I was inspired to write Song of Fools by an article I read about Oscar Hartzell. As I read about him, I wondered about the motivations of those Iowans, Missourians, Nebraskans, and Kansans who gladly sent him money. I determined that the type of faith that caused them to send him money is also the kind of faith that is found in bedrock religion. It transcends analysis and must simply be accepted, just as those poor Depression-era Americans believed in Oscar Hartzell and the Drake fortune. But what folly to listen to and heed the songs of fools. The other songs are those which Harold sings and directs the other boys to sing. These, too, in a way are songs of fools as we are all caught in this intricate web of life, seeking meaning as we somehow muddle through. May we ultimately discover the true music of life.

As a community volunteer for several years, I have come to know many elderly people, to listen to the stories of their lives, and to witness their needs and complaints. Some are no longer with us, of course, but others soldier on, enduring lifes challenges, suffering ungrateful children, and combating an indifferent society.

One important discovery I have made is that it is elemental to listen. The listening is the best and most affirmative part of my service to the elderly. Hardly anyone actually cares what they say or what they think. It is necessary that their voices be heard. What I have tried to do in The Dying of the Light is to restore their voices.

Alexandria Hodgeman represents a composite of many people I have known, Catholic and non-Catholic, senior citizens and middle-aged. Her search for definition--for the meaning of her life--I intend as the type of search anyone ought to be pursuing, especially someone who is eighty-nine years old. Her wisdom is the concomitant of her advanced years. However, I doubt that she would permit me or anyone else to call her old. Despite the challenges of advanced years, she still thinks like a young person, remaining optimistic while searching for answers.

Alexandrias life has been lived in service to others, despite her lack of total awareness of this. She would modestly protest against anyone offering her thanks or recognition, deserved though they are. Although certainly not a model, Alexandria is intended as a positive example of what one person can do, what one person can accomplish for others while simultaneously serving her God.

Rails to Light came about as a result of my reading the book Riding the Rails. I was appalled by the teenagers experiences, and I wondered what such experiences would do to an individual. Reading about the teenagers experiences was interesting, and writing about them was exciting and invigorating. I came to know just how dangerous such a way of life was and, even though I saw the romance and the attraction, it was a time in teenagers lives which was subtracted from their childhoods. After they rode the rails, they could never return.

The impetus for Words of Truth came about when I read a newspaper article observing the fortieth anniversary of the Selma, Alabama Civil Rights march.

This was an important event in our nations history, and it touched the lives of everyone who participated. Although I was old enough to take part in the march, I wasnt involved and, in fact, paid little attention to what was going on in the South except for what I saw on the evening news. Thus, my firsthand knowledge is nil. However, I know someone who actually marched, and Andrew Youngs book and the Saturday Evening Post article are quite thorough. As has been pointed out numerous times, the marchers--not the organizers or the leaders--are the ones who actually changed history.

The impetus for The Meditation of My Heart came fifty years ago when I was awarded a scholarship to Creighton Preparatory School in Omaha, Nebraska which I attended for just over a week. For it was with some dismay that I discovered the life of the contemplative was not for me. Although Sister Mary Teracita had tried to communicate to me that a call to serve was not to be taken lightly, that it demanded rigor both intellectually and spiritually, I really didnt know what a call meant. However, my time as an altar boy and lay reader has served me over these intervening years so that today, perhaps, I do appreciate more fully the demands of a life of service in the interest of religion. While such a life is extremely personal, the contemplative also lives a life on public display, an apparent contradiction one is forced to accept. I admire anyone who can do this successfully.

I was inspired to write Song of Fools by an article I read about Oscar Hartzell. As I read about him, I wondered about the motivations of those Iowans, Missourians, Nebraskans, and Kansans who gladly sent him money. I determined that the type of faith that caused them to send him money is also the kind of faith that is found in bedrock religion. It transcends analysis and must simply be accepted, just as those poor Depression-era Americans believed in Oscar Hartzell and the Drake fortune. But what folly to listen to and heed the songs of fools. The other songs are those which Harold sings and directs the other boys to sing. These, too, in a way are songs of fools as we are all caught in this intricate web of life, seeking meaning as we somehow muddle through. May we ultimately discover the true music of life.

As a community volunteer for several years, I have come to know many elderly people, to listen to the stories of their lives, and to witness their needs and complaints. Some are no longer with us, of course, but others soldier on, enduring lifes challenges, suffering ungrateful children, and combating an indifferent society.

One important discovery I have made is that it is elemental to listen. The listening is the best and most affirmative part of my service to the elderly. Hardly anyone actually cares what they say or what they think. It is necessary that their voices be heard. What I have tried to do in The Dying of the Light is to restore their voices.

Alexandria Hodgeman represents a composite of many people I have known, Catholic and non-Catholic, senior citizens and middle-aged. Her search for definition--for the meaning of her life--I intend as the type of search anyone ought to be pursuing, especially someone who is eighty-nine years old. Her wisdom is the concomitant of her advanced years. However, I doubt that she would permit me or anyone else to call her old. Despite the challenges of advanced years, she still thinks like a young person, remaining optimistic while searching for answers.

Alexandrias life has been lived in service to others, despite her lack of total awareness of this. She would modestly protest against anyone offering her thanks or recognition, deserved though they are. Although certainly not a model, Alexandria is intended as a positive example of what one person can do, what one person can accomplish for others while simultaneously serving her God.

Rails to Light came about as a result of my reading the book Riding the Rails. I was appalled by the teenagers experiences, and I wondered what such experiences would do to an individual. Reading about the teenagers experiences was interesting, and writing about them was exciting and invigorating. I came to know just how dangerous such a way of life was and, even though I saw the romance and the attraction, it was a time in teenagers lives which was subtracted from their childhoods. After they rode the rails, they could never return.

The impetus for Words of Truth came about when I read a newspaper article observing the fortieth anniversary of the Selma, Alabama Civil Rights march.

This was an important event in our nations history, and it touched the lives of everyone who participated. Although I was old enough to take part in the march, I wasnt involved and, in fact, paid little attention to what was going on in the South except for what I saw on the evening news. Thus, my firsthand knowledge is nil. However, I know someone who actually marched, and Andrew Youngs book and the Saturday Evening Post article are quite thorough. As has been pointed out numerous times, the marchers--not the organizers or the leaders--are the ones who actually changed history.

The impetus for The Meditation of My Heart came fifty years ago when I was awarded a scholarship to Creighton Preparatory School in Omaha, Nebraska which I attended for just over a week. For it was with some dismay that I discovered the life of the contemplative was not for me. Although Sister Mary Teracita had tried to communicate to me that a call to serve was not to be taken lightly, that it demanded rigor both intellectually and spiritually, I really didnt know what a call meant. However, my time as an altar boy and lay reader has served me over these intervening years so that today, perhaps, I do appreciate more fully the demands of a life of service in the interest of religion. While such a life is extremely personal, the contemplative also lives a life on public display, an apparent contradiction one is forced to accept. I admire anyone who can do this successfully.