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Ghost on Laurel Mountain (PA)

beanerywriters — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 01:35:47 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

GHOST ON LAUREL MOUNTAIN (PA)

Diana Hunt

The greatest Allegheny County scandal at the start of the 20^th century involved a woman connected to Laughlintown, Pennsylvania, three and a half miles east of Ligonier.

On April 12, 1901, an attempted burglary and a murder were committed in a store and the adjoining home of Thomas Kahney, in Mt. Washington, a part of Pittsburgh overlooking the city from high atop the hills. The crime was committed by the Biddle Boys and their gang, the Chloroform gang.

Mr. Kahney was fatally shot in the head by one of the gang members. It was this awful mistake during the robber that landed brothers Ed and Jack Biddle in the Allegheny County jail, to end their miserable lives once and for all. It is also where our story really begins.

Well, let’s see…about two years earlier a house was built in Laughlintown, a handsome stone home with a maid’s quarters, old-fashioned fish pond, and in-ground pool—quite fashionable for its time. It was built by Pete and Kate Soffel as a place to take their children, including Kate, to escape smoggy Pittsburgh.

Kate had heard about the famed Biddle Boys, who had had their trial and were sentenced to Death Row. It was easy for her to visit them, since she had open access to the jail due to her father’s position—deputy warden of the jail.

She had rooms there. As a matter of fact, she was known as the “Queen of the Jail.”

It wasn’t long before Kate was making Ed treats and bringing him reading material, including the Bible. Soon his charms won her over.

Little did she know that her husband had filed for divorce. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Kate was in love and with a doomed man. Ed gave her all the attention and affection a young wife needed and didn’t get from a pre-occupied husband. Ed made her feel passionate again, and alive, in a place where life had ceased in so many ways.

By November, 1901, escape plans were begun.

Kate brought saw blades to Ed between the pages of the Bible. She brought him black wax and chewing gum, used to reaffix the bars after they’d been cut in preparation for the time of escape.

On the morning of the escape, Thursday, January 30, 1902, Kate lightly chloroformed her husband Pete so he could not answer the alarms. During the scuffles and fights between the guards and the Biddles, Kate was not really sure whether to stay or go with them. Ultimately, she left with the brothers.

We really don’t know the truth about the rest of that day until they stole a horse and sleigh in Perrysville at 1:00 a. m. At 7:00 a. m they stopped for breakfast at a country hotel in Cooperstown, 38 miles north of Pittsburgh. By that time, an armed posse was already after them. It consisted of two sleighs, one from Pittsburgh, the other from Butler.

At lunchtime, Kate, Ed and Jack ate at a hotel in Mt. Chestnut Hotel. Then, while traveling northwest towards Prospect, they met the posse at the crest of a hill.

It was about 5:00 p.m.

Ed gave the reins to Kate and fired the first shot. Then all the men were firing their guns. The posse shot Ed twice and Jack fifteen times, and one of their horses was killed The lawmen, miraculously, were unharmed.

The Biddle Boys and Kate tried to fulfill a suicide pact before they were caught, but they botched that. Jack shot himself twice in the mouth. Ed shot himself in the chest, and either he shot Kate, or she shot herself.

The brothers didn’t die until that Friday evening. Before Ed died, he admitted to Kate that he loved no one in his life but his mother. Because Kate was significantly older than Ed, he may have seen her as a mother substitute. Should Kate have seen that coming?

On Saturday the bodies of the Biddle Boys were exhibited for two hours. A crowd of about four thousand people gathered to view them. They are buried in a single grave in a Pittsburgh cemetery.

Kate healed from her gunshot wound, pled guilty to aiding and abetting the escape, and was sentenced to two years in Western Penitentiary. After she was released early for good behavior, she tried to capitalize on her infamous name by recreating her story in a play called “They Died For Liberty.” Later, she tried to hide from the notoriety by using her maiden name. Alone and humiliated, her children gone, she supported herself as a seamstress.

Ed had filled her head and heart with empty promises wrapped in nothing, and now even he was gone. She’d given him everything, even a last hope for a chance at a new life.

Pete resigned his position as warden of Allegheny County Jail and took the children to Ohio, where he remarried.

FOOTNOTE: My parents purchased the house on Laurel Mountain near Washington Furnace Restaurant. I lived there between 1973 and 1979. One night I saw a misty human shape that whirled and turned, and moved from the dining room to the living room, then through the open French doors, before it disappeared. My dog was also alert at this time. Could this be Kate’s ghost, revisiting a spot of joy in her life?

ADDITIONAL READING

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

SADIE

Interviewing Casper the Friendly Ghost

True Love

And the only case in American history where the verdict was decided on the testimony of a ghost…

KILLED STRANGELY: A NEW ENGLAND MURDER STORY

Apologize to a Vet

beanerywriters — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 01:37:31 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

APOLOGIZE TO A VET
Joe F. Stierheim

     Last year I attended a meeting on Veterans’ Day. Before the meeting started, one of the attendees came up to me, hand extended in friendship. “Thank you,” she said.
     “For what?” I asked, genuinely confused.
     “You’re a veteran, aren’t you? Veterans are supposed to be thanked on Veterans’ Day.”
     It wasn’t until after the end of the meeting—after I had had a chance to get my thoughts in order—that I talked to my friend a second time.
     “I appreciate you doing what you thought you should,” I said, “but next Veterans’ Day, don’t thank me or any other veteran. Instead, offer your apology to them.”
     I am a veteran of the Korean War. That’s not really true because I never saw action. I was still in basic training when the peace treaty was signed. But I did want to see action; that was why I volunteered to be drafted. I was young and idealistic at the time and to me the war was a landmark in the history of the world. It was the first time that the nations of the world had stood united to withstand aggression. Had that been the norm in prior times, I felt, much bloodshed and suffering could have been prevented. I wanted to do my part in ushering in a new era that would surely bring peace to the world.
     It was not until years later that I gained another perspective on the Korean War. I learned that the war had been brought on by a series of acts by colonialism that had begun long before. The events that led up to it were the result of oppression of a people. That was when the prevention of the war should have taken place—in the time of peace.
     Finding those facts out was the beginning of a new understanding for me. I was brought up to believe that America fought always on the side of right and justice. It took some time to correct that belief. All our wars, even those that we felt were necessary to “end all war”, could have and should have been avoided. Some began as a result of mistakes or errors of judgment and some were brought on by lies told to the American people. But all were avoidable. And those who served in those wars did so unnecessarily. Those who died or were wounded suffered unnecessarily as did and do their families.
And who was responsible for those injuries? It is convenient to put the blame on another group of people whom we do not know and certainly do not understand. But that lack of knowledge and understanding is simply another avoidable cause for war. We are a democracy, with government of the people and by the people. If we, the people, were not responsible for those wars, then who?
     It should be up to us to at least accept that responsibility it is not for peace that wars are fought. War cannot bring peace. War is not something to be proud of or be thankful for.

This Veterans Day, apologize to a vet.

ADDITIONAL READING:

The Battle for Peace: A Book Review

THOUGHTS ON PEACE

PAST CARING

AT FORT LIGONIER: Excerpt from book, WARPATH

Destination: Ligonier (PA)

FLIGHT 93 CRASH SITE MEMORIAL

ANNOUNCEMENTS FOR WRITERS: NOVEMBER 1, 2009

beanerywriters — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 04:38:04 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

ANNOUNCEMENTS FOR WRITERS: NOVEMBER 1, 2009

This is excerpted from the November 2009 issue of the Beanery Writers Newsletter. To -subscribe to this newsletter send an E-mail to beanerywriters@yahoo.com (to insure the E-mail is opened, please type “Beanery Newsletter” in the subject line).

UPDATE ON BEANERY WRITERS GROUP MEMBER

Bob Sanzi experienced a severe heart attack October 9. Kern, an inactive member of the Beanery Writers Group, E-mailed this update:

Today Vic & I…found a vibrant and alive Bob Sanzi…(who) had his IV removed…(and) walked, no almost ran, down the hall to show us a view of the city, and told us how interesting it looked at morning’s break…He seems better than normal!…he might be going to Latrobe for Rehab…(we) think he is doing great, when he was seemly gone a few moments ago…He can receive e-mails but can’t send them…tell him how much you care and tell him to EAT AND LISTEN TO THE NURSES!!!! (if you do not have Bob’s E-mail address, “good wishes” can be sent to him in care of beanerywriters@yahoo.com . Be sure to type “Bob” in the subject line.)

Kern, active contributor to the Beanery Online Literary Magazine

AUTHOR BOOKSIGNINGS/READINGS

Book Signing:

“BROKEN PLACES”: A Poetical Journey

Natalee Russo

November 21, 2009 (Saturday)

7:00 p.m.

Greensburg Barnes & Noble

For further information visit www.BROKENPLACESPOETICA.com

WRITERS EVENTS

LIGONIER VALLEY WRITERS GROUP

ANNUAL CHRISTMAS PARTY

December 6, 2009

St. Michael’s Church (Rector, PA)

3-5 p.m.

++++++++++++

THE 2010 PENNWRITERS CONFERENCE
May 14-16, 2010
Best Western Eden Resort, Lancaster, PA
FRIDAY KEYNOTE: Best-selling adventure thriller author James Rollins (HarperCollins)
SATURDAY KEYNOTE: Children’s author and Pennwriters member Elizabeth Kann (HarperCollins)
PLUS
• agent/editor pitch appointments
• 30-plus 1-hour workshops on writing, marketing, and selling
• all-day intensive writing classes the day before the conference
• read and critiques with agents, editors, and published authors
• genre networking lunch
• writing contests in poetry, article, and novel beginnings

Sneak Peek!!! David Pomerico, editorial assistant at Spectra (Bantam Dell/Random House) has agreed to attend the 2010 Pennwriters Conference.
http://www.randomhouse.com/bantamdell/spectra/

Miriam Kriss from the Irene Goodman Literary Agency. Miriam is actively building her list. If you’re writing commercial fiction—anything from mysteries to urban fantasies to romance—you’ll want to check her out. http://www.irenegoodman.com/about.php

+++++++++++++

ALL-DAY WORKSHOP featuring Debra Dixon

Crown Plaza: Pittsburgh Airport Hotel

September 25, 2010

Debra Dixon is author of Goal, Motivation and Conflict: The Building Blocks of Good Fiction. Details will be posted here as they become available.

++++++++++++

CONTEST TO BE AWARE OF

The Young Voices Foundation

A 501(c)3 educational organization

http://www.youngvoicesfoundation.org/writingcontests.html

For writers guidelines, click on:

http://www.youngvoicesawards.com/distinguishedjudges.html

Ellen Spain, Ph.D., M. A., Coordinator, Pittsburgh East Writers, will be a Judge for the Young Voices Foundation’s 2009 awards.

Visit her website: www.ellenspain.com or Email: DuckIslandMaine@aol.com

WRITING LINKS:

www.beanerywriters.wordpress.com/

www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com

www.barbarapurbaugh.com

www.ellenspain.com

ADDITIONAL READING ON WRITING:

HOW THE BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE WAS CREATED

HOW TO MARKET YOUR BOOK ONLINE

INTEGRITY: A JOURNALISTIC CODE OF ETHICS REVIEW

JOURNALISM QUESTION

JOURNALIST ETHICS CONCERNING THE RECEIPT OF GIFTS

THE LIGONIER 250TH ANNIVERSARY BOOKLET

MORALITY IN WRITING

REFLECTING ON MY WRITING LIFE IN 2008

Interviewing Casper the Friendly Ghost

beanerywriters — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 03:12:18 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

INTERVIEWING CASPER THE FRIENDLY GHOST

Joanne et al

During our October Beanery Writers Group meeting, several Halloween prompts were given out. One was: You are the star reporter for Halloween Headline, and you’ve just landed an interview with Casper the Friendly Ghost. Write out 20 questions to ask during the interview. Responses from members of the group are below.

Do you eat? If so, where does the food go?

Do you have parents? Do ghosts beget ghosts or were you human at one time?

I have to ask—are you a boy?

Why are you friendly?

Are you on Prozac? Who is your shrink?

Do you have medical insurance?

Will you grow up?

How do you drive your ghostmobile? Does it have foot pedals?

Are you photophobic?

How do camera flashes or lightning flashes effect you?

Any reader who would like to add questions to this list, please do so in the comment box below.

If Casper the Ghost is out there, perhaps s/he would be willing to answer any or all of the questions above in the comment box below.

ADDITIONAL READING:

Halloween Night

True Love

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END

Ghostly white pumpkins of the Lunar variety

A Jack-O-Lantern Interview

Halloween Night

beanerywriters — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 02:34:47 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

HALLOWEEN NIGHT

Kathleen Clark

Hey, there, Halloween eyes

master of disguise

lurking around in the dark

giving my heart a jump-start!

Darkness unfurls like Dracula’s cape

swirling around the mustard moon

soon…very soon…

the living dead will escape…

Gliding across misty fields, lurking down inky alleys

little ghouls and goblins

slink on cat feet, ring doorbells on pumpkin-lit porches

then RUN SCREAMING…

It’s a devilishly scary night

so slip inside and revel in the fright

of cobwebbed corners, flickering lights

blood-curdling screams!!!

Shiver with delight as you sit

cross-legged with flashlight

reading ghostly, sanguine tales

of horror and doom.

ADDITIONAL READING:

True Love

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END

Ghostly white pumpkins of the Lunar variety

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

True Love

beanerywriters — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 03:05:29 +0000

True Love

Ed Kelemen

“John, you moron,” she continued, “I told you that we should’ve evacuated with the rest of the neighbors. But, ohh-noooo, you had a better idea. You wanted to ride out the storm.”

OK, he admitted to himself, he might have made a mistake. But just then wasn’t the time to dwell on it. It was damn cold and wet up on the roof of the mobile home that was threatening to give in to the floodwaters any time.

Why wouldn’t she just shut up?

She went on, “You saw a chance to make some money out of the flood. Yeah, right.”

She clutched that damn scraggly-ass alley cat to her overflowing bosom and went on, “How much did you think you could make robbing a trailer court?”

“Listen Mary, it was a no-brainer. I gathered up all the jewelry, valuables, guns, and whatnot from all the other mobile homes and cut all their tie downs so that they’d drift away in two lousy feet of water.”

The cat yawned, blinked his bilious yellow eyes, and made a yowling sound.

She went on, “See, your stupidity has even made Mr. Snugglebum unhappy.”

The rain beat down, and the wind howled and even his underwear was soaked. He thought about giving Mr. Snugglebum a swimming lesson.

She went on, “I guess you expected to find the crown jewels of England in a trailer at Happy Dale Trailer Estates.”

“Mobile homes, Mary. They’re called mobile homes,” he muttered.

She went on, “If you can put wheels on it, it’s a trailer. I never shoulda hooked up with a loser like you.”

Mr. Snugglebum showed his agreement with Mary by directing a yellow-fanged smile in his direction. He wondered how far Mary could swim through eight feet of storm-driven floodwater.

She went on, “You are a loser, you know. Nothing you have ever tried has worked out. You haven’t had one good idea since we got married. If it wasn’t for me and my disability check, you’d be out in the cold.”

He thought about some hot soup, hot coffee and hot sausage sandwiches and hoped she hadn’t heard herself.

No such luck.

“Out in the cold. Out In The Cold! OUT IN THE COLD! Where in the hell are we up on this goddamn roof in the middle of a hurricane if it isn’t out in the cold?” she wanted to know.

She went on, “And it’s all your damn fault, you stupid ignoramus, you.”

She pushed Mr. Snugglebum down in her voluminous breast region so that he’d be warm. All that was visible of him was his happy contented face poking up from between those two monstrous melons of warmth. He sent another snaggle toothed smile John’s way.

He thought how comfortable he could be in the cat’s place. It wasn’t going to happen.

They’d been up on this roof for six hours. The sun had long ago deserted the sky, along with any rescue choppers.

It looked to be a long night.

She went on, “You know. I coulda married Cletus. At least he has a truck. He works for a living. He wouldn’t have me stranded on top of a piece of crap like this. He woulda took me places.”

John thought of one place he’d like to see Mary go to. It was as cold and wet as the roof, but the water was deeper.

The water must’ve gotten to the transformers. The last street light had gone out. At least he didn’t have to look at her doughy little face with the raisin eyes and nostrils. He bought her the goddamn teeth, why wouldn’t she wear them?

She went on. ”Yeah, Cletus woulda at least bought me a double-wide. And we woulda probably been on our own lot, too. Not stuck in some swampland trailer court.”

She got up and stood over him like a harbinger of doom, her fists resting on her pannier-like hips. While he could barely make out her features, he had no problem locating the malevolent yellow glow of Mr. Snugglebum’s eyes peering from under the ruffles of her ludicrous tank top.

Rising to his feet to be on an even level with her, he thought that, just as some women shouldn’t wear stretch pants, he was married to one who should never wear a tank top. Even if she could find one that fit.

She went on, and on, and on, punctuating each and every insult, complaint, and nasty remark by poking him in the shoulder with her right index finger.

“Mary, don’t poke me,” he said evenly over the sound of the rain.

“Don’t poke you? What are you gonna do about it big guy?” She punctuated this with an even harder poke to his shoulder. Mr. Snugglebum gave his approval of her actions with a yawning yowl, exposing his bilious fangs.

The sight of that comfortable, warm, snug, smug cat ensconced in Mary’s ample bosom was more that John could stand. He lashed out and struck back, pushing Mary with all his might on both of her shoulders. It was just an uncontrollable impulse on his part. But the consequences…

Mary stumbled back, teetering on the edge of the roof, all the while directing every invective in her vast repertoire straight at John. He even reached out to help her, but he couldn’t.

A screaming, spitting ball of fur, fangs and claws exploded from her tank top, pushing with all its might to escape her now precarious position. Using one of Mary’s huge breasts as a launching platform, Mr. Snugglebum leapt onto John’s face and stapled himself there for a quick moment. He then scrabbled up and over John’s face. His push on the back of John’s head was just enough to destroy what little balance John was maintaining and John fell onto Mary. The pair of them disappeared into the swirling flood waters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, the water had receded and the rescue teams were combing the neighborhood for survivors.

The corporeal remains of John and Mary were found snagged in the hawthorn tree at the corner of the street.

“Ah Charlie. Look at this. These two loved each other so much that they are hugging each other, even in death.”

Charlie replied, “Just bag and tag ‘em. Don’t get sentimental, it’ll drive you crazy.”

As one rescuer disentangled the bodies from each other and the tree, he was distracted by a plaintive cry for help. Charlie searched out its source and then said to his team mates, “You guys get them into the body bags. I’ll go get that poor starving kitty up on that trailer roof.”

ADDITIONAL READING:

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END

Living with OCD

ALWAYS IN THREES

Grandparents, homemade cookies, & licking cream off milkcaps

Should your cat be kept indoors or outdoors?

Nicole

G-20 Poem

AT FORT LIGONIER: Excerpt from book, WARPATH

G-20 Poem

beanerywriters — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:22:38 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

G-20 POEM

Kathleen Clark

Oh, the G-20.

My thoughts for a penny!

Here come the troopers

Those party poopers!

We were just hangin’ around

Not makin’ a sound

All peaceful and quiet like

Still we got a strike!

Just lettin’ our banner speak for us

So really – - – what’s all the fuss?

(Then there were all the others who really proved nothing by breaking windows & causing havoc – to the tune of $50,000)

ADDITIONAL READING:

Living with OCD

THE ART OF THE INTERVIEW: Things Writers Should Know

BOOKALICIOUS!

Can You Write Your Memoir in Six Words?

DEVELOPING CHARACTERS IN NOVEL WRITING

BEANERY WRITERS NEWSLETTER Vol. 2 Issue 8 October 1, 2009

beanerywriters — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 01:12:14 +0000

BEANERY WRITERS NEWSLETTER (BWN)

VOL. 2 ISSUE 8 OCTOBER 1, 2009

Edited by Carolyn C. Holland and BWG members.

(Forward this newsletter to the writers you know!)

ABOUT THE BEANERY WRITERS NEWSLETTER

The BWN shares information on our members—their writing, their activities/interests/accomplishments, their concerns, their thoughts, as well as news on conferences, perhaps a joke or two, book reviews etc. There was a two month hiatus in publication—July and August—this year.

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

The BOLM (www.beanerywriters.wordpress.com ) accepts submissions (in any genre) from guest writers. Items may be edited, but if there are any significant changes your work will be returned to you for your approval.. Submit your post to beanerywriters@yahoo.com with the word “Submission” in the subject line. Seeking submissions for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve/Day.

BEANERY WRITERS GROUP MEETINGS

The BWG meets the second and fourth Fridays each month, 1:00-3:00 p.m, in the back room at the Coffee Bean Café in Latrobe (they opened a second Coffee Bean Café on Rt. 30 in Greensburg by Office Max—wrong site!). Some members come early to socialize over coffee or lunch. New members—or visitors (including writers who are visiting the area from out of town)—are welcome to join us. Our members are eclectic: they write in all genres! NOTE: Coming meeting dates: Sept. 11 & Sept. 25; Oct. 9 & 23

PROFILE: DMITRI BELJAN

Dmitri expresses himself artistically in his drawings and improvisations on the keyboard. He likes and has tried the Shakespearian sonnet form, but presently is not writing. He is drawn to the Beanery Writers Group to be with other artists, those whose art is their use of language. I spoke with Dmitri, 62, on my patio, under trees in my park —Laurel Mountain Boro, to be specific. (to see photos, click on his Flickr site: http://flickr.com/photos/dmitri1946 Like the Boro, with its independent bent that resulted in its secession from Ligonier Township in 1982, Dmitri is a renegade who doesn’t like to be confined in borders. His piano and keyboard playing symbolizes his life: he didn’t learn the structure taught in formal lessons. He “follows where my fingers lead. I play the piano as thou I was petting a cat—when you pet a cat, it responds in a particular way. When I touch the keys, they might say ‘Do this again.’ I think of caressing the keys, rather than striking them.” Dmitri worries less about his music being “musical” than he does about it being soothing, mellow, and sometimes even dissonant. “Beethoven said something to the effect that music takes you into the mental state of the artist: when you listen, you have no choice.” He hopes his music draws listeners into the meditative, and perhaps, at times, agitated, or sometimes harmonious or dissonant mental state that he experiences at the keyboard. His drawing follows the same pattern. “When I start drawing, I don’t know how it will end,” he said. “If I make a mistake in the drawing, I use it as a random input to direct my lines in a way which perhaps I hadn’t imagined.” He doesn’t do (to continue reading Dmitri’s story, click on Dmitri Beljan)

BEANIE BABY FUNDRAISER

Our fundraiser to support printing our annual booklet continues. We have a number of collectible and less collectible Beanies, which are still available to be adopted out for a donation. See Punxsutawney Phil: http://www.flickr.com/photos/beaneryonlineliterarymagazine/2493962362 /

BOOK & WHITE ELEPHANT FUNDRAISER

The Beanery Writers have a second fundraiser. Members bring their used books or other small items to the meetings for “adoption by donation.” Again, this raises funds to publish our print booklets and to underwrite poetry and prose readings.

MEMBER ACTIVITIES

Kathleen Clark won second place in the Works in Progress Writers’ Workshop Writing Contest for her short story, “Manula’s Mission” (to read, click on Manuela’s Mission Part I

BOOKS, PUBLICATIONS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS BY MEMBERS (Publications in past month, and all books) For information on purchasing books, E-mail beanerywriters@yahoo.com with the words “BOOK INFO REQUEST” in the subject line. Items available at Second Chapter Book Store on East Main Street, Ligonier, will be noted.

SOUTHWESTERN PENNSYLVANIA STORIES The Beanery Writers, Volume 3, 2009, Writings on Southwestern Pennsylvania, includes 14 articles by Beanery Writers Group members and one written by a guest writer. It is available in large print. Look for our table with limited hours at the Second Hand Bookstore during Ligonier Days. Orders for special occasions include a sheet, inserted in the booklet, for holidays, birthdays anniversaries or get well, and an envelope for mailing. Cost will be $5.00. Copies can be purchased for $4.00 through the writer’s group members, at the Second Chapter Bookstore on E. Main St. in Ligonier, through E-mail (beanerywriters@yahoo.com ) or by calling Carolyn C. Holland, 724/238-3493. To order by mail, send check or money order to Carolyn C. Holland, P. O. Box 300, Laughlintown, PA. 15655. Make check payable to Carolyn C. Holland. Please include number of copies, your mailing address. Add $1.75 (TOTAL $6.75) shipping and handling charge for each booklet ordered. Allow six weeks for delivery.Available at the Second Chapter Bookstore,

DIMITRI BELJAN: Three pen and ink drawings will be on display at the University Drive lobby of the VA Pittsburgh Healthcare System in Oakland. The Coffee House/Artist Display, Creative Flow, is open 9:00-10:30 am, Thursday, October 8. The display will be accompanied by music and poetry. An untitled piece Associate Director’s Choice Award.

KATHLEEN CLARK: Articles written by Kathleen can be seen on the Geyer Performing Arts Center (Scottdale, PA) website www.geyerpac.com . She also continues to write the GPAC’s monthly newsletter. JOE F. STIERHEIM: Two self-published books, Americur, a fantasy, and The Finding of the Blue Feather. (Second Chapter Bookstore)

CHARLES R. and SARA MITCHELL MARTIN: Self-published books, Warpath, a saga of the Pennsylvania frontier family of John Martin, based on true events during the French and Indian War, 1755-1764. (Second Chapter Bookstore) SALLY MARTIN: Mustang Sally’s Guide to World Bicycle Touring. (Second Chapter Bookstore)

BOOKS AND PUBLICATIONS BY NON-MEMBERS ELLEN SPAIN: Secrets in the Fog: the Invisibility Project released in May 2009, by eTreasures Publishing (250 pages) as an eBook and printed trade-back, ISBN: 978-1-61623-076-0. Available from the publisher eTreasures Publishing in PDF e-book Format: $5.50 and on CD-ROM: $7.95. Available in Paperback $15.00 from Amazon.com. Click here to read excerpts from Secrets in the Fog: the Invisibility Project.

JOKES/QUOTES

“All of the books in the world contain no more information than is broadcast as video in a single large American city in a single year. Not all bits have equal value.” —Carl Sagan

“This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.” —Dorothy Parker

“…If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed.”

Ben Franklin, 1731 editorial in The Pennsylvania Gazette. “…the opinions of men are almost as various as their faces…” Ben Franklin, 1731 editorial in The Pennsylvania Gazette.

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE (BOLM) www.beanerywriters.wordpress.com POST REPORT FOR SEPTEMBER:

Living with OCD

beanerywriters — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 03:15:55 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

LIVING WITH OCD

as told to Carolyn C. Holland by Dmitri Beljan

I was initially going to talk to you at a local café. However when you invited me to sit down, the place I was seated was not cleaned up from the previous guest. Although tolerable to sit there, I found myself uncomfortable and distracted by concerns about the dirty table. It took away from giving you my full attention.

Sometimes it’s not a bad thing to worry about germs. For example, how many times have you ordered a baked potato at a particular fast food place and the waitress who handled your money then squished the potatoes with her fingers and handed it to you? I found myself several times reminding food service personnel that you don’t handle food and money both. I don’t think that’s so bad.

However if this behavior is carried to an extreme—e. g., asking her to clean the table twice—it could be considered a symptom of OCD.

Thus began my interview with Dmitri.

October 12-18, 2009, is National OCD Awareness Week. Dmitri is willing to share his story of living with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, commonly called OCD. Below he tells of live with OCD.

My genetic makeup predisposed me to OCD. This condition was aggravated by my very religious family and the paranoia of the 1950s Cold War.

When I was a little boy the thoughts that are now called obsessive thoughts were not recognized by me as such, and with the influence of religion, I interpreted it to be that I was possessed by demons.

This scared the hell out of me. I became more concerned about the afterlife than this life.

My family was always hearing various evangelists (Kuhlman, Oral Roberts, A. A. Allen, etc.). At one tent meeting, preaching, books about devil and hell…me, I took it all so seriously. I went forward so many times that my bro Al called me “altar call Ray.” I thought I was never saved because I just never felt like I had the spiritual experience people talked about.

I realize now I was “born right the first time,” as one bumper sticker proclaimed.

With puberty came the teenage religious prohibitions against lustful thoughts, desires, and the motivations prompted by raging hormones. What was normal was incompatible with the religious teachings. This conflict resulted in compulsive washing of hands soiled by sinful activity. This compulsiveness is a symptom OCD..

Compounding the situation was the rumor was that Christ was coming again, almost immediately. Thus I probably would not live beyond my teenage years. According to Oral Roberts, “It’s later than you think.” I believed everything. I expected to have only three Christmases, at most. “What was the sense of going to school and learning everything, because you will never grow up.”

It was a horrible time of life.

The religious influence was complicated by living in the cold war era. At the time of my puberty, there were air raid sirens, fear that the Russians would bomb us with “the big one.” I felt that if this happened, I would go to hell without becoming an adult. My youthful ignorance of psychology meant that I was uninformed that OCD existed in up to 2% of the population.

There were other OCD symptoms I experienced. In addition to the compulsive handwashing, activities had to be done properly, correctly, and in the right order. One manifestation of this symptom was the necessity of picking glass off the sidewalk to prevent anyone from being harmed by it. It was my duty to pick up that glass. Another manifestation was preparing a glass of milk. To do so, I had to walk slowly and carefully to the table. Then I had to repeat the steps if I didn’t do them right the first time.

I started to feel better when I left my home to go to college. I was away from the family and with people who questioned beliefs, rather than trying to force them on me. In college I learned that other ideas and beliefs existed, that everything didn’t have to be the way Oral Roberts said they were. My imagination was appreciated, and rote memorization was no longer part of the curriculum. I made the highest grade in the freshman class on a general core test.

After college, I was drafted into the Army, a stint which lasted for six months. I married in my 20s, while in the Army.

I did pretty good OCD-wise while married, but I was bothered by the idea of permanency, of settling down. When my wife wanted a child, I realized I didn’t. The proverbial wakeup call that I didn’t want to be married occurred when my wife wanted to buy a piece of furniture. I thought, “Oh, my god, I really am married.”

After an honorable discharge from the Army, I worked as a child welfare caseworker, with Transitional Services in Pittsburgh, and with the Illinois Children and Youth Services.

Another symptom that can be a part of OCD is an exaggerated idea of responsibility. This manifested itself in my life by fearing that I would contaminate people, or that they would contaminate me. This affected me in the workforce. Sometimes I didn’t go to work because I thought I was sick and would be responsible for contaminating everyone.

Once at a restaurant I heard a woman threaten to hit her child. I felt responsible for protecting the child, and I yelled to the mother, at the top of my voice: “If you hit the kid, I will call the police.” I also said I would testify against her in court. Oddly, the restaurant manager, who happened to be her boyfriend, gave me a free hamburger the next time I was at his restaurant.

Currently, if I see someone mistreating a child,I leave the room, fearing I will get overly upset. This is my OCD coping mechanism. I’ve become more concerned with taking care of myself than taking responsibility for the whole world.

Although my bachelor degree is in the social sciences, “to tell the truth, I would rather have gone into science and engineering. Not only would I be making more money, but I would be dealing with technical problems rather than emotional problems.” It was challenging to counsel dysfunctional families when my own family was “a bunch of wackos.” When I was a little kid, I told my mother I figured out what was wrong with our family: “We are all crazy.”

After leaving the social service field, I learned calculus. “I would stay up and work out calculus problems—it was something to do, and satisfying to come up with a clear answer.”
My OCD is under control now. I’ve been on medication for about ten years, and I still go to the VA hospital for counseling. However, some symptoms persist. For example, recently I was anxious that the toilet was running, and had to return home to check on it.

What’s bothering me now? I just washed my car, and trucks splashed dirt it. I need to get home and wash it. My OCD symptoms are less severe now, as demonstrated by the fact that I haven’t left here to go home and wash car. But it will get washed when I arrive home.

Website for the Obsessive Compulsive Foundation: http://www.ocfoundation.org/ocdawarenessweek.php

ADDITIONAL READING:

Online Sites for Caretakers & Families of Brain Injury Victims

!Â¡AngerÂ¡!

BROKEN CIRCLE

Can You Write Your Memoir in Six Words?

Her Gift

I BELIEVE GOD INVENTED DANCING

AT FORT LIGONIER: Excerpt from book, WARPATH

beanerywriters — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 02:37:35 +0000

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

AT FORT LIGONIER

An excerpt from WARPATH

Charles R. Martin & Sara Mitchell Martin

An excerpt from the book WARPATH, a self-published historical novel set in Southwestern Pennsylvania.

When the French and Indian war ended in 1763 with the Treaty of Paris, John Martin heard that some of the Ohio Indians were coming to Fort Ligonier to discuss treaties. He was already in Bedford Village and decided to go, without hesitation, to the fort. It was some days hike away, but he arrived in time to see that there were Delaware Indians present. Fort Ligonier was large and strong and well manned. The Indians were camped a half mile away, having teepees and horses.

After first making himself known to the red-coated soldiers at the Fort, John asked the soldier who seemed most in charge if he knew the Indians.

“Yes. They have been coming around lately, being fairly friendly. We give them what we can of our stores to try to build some sort of relationship. Do you talk Indian?”

“Well, I used to be able to make myself understood. That was a while back. They took my family: my wife and five of my children.”

“I am sorry to hear about that. Did you get any back yet?”

“Yes, my wife, she is just an incredible person. She made her way back with the youngest, a little girl. They had quite an adventure. The Indians still have two sons and a daughter. That’s why I’m here. George Croghan and Colonel Bouquet thought I might be able to talk to them.”

“You will have to leave any weapons here with me,” said the soldier. John looked quizzical and the soldier said, “They aren’t supposed to be armed while they are here. But be careful.”

John tried to assemble his thoughts on just how to approach the savages.

“Well, good luck,” said the soldier, and went back to his work.

John left the fort and approached the Indians, who had been watching him. They were not dressed for war. They dressed much like John in fringed buckskins. John had a simple hand made leather hat and the Indians had a few decorative feathers in their hair.

“My name is John Martin.”

The Indians nodded all around, and grunted.

“Your name?” asked John.

“Me Chief Tuscarawas,” answered the most imposing one. John didn’t catch the others names. He figured this one would understand best. He stood in front of the Chief and looked him in the eyes and said: “I look for sons. Two sons. One is sixteen and the other fourteen. They blonde. Like me.” John tugged on his own hair, which wasn’t as blonde as it had been, and then pointed to his eye.

“Blue. Blue, like my eyes. Jimmy and Willie. They with Indians eight years. Great Cove! Children from Great Cove! Shingas took children, seven years ago!”

He tried not to yell to help them understand. They talked together a bit, and then Tuscarawas said: “Yes. We have sons. Very good young braves. Strong. Good with axe.”

John’s heart pounded even more than it had.

“I am very happy. Happy. Yes. I am happy.”

The Indians smiled ever so slightly. They started to walk away.

“NO. Don’t go.” John followed them further from the fort and toward what appeared to be their teepee. “You might have my daughter. Her name is Martha! She is young woman. Eighteen. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Girl.”

Tuscarawas shrugged and kept walking.

“Do you have my daughter? I want to know if you have my daughter.” John was trying to keep his temper in check.

Tuscarawas kept walking toward the teepee. John said, “Please stop. Stop. Please.”

The chief turned and with an angry face said: “Yes, we have daughter. Red face, red hair girl.”

“Red hair? Red face?” asked John. “My daughter?”

“Girl paint face red. Paint hair red. Good squaw but…” He shrugged his shoulders and inclined his head to indicate that the girl was hard to understand.

John felt another jolt of joy. Now he grinned widely.

“That is good. That is very good. I want two sons and daughter to come home.”

The chief motioned for his pals to come close and they had a spirited discussion. Finally, the chief nodded with satisfaction and, rubbing his hands together, went back to John.

“We live in peace with your sons, daughter, many years. They strong. They good. And therefore you pay much wampum. We bring back.”

John’s joy took a quick downturn. Suddenly the rage he felt for years welled up, and without thinking it through, he answered indignantly: “I don’t remember hiring you to take care of my family!”

Tuscarawas looked shocked, as if John had slapped him. He reached for the tomahawk that usually hung from his belt that he used to dispatch the likes of this white man. It wasn’t there because of the deal with the soldiers that they would not carry weapons. He turned to the two of his braves and motioned for them to grab John.

John took off running with a speed that he didn’t know he possessed. The two Indians missed him and instead of chasing him on foot, started to look around for their horses, running in the opposite direction. John headed for the woods and was soon out of sight.

The custom of these Indians was to tie little bells on their horses so they could find them while they were out grazing in the forest. John looked back and was cheered to see that running for their horses made the horses nervous, and they moved away, to the annoyance of the Indians. A sentry at the fort noticed the action and shouted to someone in the fort. John figured that by the time the soldiers could get themselves organized to help him, he would be beyond help. He ran as if he were a young fellow. He was fifty-one. The Indians, he remembered, looked to be around his own age, and perhaps they too might not be as swift as they had been in their youth.

Since he had just come down Laurel Ridge, he knew that if he stayed away from the Forbes Road, he might just be able to make his way through the masses of laurel and rhododendron thickets and lose them. While dashing and zigzagging breathlessly up the mountain for what seemed like hours, he would pause to listen for the horse bells. The Indians on horseback were held up (stalled?) by the undergrowth and rough collections of grey, lichen covered rocks that could destroy a horse. When John finally reached the top of the mountain and could no longer hear the breaking branches and whooping yells of the angry Indians, and the bells on their horses, he gave thanks that his life had bee spared. There was a wide area at the top and he was able to rest from his aching body. He stopped to lie down by a creek and put his face in the cool water.

To view of picture of the authors, click on:

http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/lifestyles/fanfare/photo_139771.html?TB_iframe=true&height=460&width=720

Photo caption: Sara Mitchell Martin (left) and Charles R. Martin of Jones Mills, the authors of “Warpath,” are joined by Westmoreland County Historical Society member Hazel Rugh, during the 100th birthday of Westmoreland County Historical Society.
Kim Stepinsky/For The Tribune-Review

The Martins’ book is available at the Second Chapter Bookstore, 209 E. Main Street, Ligonier, PA.

To purchase online, click on: http://search.yahoo.com/search?p=Warpath+by+Charles+R.+Martin&fr=yfp-t-156&toggle=1&cop=mss&ei=UTF-8

Indian captivity narratives are listed at this site:

http://www1.assumption.edu/users/lknoles/captivity5.html

ADDITIONAL READING:

SELF-PUBLISHING AS I WANDER THROUGH IT

SALLY MARTIN: MUSTANG SALLY’S GUIDE TO WORLD BICYCLE TOURING

TURKISH TOILETS IN A DARJEELING (India) TRAIN STATION

MOTHER TERESA: IN MEMORIAM

Vanessa