A Daily Blog (est. 10/2012) dedicated to quality writing, original content and a healthy dose of entertainment from "A Vagabond in God's Big Pond" Explore etymology with WORLD WIDE WORDS (Archived Link). PUNS FOR INTELLIGENT PEOPLE will tickle your fancy. The WAYBAC MACHINE will take you back in time. +++Plus +++ read my book ALPHA OMEGA M.D. coming in Spring of 2019. Read about The Space Family McKinney at your own pace in = THE RETURN TRIP and The NULL Solution, Episode Catalogs for both in the "links" section. We are in the midst of Constance Caraway P.I. concluding in Spring of 2019.
…I hope Susan B. Anthony is waiting for you in the lobby – that would fix your wagon!…
“Has Beacon Hill copyrighted the name, Pearson-Eastman Journal?” asks Abbey in typically pointed fashion.
“Well, no, we have been swamped with the addition of Herbert Love to the limited partnership. It’s not like merely adding a name to a document you know,” James dares to clarify.
“If they do not have patent rights to their name, the first issue is fair game for plagiarism, or even worse, another magazine stealing their format ideas.”
“Yes,” he concedes, “I see your point. Sometimes even the senior partners lose track of details, seeing that we have over a one hundred clients that I am aware of. Not the least of them is J.P. Morgan’s scheme to freeze John D. Rockefeller out of the steel business.”
“I guess that makes George Eastman chopped liver?”
“No, but he is a silent partner. Judith is the Eastman in the lead.”
“Perhaps when women gain the right to vote, we’ll get some respect,” Abbeys states emphatically.
“Well, I respect you, honey bunch.” Oops.
“You can take your honey bunch and put it in the cellar next to the old potatoes. When men have the nerve to respect women outside the walls of the home, then and only then will God be glorified and true equality happening for all.”
“I must take my leave Hon…uh, Abbey. The office is expecting me.”
“Coward!I hope Susan B. Anthony is waiting for you in the lobby – that would fix your wagon!”
“I heard she is in a sanatorium, old and crazy I suspect.”
He should have kept walking.
“You best stop at the diner on your way home.”
“What?”
“And you will find your bed-things on the sofa. It will give you time to ponder women’s suffrage.”
This time he moves through the door without clever commentary. The doghouse is a lonely place.
…“We had one lady who claimed that cigars were causing her husband’s poor health. I guess he had trouble breathing.”
“What nonsense,” Statler posits, “sounds like good old fashioned consumption to me?”…
Bad Habits by Dion Ja’Y
The Tallahassee folks on to good food & important friends.
“We make cigars, among other commodities, Mister Statler,” Herb pulls a Loyal Campbell from his tweed jacket pocket, handing it to their sponsor.
“There is nothing like a good cigar after a good dinner,” he bows his head in gratitude, passing it under his nose, looking at the wrapper ring. “Is that you?” He asks of Willy, referring to the representation on the ring.
“Yessir, it is.”
Herb continues his thought, “Yes, well, if you can imagine this, we had one lady who claimed that cigars were causing her husband’s poor health. I guess he had trouble breathing.”
“What nonsense,” Statler posits, “sounds like good old fashioned consumption to me?”
They finally gain a private room, apart from the commercial banquet facility. About sixty guests are presently mingling, including the Presidential host. He seems completely at ease, appearing to have shed any and all problems of his life and the world in general. Gone, for the moment, are worries about his dear frail, convalescent Ida. The Boer War in South Africa and “Boxer Rebellion” fade to the background, especially since he has a second in command to rely on. Teddy Roosevelt, whose motto is, “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.”, is the perfect second term Vice-president; young, capable and right there for the Republican party should William McKinley choose not to run for a third term.
Two long tables flank the room, each filled to capacity with every manner of salad, entree and gourmet dish. If any in attendance goes home hungry, the onus is on them.
The President sees Statler, as well as his Florida friends enter, capping his mental list of invitees. “May I have your attention,” he clinks his brandy snifter with handy silverware. “I see my table has arrived, so without further ado, please indulge your selves in God’s generous blessings!”
The crowd needs little of the prompting, having already staked out their seats, at one of the six circular oak tables, as well as exactly what crystal plate or dish in the buffet they are going to attack first.
McKinley wraps his arms around as many of his Southern folks as he can, separately or at one time. They follow his lead to the feast. “Do not forget to bring your plate. I so enjoy being able to serve myself, don’t you. Ummmm, this looks good, shrimp cocktail. Doesn’t this rice look special…, Florentine is it not, Lady Ferrell?”
Martha, who waits directly behind, answers, “Pilaf with almonds, I believe,” having the unique opportunity to correct a President.
Jacob Haley and Jacques Francois help Willy and Amanda sort through the culinary montage, when they’re not screening the room for potentially single females.
Alfrey is attached to the Endlichoffers, which is no surprise, but is helpless in consoling Ziggy about the apparent oversight of schnitzel or Hasenpfeffer.
John Ferrell’s (78 RPM) affection for Strauss comes to a scratchy end, begging attention; getting attention, diverting his attention from the balcony and Olla, who is frozen in place with an arm load of bedlinens. It takes a second or two, but he realizes that he is not alone in the house. With dress draped on his left arm, he ascends the winding staircase to speak to his maid in person.
“Would you draw me a nice hot bath, Olla? Oh—and would you hangs this on our bedroom door?”
“Yessir, Master Ferrell.” She boldly holds the dress up against her black satin uniform fancifully.
“Isn’t it beautiful? Mrs. Ferrell should love it.”
“It’s a dress fit for a queen!”
Her statement plants a seed in Ferrell, a thought that had not occurred to him. Change Martha’s hair color to black and deepen the hue of her skin and you have Princess Olla; she having a “Heinz 57″ blend of ethnicity. Her skin is quite fair, even considering her Seminole and black roots.
In fact, if she carried her breasts at a higher plane, with the aid of the newly engineered brassieres, the two women would be indistinguishable from a distance, that from a man’s eye.
Getting back to his original thought, before he began musing about what Olla’s body looks unclothed, he orders, “While I have my bath, please put on that dress for me—and let down your beautiful hair.” His musings are bleeding into his reality.
One hour into his bath, the ruminations remain unimpeded. His daydream fantasies have expanded parts of him at the thought. He has never seen Princess Olla, born Laura Bell, attired in anything other than her uniform and wonders how the satin finery of the privileged will look on her.
“Laura Bell?! Bring me a fresh towel; I seem to have gotten this one soaking wet.” He dips it into the cooling water to prove his point.
As you might think, Laura Bell arrives at the master bath looking every ounce her princess-ly designation. She even had the initiative to find high heeled, high buttoned white shoes that would match the dress. If facial makeup were applied to her face, any man would be proud to have her on his arm; whatever the occasion, cotillion or inauguration.
As a towel bearer, her garb belies an awkward gate, yet she complies out of servitudinal obligation. Aside from that commitment, she must fight her own female attraction toward her employer, having self-imposed chastity since leaving the Apolachee reservation at age 12; a female neo-slave now 20 and ready to fulfill her womanhood.
Any barriers on both sides are lowered. Troublesome as the situation is, they are spontaneously unaffected by the outside world.
It is wrong, yet he looks at it as a gesture of caring and she is conceding her virginity to a man she respects and admires.
“Go into the bedroom and turn down the bed.” A spell has come over him, all of his senses vacating the premises. “I will towel off.”
…“Marty, how’ve ya been man?” Ace likes Martin’s spunk, pretty cool for an egghead…
Without intentionally searching for it, Willard knows what it’s like to be a part of revival.
“Ever since that 3rd crusade event – what is that, a month and a half ago, I haven’t had so much as a hair out of place. The first two nights, however, I could feel something tugging at me or someone hovering around me, lurking.” Willard Libby knows full well that he has been the focus of a battle much bigger than him alone.
“Now you know what we’ve been dealing with all this time, with all the bad people, evil spirits and the devil himself doing more than nagging at us. On the other hand, we can sense that God is on our side, angelic intervention, if you will miraculous events and recoveries and now we get an instruction booklet on how to beat Satan at his own game.” This is one pumped Private Eye. “It is so significant that Billy buses have made a right turn from Iowa and they are headed back for an outside meeting at Kominski Field.”
“It cannot be both Constance, it is either Comiskey Park or Wrigley Field.” Martin Kamen is the resident baseball fan in and provides the proper stadia clarification.
“Marty, how’ve ya been man?” Ace likes Martin’s spunk, pretty cool for an egghead.
“With you guys out of town, it has been a breeze; no fires, kidnappings, hospitalizations, ice storms, or power blackouts.” He looks around and ducks his head, highlighting the possible dangers expected with their return.
“Can Billy count on your part of the live presentation on April 28th and maybe 29th too?” Connie asks.
“I have been talking to some other colleagues lately and I bet I could get them to join in, for a display of universal support,” Martin has bought in.
“You have a week and a half to work on that. Ace and I are going to have posters printed up. I called Eddie D and he said he would put them up around town.”
…Wouldn’t you know, both liver & onions and meat loaf are not a part of today’s menu…
The would-be diners look at each other and say jointly, “We’ll have the fish fry.”
“That is locally caught perch with rye bread and a choice of coleslaw or french fries,” the waitress, a young woman with a farm girl look, recites by heart.
“Can we have both,” asks Ace. “We are starved. It’s been a long drive.”
“Chicago… that will be $1 dollar extra.” She is unintentionally ambiguous.
“Is the dollar for coming from Chicago or the extra food?”
She ignores the question as stated, “We get a lot of folks from Chicago in here, but you two are way more polite than most; you don’t even sound like you’re from the north. I’m good at guessing where a folk is from.”
“Give it a shot darlin’. I’ve got an Alexander Hamilton here that says you can’t guess what states we are from.”
She looks around, after seeing there are no other customers, then offers, “The lady looks like a true Southern Belle, maybe Georgia or the Panhandle.” She looks at Ace from his head and stopping at his feet, “You sir are from Texas.”
“Tallahassee, Florida,” CC raises her hand, while Ace adds, “Austin, Texas and I bet my rattlesnake boots gave me away.”
She grabs the $10 Silver Certificate and stuffs it into her apron, “Do you want tartar sauce?”
“I like you, you, you are ____,” prompts Ace?
“Polly, Polly Pabst.”
“I like you Polly Pabst, but I wouldn’t play poker against you; you’re cold.”
“I have a mortgage to pay.”
“We are headed to Oconomowoc; do you have a name of a good place to stay for a couple days?” Constance is planning ahead.
“Cooney is only 20 miles away…we have a cute motel on the north side of Eagle, you can’t miss it. Are you two married?”
The would-be overnighters look at each other and say jointly, “Yes-no, no-yes.”
“I ain’t being nosey, just that the older gentleman running the place used to be the preacher over at the Lutheran church and his wife is a bit of a prude.”
“We thank you for the head’s up,” Constance locks arms with Ace as they head out. “What is the Saturday Special?”
…And what on Earth is R. Worth Moore doing, leapfrogging the Mason-Dixon Line by hundreds of miles…
While Constance goes out to Midway to tend to her interests, R. Worth Moore is busy doing all the legal grunt work required to clean up after Fanny’s hospital mystery accident. When you are an out-of-state driver, things can get complicated; when you are an out-of-state lawyer, well you better show intent to get licensed to practice in Illinois. He gladly takes the time to do so, seeing that these city folk actually have the means to pay usual and ordinary officially authorized fees (chickens – pies). So, unlike Dr. A.O. Campbell, he can charge good cash money for his services.
There seems to be a trend developing here about. Neither Constance nor Fanny is in a hurry to scurry out of town. Just what was keeping their headquarters down in toddling Tallahassee? Is it the comfort of the hometown atmosphere, where everybody knows your name? And what stands in the way of CCPI from relocating to this happening Chi-town? Their advertising budget would go from $0 to $omething more and trading physical space may be a hassle, the buying and selling of real estate.
But as they reach their prime investigative years, how can they ignore the allure of the big city?
And what on Earth is R. Worth Moore doing, licensing himself in a state that is the polar opposite of Florida, leapfrogging the Mason-Dixon Line by hundreds of miles? Can it be that he has always had designs on moving out and up, or has Fanny Renwick laid down a scent that he cannot resist?
But with big city excitement, you also get big city crime, as he would discover while deciding to take an early spring stroll from his South Loop hotel down to 6137 Kimbark. He had not realized that Chicago neighborhoods can change for the worse from one north/south block to the next…….
Decades before we had child stars on TV, a little boy named Christopher Robin Milne was thrust into the spotlight and became the most famous child of his lifetime. Even to this day, a version of him is still portrayed in the Winnie the Pooh cartoon, and movies are still being made about his life, including Goodbye Christopher Robin in 2017, and the upcoming 2018 film starring Ewan McGregor called Christopher Robin.
But just how accurate are these films, and are they anything like the true life of Christopher Robin? While the well-loved origin story of Winnie the Pooh begins as a journey into the innocence of childhood, the true story becomes quite dark, and everyone involved in the creation of the books eventually regretted it.
Alan Alexander Milne was Christopher Robin’s father, and the creator of Winnie the Pooh. Long before he wrote children’s stories, Milne was a comedy writer and editor at Punch magazine, as well as an acclaimed playwright. After serving in World War I, he found it difficult to continue writing comedy, and wanted to talk about the politics of war instead.
Milne lived with his wife, Daphne, and his son Christopher in London, but he decided that they needed a place to get away from the big city, so he purchase a summer home near Ashdown Forest in Sussex, which is also known as the Five Hundred Acre Wood. This, of course, served as inspiration for Pooh’s “Hundred Acre Wood.”
While he was taking time to write in the country, Milne came to the conclusion that after years of tragedy, people were ready to move on, and they were not ready to read about his thoughts on war. They desperately wanted to read happy stories, and comedy. He drew inspiration from his own source of happiness, which was his 6-year-old son, Christopher Robin.
The boy loved playing in the woods with his stuffed animal teddy bear, which he received as a baby. His mother named the bear “Edward,” but he decided to change its name to Winnie, after seeing a Canadian bear at the London zoo called Winnipeg. Over the years, Daphne continued to buy her son more stuffed animals from Harrods department store, including a donkey, kangaroo, tiger, and tiny piglet. As an only child, Christopher Robin often played by himself and with his nanny, and his mother helped to encourage him to play pretend with his collection of animal friends.
One day, Milne was inspired to write down a poem about Christopher Robin saying his prayers before going to bed. He titled it “Vespers,” and gave it to his wife as a gift. It was later published in Vanity Fair magazine. The public loved reading the sweet poem about the little boy, and they wanted more. Once word got out that this little character was actually the author’s son, suddenly every newspaper and radio show wanted an interview with Christopher Robin.
After working in the magazine industry for years, Milne knew that they needed to take advantage of this hype and sell more stories. He asked his friend and co-worker, E.H. Shephard, to draw the illustrations. So he set out working on writing about Christopher Robin. The stories were loosely based on his son’s imaginary adventures. He published a collection of poems called Now We Are Six, and he eventually switch from poetry to children’s fiction about Winnie the Pooh.
The public absolutely loved Christopher Robin. He received fan letters on a daily basis.. He was taken to public events, narrated stories, and performed in a play about Winnie the Pooh. Like most child stars, he actually loved the fame and attention he was getting. It made him feel special to know that everyone wanted to be his friend. Since he was enjoying it so much, his parents continued to push him into the spotlight, and enjoyed the benefits of being rich and famous.
Even if his parents were blinded by fame, his aunt and uncle did not approve, and they spoke up about how he was being robbed of a normal childhood. Once Milne realized this as well, he chose to stop publishing Winnie the Pooh stories. However, even though he stopped making new books, there was still a demand for reprints, and the hype never died down. Even when he tried to go back to writing for adults, critics would just compare Milne’s work to the children’s stories, claiming that his new characters in a play were just “Christopher Robin grown up.”
Milne wasn’t the only one whose work suffered after Pooh. The illustrator, E.H. Shepherd, was the political cartoonist for Punch Magazine. He saw his work with Milne as a side-gig, and a favor for a friend. After the books became so popular, it overshadowed the work he was doing with political cartoons. He was criticized for copying the styles of other illustrators, and the jokes were never good enough to stand the test of time. While Winnie the Pooh was arguably his best work, he resented that it was his legacy. Whenever anyone mentioned the books to him, he called Pooh “that silly old bear.”
In 1930, when Christopher Robin was 10-years-old, his parents decided that it was time to remove their son out of the public eye and try to give him an education. He was sent to boarding school, and his magical childhood came crashing down when all of the boys started to bully and tease him about Winnie the Pooh. Over time, he grew to hate the stories, and resented his father for exposing his real name and likeness all over the world.
He went to college at Cambridge, and he joined the army at the beginning of World War II. When he was discharged from the military, he started applying to jobs, but every single employer would recognize his name, and asked about Winnie the Pooh. Instead of hiring him based on his resume, everyone already felt that they knew him and judged him based on a fictional character. This made Christopher very angry, because he felt as though his father had robbed him of ever being known for his own accomplishments. Technically, the books made the family so rich Christopher Robin didn’t really have to work to earn a living, but he resented the legacy of Winnie the Pooh so much he refused to take any of the money that the books generated, and he wanted to work and support himself like a normal person.
When he was 27-years-old, Christopher Robin met his first cousin from his mother’s side, Lesley de Selincourt. They had never grown up together as children, because his mother, Daphne, was estranged from her family. They fell in love, and got married. We all know in modern times that that’s not a very good idea to marry your first cousin, and his mother strongly disapproved of their relationship. His father, on the other hand, just wanted him to be happy, and gave them his blessing.
After marrying Lesley, they opened up a bookstore together, and started a family. Unfortunately, their close familial DNA came back to bite them when Christopher and Lesley’s daughter Clare was born severely handicapped with cerebral palsy and kyphosis. She needed nurses to be with her 24 hours a day. This was the first time that Christopher reluctantly began accepting some money from the Pooh fortune, but he only took enough to give his daughter the best medical treatments possible. After his father died, Christopher Robin stopped visiting his mother, because their relationship was beyond repair. They never saw one another again. Even on her deathbed, she said that she did not want to see him.
Milne passed away in 1952, and Disney first bought the rights to use the Winnie the Pooh characters in the 1960s. They paid the Milne estate royalties twice each year. In 2001, they decided to make it official, and purchased the characters for a lump sum of $350 million. Since Christopher Robin refused to take any of the money for himself, all of it went to the Royal Literary Society, and The Garrick Club in London. Clare was given $44 million, which was used for her care in a treatment facility. While this sounds like a massive amount of money, Disney has made a huge return on investment. They make $2 billion every single year from Winnie the Pooh.
By the time he was in his 60s, Christopher Robin said that he could finally look at the Winnie the Pooh books without cringing. He began to make public appearances again, and donated his stuffed animals to the New York City Library, which is where they remain to this day. Christopher passed away in 1996.
There is a plaque in A.A. Milne’s honor in the Five Hundred Acre Wood, and children still travel there to see where the real Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin once played. While Winnie the Pooh may have caused some pain to the people who created him, the stories that were left behind have made children all over the world happy, and will continue to do so for generations to come.
“Has Beacon Hill copyrighted the name, Pearson-Eastman Journal?” asks Abbey in typically pointed fashion.
