The “Ruby” issue of wearing the forbidden culottes in Forestburg High School had simmered and disappeared, I thought, but not really. It might be more accurate to say that the “tempest in a teapot” just went underground. It surfaced at the next school board meeting in the old gym. All five board members were present as were the superintendent and I. The administrator was Walter Brugger, the third of the three superintendents during my three years there.
Nothing was out of the ordinary as the meeting began. I had an “uh oh” moment when I saw “Ralph” and “Roseann” seat themselves off to one side. They were parents of the freshman girl who had recently defied a school dress code ruling but who had more recently capitulated in seemingly cooperative manner. There had to be a connection. Ralph was typically blunt and not at all bashful about expressing his opinions, and was obviously on the hunt. Roseann, as I knew her, was quiet and soft-spoken. Although a near neighbor as a girl, she was somewhat younger than I, and I do not recall that we had ever had a conversation. We simply traveled in different circles.
So, with Ruby’s set-to just a few days past, I quickly put two and two together to surmise that the fat would be in the fire. The superintendent knew nothing about my go-round with Ruby because I was in the habit of “skinning my own skunks” and had not informed him. I doubted that any school board member knew about the brewing broadside to be presented when visitors’ comments might be discussed. So, it was that Chairman Ray Judy turned to “Ralph” when board business was done and questioned, “Ralph, what can we do for you?”
The floodgates were open. Quickly moving to the attack, the obviously irate father lambasted an idiotic, expletive, expletive rule, which would prevent his daughter from wearing a decent, appropriate piece of clothing called a culotte. Of all the stupid rules the school board had approved! Ralph continued for a time, growing louder and more red-faced as he vented. When he finished letting the board know how he felt, he said he wanted the culotte rule changed—and changed right now! I have a clear memory that Ralph did not attack me personally, apparently realizing that I was just the enforcer, not the creator, of the offending rule.
Momentary silence reigned. I don’t recall whether Chairman Ray asked the other board members if they had any comments or whether they offered a response, but one member was in a particularly difficult spot. That member was in watermelon business with Ralph and he could see possible economic, even personal, trouble ahead. Mr. Brugger was, for all practical purposes, a bystander in the fracas. He was a new administrator, possibly not even realizing culottes existed in rulebook discussion and, as stated, not a participant in the Thomas/Ruby squabble. But Supt. Brugger had the presence of mind to suggest to the chairman that they had best discuss this sudden dust-up in executive session. Agreeing, the five board members, the superintendent and I adjourned to an upstairs classroom.
Chairman Ray turned to me for an explanation. I informed them that hidden in the written rules governing school activities was a probably undiscovered rule (to them) against girls wearing the verboten garment called a culotte. I said that at some unremembered time in the past, they or their predecessors had adopted such a rule. Whether it was a good rule or a bad rule, I had no opinion, and I had nothing to do with its coming into existence. What I did know was that they had hired me to enforce their rules when necessary, and one of those times had just recently occurred. They went back and forth about the merits of such a ruling and whether maybe they ought to change it. The melon-business partner was especially nervous, knowing well the volatile nature of his friend. The school board was wavering, recalling the heated indignation of their patron and neighbor.
Being a relative bystander to most of the discussion, but seeing its tenuous nature, I realized the likelihood of the board capitulating in order to keep the peace. But I could also see the far-reaching effect of yielding at a point of pressure, especially over a very small issue. I spoke to the board in this vein, “I don’t care whether that rule is in the dress code or not. Culottes are ok with me, but because you say in your approved rules that they are out, they are out with me. I’m here to enforce your rules. If you yield to any angry parent and change in the middle of the year a regulation you have already approved, there is no telling who the next angry parent will be demanding a concession from you. If you don’t back me up when I enforce our rules, then tomorrow morning, get another principal. I’m out of here. If you want to change the culotte rule before next school year, fine, but not just because any angry parent demands it in the middle of the year.”
Seeing the logic of my contention, the board agreed to maintain the dress code for the present time and when back in session, the chairman reported its position to Ralph and Roseann. Meeting adjourned. Roseann had not spoken. I have occasionally wondered what the interaction at home had been preceding the scene in the boardroom. But perhaps now for the parents, the matter was closed. I thought so, at least until a day or two later.
To be concluded.

Defending Jacob
By William Landay
I gave this book an easy five stars on Goodreads. I did read this one cover-to-cover, could not put it down and wished there were more pages. Maybe it had just been too long since I read a good novel, who knows?
This is the story of an average, everyday suburban family. Or so they think they are until a 14-year-old boy who is in the same class as their withdrawn, loner teenage son is stabbed to death in a park on his way to school.
The dad, who happens to be the assistant DA working on the case, is shocked when he finds out his colleagues are investigating his son on the sly, but not everyone who knows Jacob is so surprised. The kid is a tad odd, but he’s 14. That’s normal… right?
I don’t want to give too much away. I enjoyed this one immensely. Read it, you won’t be sorry.

Lost in Shangri-la
By Mitchell Zuckoff
I’m a sucker for history, whether it’s a good historical fiction or a well-written, completely true story. This one is the latter.
This story uncovers a piece of World War II that doesn’t involve Nazis or Japs, or really much of anything about the war. It’s about a plane crash in the heart of New Guinea and the survivors’ ordeal as they climbed out of the jungle.
I didn’t even really know there was a military base on New Guinea. I mean, if I did, it probably fell into one of those “I don’t need to remember that right now” categories. (There’s a limited amount of available RAM in this brain of mine.)
The crazy thing that actually led to this crash is the fact that, although we (the US) operated and occupied a military base on the island of New Guinea, we knew practically nothing about the land we were using. There were plenty of horror stories of tribes of barbarous cannibals and that, obviously a guess at best, is the only intelligence they had.
One day a pilot flying over the island takes a shortcut and accidentally discovers a vast valley amidst the craggy and jungle-choked mountains. From that point on “Shangri-la” is famous to the personnel on the base. The valley itself is amazing, but the communities of people – homes, fields, livestock – are the real draw. Here they were, stationed on this island and neither they, nor the US Government, had a clue what or who occupied the rest of it.
One Sunday afternoon a pilot takes a group of base personnel, men and women, on a pleasure cruise up to view the valley, and don’t return.
This story is one of survival under some pretty terrible circumstances in a very rough and unforgiving place. It gets a little slow far into the book, but by that time I was too hooked to give up, plus I was in Honduras at the time and didn’t have another book with me to start on.

Dark Places
By Gillian Flynn
I just finished this a few nights ago and I immediately went to Goodreads to give it five stars. I wanted more pages, but I guess I’ll settle for Flynn’s, “Sharp Objects,” which was actually written before this one and her biggest hit, “Gone Girl.”
If you read or saw “Gone Girl” and liked it, then you’ll like this one. Flynn’s style of writing is so addicting and real, and her stories so full of twists, I have to say, I’m a fan.
This one centers on a main character who, in herself, brought out a twist of emotions. She is one for whom you at the same time feel sympathy and utter disdain.
Libby is the remaining member of her family: her father is estranged, a drunk, lowlife mooch; her sisters and mother were killed in their Kansas farmhouse when she was seven – a murder labeled the The Satan Sacrifice; and her brother is in prison.
After spending 25 years still hiding from that terrible night, out of money and lacking job skills, sound mind and ambition, Libby runs across a club obsessed with her family’s murders that is willing to pay for information – information that Libby must now confront.

Easter – The resurrection of Christ changed the midnight of bereavement into a sunrise of reunion; it changed the midnight of disappointment into a sunrise of joy; it changed the midnight of fear to a sunrise of peace.” – The Rev. Billy Graham
“Nearer, My God, to Thee” apparently was more than just the name of a famous Christian hymn to Father Miller.
As the priest of the small Episcopal church where our family worshiped, Father Miller’s high energy level produced an ever-expanding list of how to improve the church, attendance and our lives.
One year, he decided that the sunrise Easter service would be held atop Medicine Butte, a tall landmark in Lyman County then noted as much for TV towers as for its natural beauty and prominence.
Father Miller’s announcement wasn’t received as the best idea he had ever conceived, but no resistance was forthcoming from the congregation, and so at dawn on that Easter Sunday in the 1960s, Father Miller stood bravely against a gusty and cold north wind, pulled out his sermon and began reading his text:
“If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above. . .”
With those words, the wind gusted strongly, lifted the stole he wore over his shoulders and wrapped it around his nose and eyes.
He flailed at the tangled garment, finally grasping it with one hand while holding onto his sermon with the other.
As he continued, I found it hard to concentrate on the service, on this holiest day of the church calendar. Why were we freezing to death high above ground level when we could be in a nice, warm pew at church?
“The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre and seeth the stone taken away . . . .”
With those words, the wind whistled fiercely, growing to gale force, flipping the pages of Father Miller’s handheld sermon like a casino dealer shuffling cards. Suddenly, his entire vestment billowed up, as though he was walking over a large fan. When he attempted to pull it down, his sermon slipped from his hand and the pages fluttered on the wind to the pasture below.
Undaunted, Father Miller freelanced the remainder of sermon and moved on to the next part of the service.
On the way home, I reflected on what our pastor had tried to accomplish. Was the outdoor ceremony supposed to remind us of the resurrection setting of Jesus?
Many will attend church this Easter Sunday. May your service be as unforgettable as mine was, leaving an indelible memory more than 50 years later.