hands were burned and he needed skin grafting on
his right upper arm.
My mom would send us to bed saying our prayers while my dad was in the
hospital. For the first time we prayed to Jesus. Dad made a miraculous recovery. I
thought Jesus was the best. I wondered why his name was never mentioned in our house
again.
Growing up, I always envied my friends who belonged to a church. Finally, at age
14, I became a member of Holy Trinity Lutheran Church. I chose that church because it
was within walking distance from my home.
In order to become a member I had to take some classes. They were adult classes
conducted by Pastor Jokel. At the completion of the course, I felt so unsatisfied. There
was so much education I missed by not growing up in a church; I wondered if it were
possible to obtain that knowledge somehow. So I asked Pastor Jokel in my awkward way
(I was only 14 and not too sure of how to communicate). I told him I didn't even know
how many disciples there were, or really, I didn't even know what a disciple was. Pastor
Jokel was the nicest, most sensitive man. He contemplated for a while, smiled and said he
had just the answer. He said that I could teach kindergarten Sunday school; I could learn
the Bible stories with the children.
So for five years I taught kindergarten Sunday school. When I prepared their
lessons, I would study the Bible the best that I could on my own. This was the only
formal training I had in my youth.
Kindergarten is such a wonderful age; all of the children I taught were just
adorable. I loved them all, but I only remember two of them. They were both in my first
class and they were both boys. One of them was David Stone. I thought he was the
perfect child. He was so bright and good-natured, such a joy to have in class. I remember
telling his mom how lucky she was to have a son like him. David really made a place in
my heart for himself. Through the years, I kept up with his growth and development until
he was in college.
The other little boy that I never will forget was just the opposite of David. His
name was Darin and he was a hellion. We would begin with song and prayer in a
combined group with the first graders. Every Sunday when the collection plate was
passed around, Darin would stand up, grab a fist full of money out of the plate and stuff it
into his pockets. He was the most disruptive child I ever had in a class. He was a down
right pain in the ass and all of the other teachers felt sorry for me that I got stuck with
him.
At the end of class, the children would all wait until their parents came to pick
them up. One morning Darin was last to be picked up. His dad finally showed up at the
door. He was a tall, thin man. He said, "Come on Shorty, let's go." Darin stuffed his
hands in his pockets, hung his head, and slowly drug his feet over to his father. I had
never really given it much thought, but I realized that Darin was shorter than the other
children. I don't know why, but I just couldn't get this image out of my mind all week.
The next Sunday, I thought that I would try something with him. During class I
asked him if he would go over to the piano and reach way up and get the crayons. I held
my breath and almost thought I had made a mistake. It was a bigger challenge for him
than I thought it would be. There was a moment I thought for sure there would be crayons
all over the floor. But Darin was successful and got a look of triumph on his face.
I wouldn't say that Darin became the model student after this incident, but his
behavior definitely improved. He became one of my best helpers. He stopped taking
money out of the collection plate, which the other teachers noticed and appreciated. And
Darin won a place in my heart right next to David Stone.
After I had been teaching for five years, Pastor Jokel got a new assignment in
Texas. We got a new Pastor. His name was Pastor Hansen. When he was introduced to
me, he told me that I was not qualified to teach Sunday school because I did not grow up
in the church. I guess you could say that this is the first time that I got fired.
I finally stopped going to church altogether. Later I heard that Pastor Hansen told
a black family not to come anymore because this was a white congregation. After many
years of torment, the church finally got rid of Pastor Hansen. I always tell my kids:
"Watch out for the man with the Bible in his hand." This is where I first learned this
concept (William Shakespeare keys in on this, especially in his play Richard III).
From the youth director at Holy Trinity, I learned one thing made a lasting
impression. He said that we take the Eucharist as a symbol that Jesus resides in every
person. So the way we treat people is the way we treat Jesus.
First Grade Catechism Teacher
My biggest criticism of the Catholic Church is what the Catholic Church has
always been criticized for:
• The emphasis in the church is about “the mechanics of being Catholic”
• The Catholic Church conducts itself on a “business as usual” attitude
It is the religious education within the church that is hanging on to these old
negative values.
I lived in Henderson, Nevada for seven years where I attended Saint Thomas
More. I became a member of this church when it was in the early phase of planning a
beautiful new church building. I enjoyed this church immensely. Mass was conducted
just beautifully --- what a wonderful family experience each and every Sunday!
I was home schooling my children at the time when I decided that I wanted to
take an active role in my daughter’s religious education. My son was involved in a
brilliant 3 year sex education program with the church that required parental
involvement. This program had a profound positive affect on our son. At the end of this
program, my son informed me that sex should only be a part of marriage and he thought
that he would like to wait for marriage. I was anxious to have a religious educational
experience with my daughter, something really special to share, when I inquired about
the possibility of becoming a religious education teacher for my daughter’s first grade
year.
I informed the religious education director of my desires and admitted that I was a
convert at the age of 27, which meant I was not raised in the church. She welcomed my
help and assigned a seventeen year old girl to assist me. I was fingerprinted and my
background checked out OK. We met once a week for about 1 ½ hours. I had a book of
lessons to read that included project instructions; and each child had a book. I never once
understood the purpose of ANY lesson, and half of the time the children had to explain to
ME how the projects were supposed to turn out so they could have a construction paper
piece of junk to take home to be thrown away.
I informed my assistant early on that I was not raised in the church so I had no
experience of the Catechism process. Well, right away Kelly, my 17 year old assistant,
informed me that she had grown up in the church and she knew EVERYTHING about
EVERYTHING. She just so happened to be studying to become a public school teacher.
Well, of course, because of her professed experience, knowledge and intentions; I asked
her if she would be interested in taking over the instructional portion of the class since I
was having such a difficult time trying to decipher the material. She took over the class
with a grudging sense of obligation and a complete confidence in her understanding of
what needed to be done.
Kelly was a large and overweight girl. She would come to class wearing shorts, sit
down on a chair in front of the class, sloughed with her legs crossed wide open in a
vulgar, unladylike fashion. She spent most of her half hour reprimanding the children and
speaking to them in a most derogatory tone. And our class had the reputation of being the
most unruly. I have to admit my little Brooke was the most well behaved child in the
class (but that’s just the way Brooke is). And Brooke was very confused by the illspirited behavior of her peers. I just explained to her that their temperament was unruly
because these kids had just come from school and school is more stressful than home
school.
On occasions throughout the year, Brooke was very put out with me that I gave
Kelly so much control of the class and that I let Kelly “boss me around” in a disrespectful
manner. Brooke would tell me “Mom, you’re way smarter than she is!” And I would
respond, “Brooke how can you say that? --- I still don’t even really know what is
expected of me when I go to those classes!” And Brooke would just insist for me to just
do things my own way. So one time I decided to “take Brooke on” and just run the class
my own way.
I remember standing before those poor, forlorn, bedraggled looking children and I
knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to take them out of the building, onto the
grass and bust out into a lively game of “Duck, Duck, Goose”. Come on --- what kid does
not love to chase and be chased by his classmates? But I was not allowed to leave the
building with the children. So instead, I decided to lead them in those fun church kid
songs that I sang with my own kids at home like “Jesus Loves Me --- The Bible Tells Me
So” and my all-time favorite: “This Little Gospel Light of Mine”. Why, I can’t think of a
better way to express how Jesus resides within each and every one of us! Of course, for
the sake of humor, I get very animated and exaggerated with the gesturing in this song.
And my little Brookster was having a blast helping all of the other kids out getting
involved in the hand movements.
After class, just as I was content that “Yes, this was a successful class session”, I
was confronted by a very stern-looking second grade teacher from the next partitioned
space. She informed me that it was bad enough that my class was unruly, but the singing
was completely unacceptable --- she was engaged in the most serious business of
preparing her students for their first Holy Communion and my class was a distraction.
Well --- we never did that again. Brooke and I went to those Catechism classes with
dread and I sensed it was Hell for everyone.
But what made this experience most disheartening was a conversation I overheard
between Kelly and the religious education director, Julie. Yes, they were talking about
me and what a weak teacher I was. The director expressed that she was shocked by my
lack of authority and knowledge being that I was a home schooling mother and they both
surmised that home schooling wasn’t too good of an idea when children are stuck with a
mother like me. Kelly complained that it wasn’t fair that she did all of the work but I got
all of the credit for being the teacher. Boy! I thought to myself: “I wish she just would
have told ME this. I would have GLADLY let her wear the Honorary Crown and Title of
First Grade Catechism Teacher.” And here I thought I was sparing her from being
responsible for having the most unruly class in the building. The director let Kelly know
that she was well aware of her efforts and knowledge; and that she would be writing a
letter of high recommendation for her college. And last I heard; Kelly was attending
college in the Mid-West to become a public school teacher.
The director gave me a candle to express her gratitude for my volunteer efforts;
but she did not ask me to return as teacher for the next year. Of course, I had no intention
of doing so; in fact, I vowed that I would NEVER do anything like this again.
Prayer Time
One time I was in a Christmas program where I had to recite a Bible scripture.
That scripture was:
Serve the Lord with Gladness
This is the only Bible scripture I knew until I was 14 and became a member of the
Lutheran Church. If you are only going to know one Bible scripture this is a pretty good
one to live by. I have always urged my children to give their lives to God and he will
make sure that they get the education they need to accomplish in their lives.
The year that I taught my daughter’s first grade religious education class, there
was ONE part of the program that I understood very well: I was to teach the children
their prayers which included the “Our Father” and the “Hail Mary”. I took full control of
this part of the class and I did take it seriously. I also took the LIBERTY to teach them
my favorite prayer as a child which was “The Serenity Prayer”. My Grandmother, Meme,
gave me a medallion with this prayer inscribed on it:
Serenity Prayer
God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference.
By the end of the school year I made sure each and every one of my students knew their
prayers POINT-BLANK-COLD! And I do believe we did accomplish much that year
even though the teacher did not understand the instructional material.
It has always been my hope that someday when my 17 year old assistant, Kelly,
realizes that being a teacher has NOTHING to do with a title --- she will think of me
teaching the children their prayers. I have prayed much that Kelly will be “THE ONE”.
Prayer in public school is illegal, recitation is a “lost art” in public school, we
have lost the Humanities one by one, and America’s great American novel, The
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, is and always has been on the book ban list. How much
more is America willing to SACRIFICE to keep the American public school system
teaching elitism ---- THE LIE? It is the lie that goes against the belief this country and
belief it was founded on: Christianity.
Right away, what I liked about Kelly was her rebellious nature. She was a warrior
without a cause and I was a mother with a cause and the winning argument. I know it
sounds crazy but I always considered Kelly a God-send. She allowed me to live as I
believed and I was able to give to her that which was given to me by the Lutheran
Church: the opportunity to make mistakes in a loving environment.
So what was wrong with the material that I could not understand it? There was
nothing wrong with the material. But it was someone else’s interpretation of Christianity.
Having to teach someone else’s interpretation of ANYTHING would be “false”. It would
be the same as asking me to teach an English class the Cliff’s Notes interpretation of The
Scarlet Letter. Why --- I would refuse to do it! It would be false --- it would be Hell! The
whole point of looking at ANY work is to let it challenge our belief system and come up
with our own interpretation based on our individual life experience. Cliff’s Notes is
merely an aid and a reference (and generally a good one). But the true thrill of teaching is
a “giving of self”. This is why Kelly was working so hard with no gratification. She was
trying to give us someone else’s ideas --- not her own. We were ALL being robbed.
When you live as you believe; YOU always walk away with “THE TRUTH”.
Gwen Newclear
Teaching Accountability to Children
Of the songs I led my Catechism class to sing, the one that made the most
disturbance was a song called “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. Here is how it goes:
1st chorus:
If you’re happy and you know it; clap your hands! (clap, clap)
If you’re happy and you know it; clap your hands! (clap, clap)
If you’re happy and you know it
Then your face will surly show it
If you’re happy and you know it; clap your hands! (clap, clap)
2nd chorus: If you’re happy and you know it; stomp your feet! (stomp, stomp)
3rd chorus: If you’re happy and you know it; say amen! (AMEN!)
4th chorus: If you’re happy and you know it; do all three! (clap, clap, stomp, stomp,
AMEN!)
When I taught Kindergarten Sunday school at the Lutheran Church, this was the
song I would end class. Whenever I sing this song with a group of children, they get so
pumped up that they really scream out that last “AMEN”. This was my send-off song that
would happily reunite the children with their parents.
Isn’t this song about Accountability?
When we stand accountable, our lives become a prayer.
Gwen Newclear
At a very early age I was deeply touched by a quote of Thomas Jefferson:
Live your life like the whole world is watching. ----- Thomas Jefferson
Isn’t this just another way of saying this?
If you don’t want to “stand accountable” for something; don’t do it.
Gwen Newclear
Teaching Christianity in the American Public school would work to protect our
churches and every American.
Gwen Newclear
Grandpa died in 1981 at the age of 88. I still carry his love in my heart every single day.
I Learned it from My Grandpa
Today I am disabled. Considering my background, some people could consider
me a failure. And by all means, I have failed at many endeavors; primarily, the failure of
my marriage and the loss of my children.
But I have simplified my life as much I can. I have had to do this out of
necessity in order to survive. Part of my survival is to live independent. Through all of
the pain and torment that I have suffered; I have found peace and inner happiness.
Actually, I live and enjoy most every moment of every day. The only thing missing
from my life (until recently-this was written prior to meeting Dave) is an intimate
relationship with a man and the ability to successfully publish my work. I live in hope to
accomplish these two dreams but my focus is to grow in faith and improve my
relationship with God.
So where did I learn this simplicity and develop the ability to achieve inner
happiness in such a desperate situation? I attribute everything that I am today to my
relationship I had with my Grandfather: “I learned it from my Grandpa”.
Grandpa was a simple man. He was Mormon; one in a family of twelve children.
My cousin Nelma in Idaho, has done much study in Genealogy. She traced my
Grandpa’s family roots back to English and French royalty and clear back to William
the Conquer. Boy; was Grandpa proud to find that he was of royalty! He always
suspected it because he naturally stuck out his little finger when he drank tea.
I don’t know much about Grandpa’s growing up years. I do know that his father
traveled from England and across country with Brigham Young to settle in Utah. And I
know that I have distant relatives in Salt Lake City. I believe that Grandpa met my
Grandma (we call her Meme) in Idaho. His uncle, Clint, married Meme’s sister Dora. So
Uncle Clint was also my Grandpa’s cousin.
I’m not sure just how Meme and Grandpa ended up in California. But that’s
where they made their home and had my Aunt Willy (her name is Billy after my
grandpa but everyone called Grandpa “Willy” so we called my aunt “Aunt Willie”).
Nine years later they had my mom, Alene.
In my Grandparents’ wedding picture Grandpa is so handsome. He was a real
stud! I heard that he was wild in his youth. He drank alcohol, smoked and cussed. He
was not your “typical” Mormon. Grandpa was considered a “Jack Mormon”. Meme was
Protestant. Back then, it was radical for people of these two faiths to intermarry. My
mom says that she grew up in a home that was always arguing about religion. She said
that she remembers people getting together throwing their Bibles down on the table and
arguing about “who was right”. This is what turned my mom off to fighting and religion
of any kind.
I have a very different recollection of this generation. I thought of my
grandparents and my relatives of their generation as the best people you would ever
want to know. My grandparents loved music and dancing and they had a special song
that was played at their wedding. The lyrics of this song, characterizes them as well as
their relations: Let the Rest of the World Go By. Here are the lyrics:
We’ll build a sweet little nest
Somewhere in the west
And let the rest of the world go by.
And that is exactly what it was like for me to go to their homes: they were “sweet little
nests”; and how I loved visiting those “sweet little nests”.
Grandpa was a hard-working man. He was a roofer. He was proud of his work
and told me all about the roofs that he worked on in the LA area. He was proud that
those roofs lasted as long as they did. And Grandpa wasn’t just a roofer, he was a
supervisor. He always had men that worked for him.
Generally, Grandpa was a great guy. I never heard him say one bad thing about
anyone. But if Grandpa had a vice, it was the way he talked about Mexicans. It was
common to hear him say, “Those damn Mexicans!” Most of the men in the crew that he
supervised were Mexican, so he had a lot of experience of working with them. One time
I asked him, “Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mexicans?” Grandpa had to think about that
for some time. When he was thinking, he always sat with his legs crossed and his arms
folded. He looked down at me and said, “Well, there’s really nothing wrong with them I
guess. It’s just that they were always speaking that damn Spanish. I never knew what
the hell they were talk’in about!”
This is when I got the idea that the English Language was a superior language. I
remember thinking: “Gee, if everybody in the world spoke English, maybe everyone
would like each other more!”
I know this sounds crazy but, I was glad when I “married Mexican”. I always
believed that by doing this, I helped Grandpa get a better position in Heaven. After all,
his only vice was the way he talked so bad about Mexicans. Grandpa died the year
before I married Matt. But Grandpa did get to meet and know Matt; and Grandpa loved
Matt. He encouraged me to marry him and to be good to Matt when I did marry him.
And, I did marry Matt and I was good to him, very good.
Meme and Grandpa lived through some hard times: the Depression. Grandpa’s
work was seasonal and when he couldn’t find work as a roofer, he usually couldn’t find
work. Meme had to go to work in order to make ends meet. Everyone always said that
Meme could “bluff her way into any job”. Actually, I always viewed Meme as a pretty
talented woman. When she worked, she worked in the garment industry. When Grandpa
was out of work, he helped out more with housework, cooking and shopping. And
during the Depression, shopping meant standing in long lines for a soup bone. But
Grandpa was a mighty fine cook. He made great soup. Everything my grandparents
cooked always tasted delicious.
Simple, small, clean and orderly were the key words that described my
grandparent’s home and lifestyle. They both loved gardening and it showed. Their yards
were immaculate. And in the spring they always had so many flowers. I loved this one
pink and white variegated camellia. Grandpa had a little shed where he kept all of his
gardening tools. It was clean and orderly; I never even remember seeing a cob-web. And
his garage was the cleanest I have ever witnessed.
The advertising industry would have just loved my Grandpa. He used to
memorize those little jingles and slogans from TV commercials. You never knew just
when he was going to lean his head back and “rattle one off”. Everyone thought he was
so stupid for this. I thought it was cool. Grandpa loved “one-liners”: isn’t that what
Quotable Quotes are?
Grandpa always had a story to tell. Some of the people in the family would
complain because he always told the same ones over and over again. But I never got tied
of hearing Grandpa’s stories. That was our best amusement; it was even better than
playing cards. And we played cards all of the time. Our favorite card game was Rummy.
Sometimes Grandpa would tell stories while we played cards. When Grandpa passed
away I regretted that I didn’t write those stories down. I never thought that I would ever
forget them --- but I did. It was this regret that led me to write “the stories of my life” to
my son Nick when he was going to school in Jamaica. These stories became the second
half of my book FREE IN AMERICA.
Grandpa’s favorite TV show, was Bob Barker’s “The Price is Right”. He just
loved it when the announcer would call out a new name: “……. Come on down!”
Grandpa liked to join in saying the “Come on down.” He always got such a kick out of
watching the people on the show. He would bust his sides laughing at those extremely
obese women as they would jump up out of their seats with their hands waving in the air
and then they would run down the aisle with their rolls of fat bouncing every step of the
way. Meme and Grandpa were physically fit in their old age. When Grandpa was done
watching a show, he always turned the TV off. And he really didn’t watch TV that
much. He liked to sit in peace and solitude for hours.
My Grandparents had a little Pomeranian dog; his name was Mikey. Boy,
Grandpa was just crazy about that dog and I have never seen a dog love his master as
much as Mikey loved Grandpa. Mikey was just beautiful. Grandpa groomed him every
day. He would get out Mikey’s comb and brush and sit down on the floor with his legs
spread apart. Mikey would get so excited; he just loved getting groomed. They went on
walks sometimes twice or three times a day. And boy, did they look smart walking
down the street! When I moved to Henderson, Nevada, we got a little Pomeranian (red,
just like Mikey). And we named him Mikey. In the last days of my marriage, just before
my divorce, I carried Mikey everywhere I went and I took him on long walks. He used
to just lie on my arm; it was almost like he knew that I was hurt and sad. Sometimes he
would lick my hand and arm like he was trying to make me feel better. Those dogs are
so smart!
Meme complained that Grandpa teased too much. I always viewed Grandpa’s
teasing as a gentle way of getting the truth out without hurting anybody’s feelings. And
you could always count on Grandpa to be truthful and honest.
Sometimes I used to get so angry with my parents for the way they treated my
Grandpa. They were so disrespectful. They would criticize him constantly. Sometimes
they would pick at him and pick at him until he would jump up out of his chair, say
“Damn it to Hell!”, and then he would storm out of the room. Then they would sit there
and talk about how bad it was of Grandpa to cuss like that. Actually, Grandpa and I
were both “family targets of harassment”. I never understood it when I was young, but I
have come to believe that “people of the Devil (people NOT of God)” harass people
who have found peace with God.
Holidays, especially Christmas and Easter were spent at my grandparents’ house.
It was always something great to look forward to. Debbie (my sister) and I spent the
night there quite often to give my parents a break and to give them a chance to go out on
dates. My grandparents supported my parent’s marriage; my grandparents were
Christian.
My grandparents had separate bedrooms. Debbie always slept with Meme and I
always slept with my Grandpa. One time I remember that my parents made me sleep
with Debbie and Meme. They told me that I was getting too old to sleep with Grandpa
anymore. I was so depressed and stressed out, I couldn’t stand it. I hardly slept. I wanted
to be with my Grandpa. Finally, they let me sleep with him again but they insisted that
we sleep with a pillow between us. At the time, I had no idea what that was about, but if
having a pillow between us made it OK for me to sleep with my Grandpa, then “so be
it”. Evidently, “my problem” that brings me so much harassment, is the fact that I trust
men more than I trust women. This makes me different than other women and you know
how it is in America: different people get the hell harassed out of them, especially when
they are considered “sexy”.
When I slept with my Grandpa, he would always say good-night and then turn
toward the window and fall asleep. Sometimes I would snuggle up to his back and
sometimes I would turn and face the wall. On the wall, Grandpa had two porcelain
Chinese heads hanging, a male and a female. Sometimes light from the window would
shine in on those heads and they would scare me. I used to wonder why Grandpa would
have Chinese heads hanging on his wall. Since last summer I have been studying the
history of the West. And I learned about the Chinese population that was living here to
work on the railroad. I have often wondered if Grandpa didn’t learn a lot about
simplicity from them.
I loved Meme, but it disturbed me the way she treated Grandpa. She would
always compare him to other men; like other men were better than Grandpa. It was like
she was blind; she couldn’t see what a great man she had. I would always hear stories
about how Meme and Grandpa would go out dancing twice a week. Meme always wore
the most beautiful dresses. She was popular; she was always “the belle of the ball”. But
she would hurt Grandpa’s feelings by never dancing the first and last dance with him
(that’s what sweethearts did back then). This always hurt Grandpa’s feelings. He was a
great dancer though. He never had trouble finding a dance partner; all of the women
loved dancing with him. I guess Meme and Grandpa were always popular. They had
tons of friends. And it was hard not to love them.
Meme complained about Grandpa a great deal. But I never heard Grandpa say
one negative thing about Meme. In fact, this is what he always did say, “That Mae!
She’s quite a little woman!” One time I asked Grandpa why Meme was so mean to him.
For a long time he sat with his arms folded and his leg crossed; and just stared. Then he
looked down at me sadly and said, “On our wedding night I tore off all of her clothes”.
Then he went back to staring. I thought about it for a while; I just couldn’t imagine
Grandpa doing such a thing. Finally, I said, “Why did you do that Grandpa?” He cocked
his head and thought about it for a minute. Then he said, “I guess I wanted to see what I
had.” We both stared out straight in front of us for the longest time. Then we looked
back at each other and busted up laughing. We laughed our asses off!
I don’t know. It seems like people put so much emphasis on those special
occasions. For me it’s always been about those simple everyday joys. And let me tell
you, I would have given ANYTHING to have a man like Grandpa for a husband. I have
finally come to conclude that there are no men like him. My Grandpa was “one in a
million!”
This is what Grandpa taught me to value:
 Simplicity
 Humility
 Positive Thinking
 Taking Care of Self
 Walking for Health
 Dancing for Fitness
 Storytelling for Amusement
 One-liners that led me to Love Quotable Quotes
 Appreciation for Gardening
 Wearing Hats
 Appreciation of the English Language
 Order Relating to Godliness
 Analytical Thinking through Card Playing
 Truth and Honesty
 Humor
 Friendship
 Solitude
 Enjoying each Moment
 Respect for Marriage
 Love
 Peace and Inner Happiness
 Autonomy
 Trust
 Liberty
Grandpa never once lectured me about anything. He simply spent a great deal of time
with me. I learned from him by observing “the way he lived his life”.
How you live your day is how you live your life.
Henry David Thoreau
Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around.
Henry David Thoreau
My grandma, Meme, had a passion for country music. Both Meme and grandpa were dancers.
Meme especially loved the Tennessee Waltz; I can still remember her standing in her living
room clasping her hands to her chest declaring; "I just love that Tennessee Waltz!"
Since I met Dave, we have learned to play the mandolin and one of the very first tunes I learned
was the Tennessee Waltz and every time I play it, I think of my grandparents. I even rewrote the
lyrics:
Tennessee Waltz
The Bill Mallinson Way
He was waltzing with his darlin’ to the Tennessee Waltz
When their good friends all gathered to see_______
But his eyes fixed on his loved one and while they were waltzing
His hand held her waist so gently._____
I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz
All stood silent as the couple waltzed____
Yes he waltzed his little darlin’ the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz.
Revised by Gwen Newclear, Poet for a New Age
Is JESUS really better than a hot fudge sundae?
Hot Fudge Sundae
Well, this story starts one night when, as usual, I walked into the lounge at the
Carson Valley Inn and it was pretty crowded. The place where I usually sat was taken. So
I went and sat at a table across the room. When I started to write, I became so annoyed;
the lighting was such that it cast a shadow over my hand while I was writing. I became so
annoyed that I got up and left. I was just going to go home, but as I strolled by Katie's (a
restaurant in the Casino), I noticed how well lit it was in there. There wasn't anyone at the
counter bar so I decided to go in, have a diet coke, and write. Well, the waitress was
especially nice and the environment was so pleasant. I was surprised by how productive I
was in the few hours that I sat there writing. So I went back a couple of more times. Then
I felt bad that there I was just taking up a space and only ordering a diet-coke so I got a
menu. Well, the only thing that looked good to me was an ice-cream sundae. I ordered a
small one. It was pretty good. Then I found myself ordering them almost all of the time.
One night I decided to splurge and order a hot fudge sundae. Well, let me tell you,
once you get a taste of hot fudge, why, there's no going back to syrup. The funny thing
about getting hooked on these hot fudge sundaes, was that I really don't like ice cream all
that much. To tell you the truth, I would have liked it just as much if it would have been
the fudge, whipped crème, nuts, and cherry.
After Christmas, I noticed my pants were getting pretty tight around my waist and
sure enough I had gained weight. So with the New Year coming on, I thought I better
make some cut backs on my eating. Obviously, I decided that those hot fudge sundaes
just had to go.
Now, during that time, not only did I get a lot of writing done, but I got to know
all of the waitresses. A couple of them were concerned for me about my job search; and a
couple of them told me about their children. But what I found myself enjoying; was the
way they treated each other. It wasn't unusual to see a couple of them hugging. And when
one would say good-bye to go home, you would think that they were all saying their last
farewells.
All of them knew me so well that when I came in one night, my waitress pointed
her finger at me and said, "Hot fudge sundae, right?" I hated saying no because I didn't
want to offend her. So I said, "No. My New Year's resolution is to loose weight and I'm
going to get an early start. I'm getting too fat"; and then I showed her by patting my
stomach. I then assured her, "But I want you to know that you make a mean hot fudge
sundae". And she started telling me about how spraying on the whipped cream was her
specialty and she demonstrated to me just how she could shake that can. We started
laughing out loud. Then I said, "Well don't tell the others, they'll think I like your sundaes
better than I like theirs." And she said, "That's easy, we'll just tell one that she can really
squirt that hot fudge and then we’ll tell the other that she can really sprinkle those nuts."
And I said, "Don't forget Candy, she can really place a cherry, you know, not too far sunk
down in the whipped crème. And she knows: I like my cherry stem sticking straight up."
We were cracking up all over the place.
I have to tell you; I developed such a fine eye for desert from hanging out with
my daughter’s God Mother, Joy. She is a pastry chef.
Well, I ordered a cup of hot cocoa. I didn't want to go “cold turkey”. At least I
could have some whipped crème and my waitress could have one last "shake and squirt".
I'm planning to go back to diet cokes though. I thought about really getting healthy and
just drinking water, but then the Casino wouldn't be making money: so much for the
healthy idea.
I tell you, I didn't know whether to sue the Casino for the lighting situation that
made me so fat, or thank God for those great hot fudge sundaes that got me to meet such
a great bunch of ladies. It's all in how you look at it I guess.
Now, before people accuse me of trying to encourage our youth to seek careers in
Casinos, I would like to tell you my intent with this story. The point is; you never know
just where you're going to find Jesus. But when you find him, you'll know. He will give
you such a great feeling inside; why, it's better than any hot fudge sundae!
The unexamined life is a life not worth living. ------- Plato