(First Place, Essay Division, 1946, Butler University Literary Contest)
The most unforgettable character I\u27ve met was my stepfather. In general stepfathers aren\u27t very popular with their stepchildren, but he was an exception in this respect as he was in so many others

Craig, David

English

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The Most Unforgettable Character I've MetDAVID CRAIG(First Place, Essay Division, 1946, ButlerUniversity Literary Contest)The most unforgettable character I'vemet was my stepfather. In general step-fathers aren't very popular with theirstepchildren, but he was an exception inthis respect as he was in so many others.I was eleven and my brother thirteenwhen G. J. married Mother. He hadinsured himself of a cordial reception fromus previously by taking us to footballgames, the circus, the Zoo in Cincinnati,Wyandotte cave, up the Ohio on a steam-boat, and to various other points ofinterest. My Mother never accompaniedus on these trips. As I look back on it,I think she was applying the acid test to abachelor, but he came through uncorroded.My brother and I were mercenaryrats. We could see that the annexation ofa stepfather was going to improve thefamily fortunes enormously. I was daz-zled by the fact that he gave me a micro-scope and one hundred pennies for mybirthday, and my brother Bob confided tome that he thought a stepfather might beable to buy us bicycles. Added to thatwas the fact that he was such a genialperson and so much fun to have around.We tried to pump Mother to find out whatshe was going to do and were relievedwhen she said that she would be glad tohave a husband if we were willing to havea stepfather. She lectured to us about ourduties, but her talk went in one ear andout the other.When G. J. first assumed his role asstepfather, he presented Bob and me witha radio for our bedrooms. I realize nowthat he did So because the only radio wehad was in the living room and he didn'tcare for our taste in radio programs whichincluded Buck Rogers, The Lone Rangerand Fu Manchu, but at the time we didn'tsee through him and thought he was across between a god and a millionaire. Itwas characteristic of my foxy stepfatherthat he managed us without ever lettingus see his technique.He was a great stickler for manners.On the hottest night he always put on acoat for dinner and expected us to do thesame. Our respect for him was so greatthat we conformed without complainingbut frequently slipped up in other ways.One night my brother sat down to dinnerwith a girl's green beanie on his head.My mother who is absent minded didn'tnotice it, but nothing escaped G. J. Withhis usual courtliness he excused himself,left the table, and came back wearing oneof Mother's turbans, edged with pink andblue plumes. Nothing was said, butMother caught on, excused herself for amoment, and came back wearing G. J.'shomburg. Still nothing was said. I gotup, imitating G. J. as closely as I could,and came back wearing a feminine off-the-face job in pink grosgrain. We ate insilence until the cook opened the swingingdoor into the dining room and gasped. Shethrew her apron over her head andmuttered, "Craziest fambly ah evah worked. f'o'." Bob never wore a hat to dinneragain.Dinner always was fun with G. J. atthe table. He taught us never to hit himup for anything before dinner and,7explained that he felt: more generous ona full stomach than an empty one. Itbecame a rule that we were not to discussproblems or tell disagreeable occurrancesduring the dinner hour, but to make it apleasant family occasion. He saw eye toeye with Bob and me about food. To ourjoy and delight he hated green vegetables.We had been brought up on spinach andcarrots. While we didn't particularly likethem, we. had learned not to questionMother's judgement in such things. Shealways would put the blame on Dr. Segarwhose word had. been law in Our house-hold as long as we could remember. G. J.just didn't know about Dr. Segar. Thefirst night the spinach ring with dicedcarrots in the middle went around thetable, he politely took a spoonful butdidn't eat it. Mother noticed it at onceand asked him to tell her what vegetableshe liked."Noodles," said G. J. cheerfully."Noodles isn't a vegetable," saidMother."Well, then, spuds, and beans. in thecan.";'But Gilbert, I mean green veget-ables,' said mother, "the kind with vitam-ins in them.""My dear," he said solemnly, "I don'tlike any of them. I don't know how theymake them so nawsty, and I take myvitamins in a pill."Bob and I went into a fit of thegiggles as liberation from spinach cameinto sight. Then the dessert was served.It was something wholesome with fruitin it and G. J. looked at it suspiciously."Can't we have pie'?" he askedplaintively."We had pie last night, mother saidfirmly. "You can't eat pie every night.""You never tried me, my dear," heobserved. "I eat pie every noon for lunch.""Not from that awful pie wagon thatcomes around the factory?" exclaimedMother."I can see that you don't understandpie," lectured G. J. "You see, some pie isbetter than other pie, but there is no suchthing as bad pie."After that we had fewer .green veget-ables and more pie for dinner, and G. J.'sprestige rose higher in our estimation. Hewas more powerful than Dr. Segar.Thrift was one of my stepfather's out-standing traits. While generous enoughwith other people he never spent a nickelon himself unless it was strictly unavoid-able. He bought his stocks and bondsfrom Thomas Sheerin, but his shirts andsocks from Sablosky's. He still had thesame bedroom slippers and bathing suithe had in college a good thirtY-five yearsago. Mother had been married to him ayear before she found out that the studsin his dress shirt 'came from the five andten cent store. She had a fit, of course,but he was urbane and undistUrbed."My dear, if it took you a year to findout where I buy my studs, how do youexpect the public to know?"He wore his shirts until they fell intoa fine powder, and all of his ties wereantiques. The first Father's Day we Spentwith him we decided to fix him up withsome new clothes. We bought shirts andties, slippers and a bathrobe. When heunwrapped the packages he was greatlypleased. He looked at us with tWinklingbrown eyes and said, "1 say, old tops,being a father isn't half as repulsive as itlooks."He carefully put the new clothes awayin a drawer and they never would havebeen seen again except for a certainincident. One night my brother noticedthat G. J.'s shirt was taking leave of hiscollar band.8-"Where are those new shirts webought for you?""I'm saving them for an occasion.""Come on, Dave, let's tear off hisshirt," cried Bob..My stepfather would have put up abattle but he had a little difficulty with hisheart. He clamped his hand over theoffending ticker and said, "Boys! My heart,my heart!""Take it easy, G. J.," said Bob. "A newshirt won't hurt your heart' a bit."With that we ripped off his raggedshirt and left him sitting on the davenportin his under-shirt. I chased upstairs andbrought down some of the Father's Daygifts and we dressed him while he laugheduntil the tears came into his eyes.On the days when I played football atPark School, my stepfather always cameout to watch. He would sit on the bleacherschatting with the other fathers and havea whale of a good time as usual. He lovedpeople, knew everybody, and talked a bluestreak. Nobody could get a word in edge-wise while G. J. was around. One of thefunniest stories that still circulates aboutmy stepfather harks back to a time yearsbefore I knew him. He was walkingdown the street with Meredith Nicholsonand James Whitcomb Riley. G. J. wasdoing all the talking as usual regardlessof the fame of his companions. When heturned into the University Club and leftthem, Mr. Riley said reflectively to Mr.Nicholson,"Reticent chap, isn't he?"Although my stepfather had built upa successful business of his own, he hatedwork and was a very indolent person. Heoften referred to the business man as thelowest type of animal life. He would havepreferred to be a doctor or a teacher likehis famous father before him, but afterhis graduation from Amherst he felt thathe had to make money instead. of waitingto learn a profession. This he did bysaving every nickel and hiring smartpeople to work for him while he enjoyedhimself as much as possbile. He wasnever irresponsible, always there whenyou needed him, but was a hedonist atheart and a great party hound.Every now and then he would get anattack of civic conscience and accept someoffice to prom.ote the community's culture.Once he was president of the IndianapolisSymphony Orchestra which was a big jokein our house because we knew his taste inmusic ran to bagpipes. He had a finecollection of records by the Perth and Dis-trict prize pipe band, and once confided tome that the world would have been abetter place to live in if Beethoven,Brahms and Bach had never been born.Nevertheless, we all went to the symphonyconcerts regularly, Bob and I wearing ourblue serge suits and starched white shirts.G. J. was happy if the orchestra playedCarmen or the Nutcracker suite, butsnoozed peacefully through Bach's Brand-enburg Concerto. Bob and I admired hisindependence tremendously. Mother wouldhave pinched us if we had slept throughBach.Five years ago my stepfather's hearttrouble caught up with him. We had yearsof happiness with him and only one hourof horror. He died talking a blue streak,well aware of what was happening, andtelling us all what to do. It was a shatter-ing shock for our family, but the best wayfor G. J. to go. He would have made arotten invalid. Although he was a uniqueperson who never can be replaced, he isnot the type you remember with grief,but with pleasure. When his name comesup in any group, people begin to smile.Each one has a funny story to tell, atypical saying to repeat. He still makes-9-\people laugh. We think: of him as alive andquote his opinions which influences us asmuch as they ever did.When I came back from France I didnot want to go back to college. I wantedto go to work. But to save my life Icouldn't get away from the whimsicalcountenance of my stepfather. I could seehim look me up and down with bristlingeyebrows lifted, and hear him say in hisdry, droll ,manner,"Dave, my son, you have a strongback but a weak mind."Three Moods From ChildhoodEDNA HINTON(Honorable Mention, Butler Literary Contest, Poetry Division)1.It's like spring freshets laughing at the feetWhich wince at winter's last remaining chillIn streams she used to brave too soon; and stillIt's like the pounding of the summer heatWhich is forecast in warm but heavy beatThrough leaves not large enough just yet to fillThe speckled shade. It's like the distant trillOf birds. It's coaxing, gentle, hushed, and sweet,But bubbles, wells and surges up insideUntil it can't be stopped. She has to burstWith gaiety, or run up hills, confideIn nature as she always did since firstShe can remember. There were times she wouldJust look straight up and laugh-she felt so good.2.The keen eyes of the mist might have beheldA young girl sitting tensely on the crestOf Fern Hill, in the dusk. Her stubborn chestThrust stiffly at attention, lips compelledInto a line and fists tight clenched rebelledTo hear that voice which sought so to divestHer of her freedom, or to end her questOf pleasure when the day's best moments welledAround her. Wont - Won't -- W-O-N-'-T screamed throughHer body as she ran now, hoping thatThe whistling wind would hush her mother's voiceThat still called in persistent anguish, trueAnd clear - persistent - forceful - till she satExhausted, angry, scared, - to make her choice.3.She lay upon the quilted spread, and pokedthe little patterns absently, scarce seeingwhat they were because they blurred like kittens10-

The Most Unforgettable Character I\u27ve Met

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The Most Unforgettable Character I\u27ve Met

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