“Out of the mouths of babe’s sometimes comes pablum,” so sayeth Art Linkletter, a burly beast and sage of my youth.


Hutson, the eldest son of Alex and Phillip (3 going on 4), is the older brother of Ellie (she will be 2 her next birthday). Alex, a lady who minces no words, says of her father, their grandfather, that “he is a great writer!”


“He has written six books,” she told them, not that Ellie was paying the least attention to her. “His first was THE BETTER ANGELS; that was a WWII story about coming-of-age during the national emergency.”


“That was followed by novel about assassination of John F. Kennedy and CIRCLES!; then a book about Fidel Castro’s inept attempt to take over the Moncado Barracks in Cuba while the OSS was being restructured as the CIA.”


“This was followed by WALL! and WELL!, and TYCOON!, and a novel about 1927, the time Charles Lindberg flew a plane across the Atlantic and accidentally started the Great Depression. Then came MATE!, a story about how the Civil War was fought so
Gen. Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson could find out once and for all, who shot Abraham Lincoln.”


“His next book will be called JESSIE! It’s a story about actor/singer Jessie Clark in Hollywood. Your gran’pa is certainly one fine writer!”


At which point Hutson looked his mother straight in the eye and laughed and said, loud enough for little Ellie to hear, “Oh, silly Mommy! Bumpa is a RIDER! He’s a RIDER! I know — ‘CAUSE HE’S GOT A WHEELCHAIR AND A ‘LECTRIC SKOOTER HE RIDES ALL THE TIME!
Books don’t move!”


Copyright©2015 by Robert A. Mills, all rights reserved, may not be published, re-written nor broadcast without author’s permission