Off the Shelf: In Thought and Action: The Enigmatic Life of S. I. Hayakawa

HaslamRead the Prologue from In Thought and Action: The Enigmatic Life of S. I. Hayakawa by Gerald W. Haslam with Janice E. Haslam:

"It remains one of the most gripping images from the 1960s: bantamweight Dr. S. I. Hayakawa—plaid tam-o’-shanter ensconced on his head—scrambling onto a sound truck parked in front of the San Francisco State College campus, hoping to use it to address the assembled crowd, but ripping out speaker wires instead, and halting an illegal demonstration—or denying First Amendment rights, depending upon your perspective. Either way, he shut down the sound system. Inside the truck that day, student activist Ernie Brill was “stunned, flabbergasted.”

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: In Thought and Action: The Enigmatic Life of S. I. Hayakawa”

Off the Shelf: All Indians Do Not Live in Teepees (or Casinos) by Catherine C. Robbins

Robbins Read the beginning of the Introduction, "Flying Together" from All Indians Do Not Live in Teepees (or Casinos) by Catherine C. Robbins:

"In 2006 the twelve bands of the Kumeyaay-Diegueño Nation raised a new national flag—their own—at Cabrillo National Monument on San Diego’s Point Loma. For the first time, their flag took its place alongside the banners of the nations that had invaded and gained control of their land: Portugal, Spain, Mexico, and the United States. Those had flown regularly for years over historic Point Loma during an annual ceremony marking the European American arrival that had begun five centuries before. Now a Native American nation that has called the area home for millennia hoisted its own standard. The Kumeyaay-Diegueño flag flew firmly in a stiff breeze that day, a signal of the love and sacredness that American Indians attach to an occupied and besieged homeland. It also demonstrated the return of Kumeyaays to a place where historians estimate they had first set foot between eleven thousand and thirty thousand years ago. With energy and dedication plus the inspiration of one of their respected elders, Jane Dumas, they had circled back to a place they had never really left.1*

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: All Indians Do Not Live in Teepees (or Casinos) by Catherine C. Robbins”

Off the Shelf: Finding Oil by Brian Frehner

Frehner Read the beginning of the Introduction from Finding Oil: The Nature of Petroleum Geology, 1859-1920 by Brian Frehner:

"Shortly after walking over the dry west Texas plains, Jett Rink knelt on the ground while squeezing handfuls of oil-soaked dirt through his fingers and gazed in amazement at the black crude slowly bubbling to the surface. Later, Rink stood atop a cable tool drilling rig when a loud noise caught his attention. The black crude that had merely bubbled to the surface began to emit an awesome roar as it erupted from the hole Rink punctured in the earth. He stepped back to behold the spectacle he had created, as oil spewed from the earth and rained down on him. He held both hands in the air as if to thank Mother Earth for her beneficence, and jumped up and down to celebrate his good fortune.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Finding Oil by Brian Frehner”

Off the Shelf: Sometimes They Even Shook Your Hand by John Schulian

Schulian Read the beginning of the Introduction from Sometimes They Even Shook Your Hand: Portraits of Champions Who Walked Among Us by John Schulian:

"In an age when it seems that no royal perk is enough for the athletes who have been crowned our heroes, the helicopter that whisks Kobe Bryant to the Lakers’ home games strikes me as more practical than self-indulgent. After all, the drive from his manse can take as long as two hours, even in a Lamborghini. What better reason to fly over the traffic jams that snarl the sprawling mess of Los Angeles, where his name and likeness are indelible in every subdivision and strip mall? L.A. is his kingdom, and a kingdom must be a hard thing to ignore when it is yours, but still I hope Kobe looks beyond it once in a while. I hope he looks until he sees the past.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Sometimes They Even Shook Your Hand by John Schulian”

Off the Shelf: Up from These Hills: Memories of a Cherokee Boyhood

Lambert Read the beginning of "Forethoughts" from Up from These Hills: Memories of a Cherokee Boyhood by Leonard Carson Lambert Jr. As told to Michael Lambert:

"When I was young my father, Leonard Carson Lambert Jr., told us “poor stories” about his experiences growing up as an Indian on and near the reservation of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians in the mountains of western North Carolina. He told these stories to contrast the conditions in which he was raised with our comparatively comfortable upbringing. I caught glimpses of the world of his youth during our annual visits to my grandparents who lived on the reservation. I still remember visiting their house in Birdtown in the early 1960s. It was an old small house nestled on a hillside just above the main road. I remember dodging chickens as I walked along a narrow path that went over a stream to the outhouse. I also remember the cove where my grandfather built the family home in the 1930s. It was still standing in the late 1990s, and every so often we would trek over the Oconuluftee River and follow the road up the mountainside to see it. Despite the fact that over the years additions had been made to the original house, it remained a modest structure until it was taken down in the late 1990s, essentially the same as the one my father knew when he was a boy. The home was nestled at the foot of a small cove that gently rose behind the house up the mountainside. You could still see the garden beds that once nourished my father’s family. I could easily imagine my father and his siblings playing on the mountainside while my grandfather tended to cattle in the barn and my grandmother washed clothes in a washbasin in the back of the house.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Up from These Hills: Memories of a Cherokee Boyhood”

Off the Shelf: Brassies, Mashies, and Bootleg Scotch by Bill Kilpatrick

Kilpatrick Read the beginning of "The Founding Father, Part I" from Brassies, Mashies, and Bootleg Scotch: Growing Up on America's First Heroic Golf Course by Bill Kilpatrick:

"I called him dad, Daddy when I was younger, and more often than not as the years went by I called him Pop. He called me Willie. I referred to him as my father, my dad, and the Old Man. His name was William, known as Bill, and he remains indelible in my consciousness.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Brassies, Mashies, and Bootleg Scotch by Bill Kilpatrick”

Off the Shelf: Black Elephants by Karol Nielsen

Nielsen Read the beginning of chapter 1, "The New Zealand Sheep Farmer and the Recruit" from Black Elephants: A Memoir by Karol Nielsen:

"The minivan bumped along hills that hugged Lake Titicaca. Haze made the water look silver. I sat behind Dirk, a German traveler with a ponytail. It hung to the middle of his back, streaked bronze from the South American sun. He wore dusty jeans and a tank top that skimmed his torso. Dirk was one of those hard-core travelers, the kind I’d met along the way, who took regular trips through Latin America, Africa, and the Far East. They seemed so worldly, and despite the army tanks, tear gas, and guns I’d seen during my year as a writer for an English-language newspaper in Argentina, I still felt sheltered. I was only beginning to understand the underbelly of the world, something the serious travelers seemed to have understood from birth.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Black Elephants by Karol Nielsen”

Off the Shelf: Wright Morris Territory edited by David Madden with Alicia Christensen

Morris Read the beginning of "A Man of Caliber" from Wright Morris Territory: A Treasury of Work edited by David Madden with Alicia Christensen:

This story, originally published in the Kenyon Review in 1949, is an early version of the novel The Works of Love.

"On summer nights, the window open, he could lie there and hear the hum of the wires, or the click when the semaphore changed from red to green. Then he would roll on his side, put up his head, and watch the Flyer go through. The streaming coaches made a band of yellow light on the plains. It would be a little while before the night was quiet again.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Wright Morris Territory edited by David Madden with Alicia Christensen”

Off the Shelf: Searching for Tamsen Donner by Gabrielle Burton

Burton Read the beginning of Chapter 2 from Searching for Tamsen Donner by Gabrielle Burton:

"The year before I bought the motorcycle, summer 1972, I went to Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference in Middlebury, Vermont, nervously bearing a thin sheaf of poems. At age 33, I was away from home alone for the first time since I had married ten years before. My children were 9, 7, 5, 2, and 10 months. I weaned the baby from breastfeeding in order to go.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: Searching for Tamsen Donner by Gabrielle Burton”

Off the Shelf: This Is Not the Ivy League by Mary Clearman Blew

Blew Read the beginning of Chapter 1 from This Is Not the Ivy League: A Memoir by Mary Clearman Blew:

"In the spring of 1944 my mother and father borrowed more money than they had ever seen and purchased the old home ranch on Spring Creek, in central Montana, that had been my great-grandfather’s 1882 homestead. My father would be thirty-one in a few weeks, my mother had just turned thirty. I was four years old, my sister a toddler of eighteen months. We had been living on an alkali ranch in the sagebrush, down on the Judith River, and the move meant hay meadows and fresh water and good grazing for the cattle on the slopes of the mountains that overlooked the creek drainage, together with all the family associations with place, which even in 1944 were becoming emblematic. My great-grandfather had been one of the earliest homesteaders in central Montana, and it seemed that every shale hill and coulee, bend of the creek or grove of cottonwood trees, had its name and its position in the landscape of the family narrative.

Continue reading “Off the Shelf: This Is Not the Ivy League by Mary Clearman Blew”