A fun time working with Ms. Hicks’ fourth graders at Bohemia Elementary School in Cottage Grove, Oregon. They are A.C. Gilbert experts!
Guy Lee II
Another fun visit to Guy Lee Elementary School in Springfield, Oregon. Man, I like this place, and the kids, too!
We talked about the fabtastic A.C. Gilbert, inventor, toymaker, magician, Olympic champion…I could go on. As you know, I love questions, so here’s one for you G.L. fourth graders: What do you think the most important thing people should know about Mr. Gilbert? And, why do you think that? What’s your reason?
Also, if you have any questions about Mr. Gilbert, fire away. Click on the Comment box and write your questions there. I’ll do my best to answer them.
A.C. and Me
Asking Questions at Guy Lee
Visited my 4th grade friends in Mrs. Skoog’s class at Guy Lee Elementary today. We talked about writing and questions. Hey, I have one for you: Who was Guy Lee, and why was your school named after him? I want to know!
To see a photo of this cool class, follow the link below:
http://photos.google.com/photo/AF1QipO9-s4Fetqm5SwyDvoYu6T09bUBuQ8Gx9oUXU4w
Game Day Review
Taylor Worley, Youth Services Librarian at the Springfield (OR) Public Library recently reviewed Game Day with the Oregon Ducks. Here’s what she had to say about the book:
“Game Day with the Oregon Ducks” is a University of Oregon fan’s dream: a sneak peek into the lives of the players, coaches, staff, and volunteers that make Autzen Stadium come to life on game day. Author Robert Young presents the story from dawn to dusk, beginning with the clearing of Oregon’s morning fog and ending with the last recycling and locking of the gates. Photographer Jack Liu provides exceptional photographs from both well-known parts of the stadium and those secret rooms the public usually doesn’t see. A clean layout, balanced composition, and friendly narrative make this a good choice for children of many ages; even a precocious preschooler may sit to learn about why The Duck does push-ups so often! Fun bonus facts and trivia pepper the pages and compliment the extensive photography. While the appeal of such a title will be likely be limited to Duck’s fans, it is well worthy of their attention. “Game Day” provides an answer for a much-needed resource in local schools and libraries about this favorite team, while more seasoned fans will appreciate the nostalgia during off-season. Die-hard fans and budding enthusiasts will love this fun, informative, and endearing look into game day at Autzen Stadium. Go Ducks!
What’s More Interesting?
Okay, what’s more interesting: art made from chewing gum or a classic building toy?
That’s what these fourth graders were considering (and giving up their recesses!).
Fun times in Mr. Grassman’s class. Enjoy your Explorations!
Pleasant Hill – 4th grade
Looking forward to meeting you. I’m especially excited to hear what questions you are going to be exploring. Questions are some of my very favorite things. They are the basis for both reading and writing. If you’d care to share your questions with me, feel free to add them as Comments to this post. I’m headed to San Diego this week, but will be back in time for our visit. See you soon!
Question: What do you think these signs are about? You’ll find out!!
Pleasant Hill – 3rd grade
Yahoo, I’m headed back to one of my favorite schools, Pleasant Hill Elementary, to work with third and fourth grade classes! With third graders, we’ll be exploring how writers work and how to help each other become better writers. I’d be interested in knowing from third graders what you like most about writing and what you like least. Also, what questions do you have for me? Feel free to add them as Comments to this post.
Make sure to read the info on the For Kids section of my website. This may answer some of your questions.
Three Questions: Wayne Stuebing
Three Questions is a periodic feature of this blog. The focus is on three questions asked of everyday people involved in curious pursuits.
Wayne Stuebing is the subject of Three Questions today. Wayne is pressman, a printing press operator, who works at QSL Print Communications in Springfield, Oregon. Wayne ran the multi-colored press that printed my latest book, Game Day with the Oregon Ducks. He has worked as a pressman for 40 years.
1. How do you become a printing press operator?
It used to be that you would go to a trade school or else get hired by a printing company and work your way up. But now, trade schools don’t train in that area, and it’s a lot harder to get on with a printing company because there are a lot fewer these days.
2. What’s the future of the printing industry?
I think the industry will continue to shrink, but it won’t disappear because there will always be a need to have things printed. What will be interesting is who they’re going to have running the presses since a lot of the operators now are in their late 40s and 50s. Who’s going to replace them?
3. What are the worst and best parts of your job?
The worst part is the pressure, when jobs have to be done within a short time period. You can’t have a bad day; you have to be at your best everyday. The fulfillment is great, though, seeing the results of my work and knowing I did a good job.
Write From The Start
The first day of school is the most exciting…and the busiest day of the year. Amidst all the activity, make sure to have your students write on that first day. It will demonstrate your commitment to writing, and it will provide you with a sample of your students’ skills.
What to write? A couple prompts that have worked well for me have been: Write about something you did this summer, or something you would have liked to have done. Or: Welcome to this class. What would you like me to know about you?
After brainstorming possibilities, share your written response to one of prompts. This will establish you as a member of your classroom writing community.
Here’s my response to the first prompt:
The last few summers have involved a traveling adventure of some sort. Last summer I visited the Republic of Georgia and Turkey. The year before it was Colombia. Before that were Rwanda, Uganda, and Kenya in Africa. My son was the reason for these visits. He was exploring the world, and I traveled to meet up with him.
We had many adventures together. We hiked and biked and snorkeled. We visited museums, went on safaris, and tracked gorillas. We rafted the Nile River and got flipped into the water. Twice.
Although I stayed in Oregon this summer, I still had an adventure. It was a different kind of adventure, the kind I would rather not have had.
While staying in a hotel, I tripped over a chair in the middle of the night. It was a hard fall, and I felt a lot of pain in my rib area. The next morning the pain was still bad, so we went to Urgent Care. There they discovered I had broken ribs (five!) and a punctured lung. The lung was collapsing.
In the distance I heard an ambulance siren. It wasn’t until the paramedics came hustling in pushing a wheeled bed that I realized who the ambulance was for. Me! So, in addition to my first broken bones ever, I had my first ambulance ride this summer. The ride would have even been fun if the paramedics hadn’t been shoving things up my nose, poking into my hand and arm, and asking nonstop questions.
The emergency room at the hospital was a flow of activity. Doctors, nurses, technicians washed in and out of the room like ocean tides. I left with a plastic tube that a surgeon had cut into my side. The tube would equalize the air pressure and help my collapsed lung.
I spent the next five days at that luxurious hospital “resort.” Sure, there were some inconveniences, like when the nurse jammed a tube up my nose and then down my throat, the never-ending tests, being awakened every two hours during the night, and the person in the next room who moaned and screamed. But, the food was not bad (who was hungry?), the people generally nice, and I was able to change rooms to distance myself from “the moaner.”
I left the hospital with an appreciation of the people who work to help others, a little more knowledge about myself (especially my response to pain), and a summer plan for next year. And it won’t be anything like this year. Guaranteed.
Have a great writing year!
Eric Burdon Revisited
I’m walking along an aisle in a Medford, Oregon restaurant. In front of me, a short, older man shuffles along. His short-cropped gray hair and elf-like ears look vaguely familiar, but I pay little notice. Until I get to my seat, that is, and turn around to see that I recognize the man. It’s Eric Burdon!
Eric Burdon, frontman for the Animals, originator of War, songwriter, Hall of Fame singer. Right over there. We had seen him perform the night before, at the Britt Festival. I was with Cameron, Ava’s son. In doing some work for the Festival, he had secured a couple tickets to the show and thought of me. Nice.
Cameron knew I had a history with Eric Burdon, but he didn’t know the extent. Ever since I heard “The House of the Rising Sun” in 1964, I’ve been a follower. “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”, “It’s My Life”, “Paint It Black.” These songs spoke to me, and the way he sang them—raw, gritty—made them even more meaningful. I’ll never forget listening to “Sky Pilot” playing continuously on the jukebox in our high school cafeteria. I was a senior, the Vietnam war was raging, and I was face-to-face with the draft.
Fast-forward thirty years. I was long out of high school, and college for that matter. I was teaching, and writing too. Eric was still making music, but he had undergone some changes as well. His bands changed multiple times, and he added different types of music—funk, jazz, psychedelic—to his repertoire. He continued to tour, but was performing in smaller venues.
In 1998, when I heard he was going to play in a club near me, I called the local paper and asked if they would be doing an article about Eric and his band. They said no. When I offered to write one, they agreed.
I contacted Eric’s publicist and arranged for a phone interview. Most of the interviews I’d done previously had been in person so I was a little concerned about the phone part. What if the connection was bad? What if I didn’t set up the tape recorder correctly? More importantly, though, was what if he was evasive, patronizing, or worse—unresponsive? Simply put, what if he was a jerk?
My concerns were totally unfounded. The technical parts went smoothly. The personal part was even better. He was amiable and patient. He was gracious. We spoke for about a half hour. No rush or hurry. I asked all the questions I had planned, and threw a few more in along the way.
He talked about how a teacher had caught him drawing during class and, instead of reprimanding Eric, had helped him get into art school, which opened up a new world for him. He spoke about how he had been a “gun fanatic” when he moved to the U.S. and how living here had showed him “…what an unbelievably stupid game it is.” He admitted he was not a very good grandfather.
I enjoyed talking to Eric so much that I requested a follow-up interview when he came to town. There was no real reason to do that as my article had already been written and printed in the newspaper. I just wanted to have another conversation. Obviously, I didn’t share that information when I spoke to the publicist. She set up an interview on the day of the show.
I arrived early at the venue, when the band was doing their sound check. Eric was not there yet; he was back at the motel doing his laundry according to the bass player, Dave Meros. I hung around, watched and listened. It wasn’t long before Eric showed. Short and solid as a fireplug, he wore large sunglasses, an over-sized t-shirt, shorts, tube socks, and sneakers. Holding a classic gym bag by the handles, he could have easily been mistaken for a veteran P.E. teacher.
We talked in a back room, with a large table in the center that held snacks and drinks. Eric and I took up the seats at a corner of the table. The rest of the band filled the remaining seats. While Eric and I talked about his music, his plans, and world events, the other musicians ate, drank, joked, and laughed. Drummer Aynsley Dunbar tapped out rhythms on the table.
That was eighteen years ago. Eric Burdon was 57 years old then. Now he’s 75 and I’m standing in a Medford restaurant asking him if he’d take a picture with Cameron and I. Of course he agrees. I don’t mention the interviews long ago, just tell him I enjoyed the show last night and look forward to seeing him again. He smiles and walks off. Slowly.
