The Railroad Bishop and his descendents

The Sharp family originally came from Clackmanan in the county of
Clackmannanshire, Scotland. The family worked their hands in stone as quarrymen, stonecutters and coal miners since the earliest mention of Sharps in Clackmannan around 1500. The Sharps were allies or a sept of the Stewarts of Apin. Clackmannan means "Stone of the Manu" in Scottish Gallic. Manu is the Scottish version of the Irish Sea God Mananon Mac Lir. The Stone sits on top of a stone pillar in the town square next to the navel cross that bears the coats of arms of the Wallace clan. Clackmannanshire was the kingdom of the brother of Wallace and is the smallest county in Scotland. It was there that John Sharp was converted to the Mormon Church and along with his brothers, parents and in-laws began their immigration to America in 1848 to join the "Saints" in Utah where the kingdom of Zion was being built. John brought his wife Jane Patterson and their son James, then four years old. Adam Sharp the next oldest brother came with his wife Janet Cook Sharp, and Joseph Sharp the youngest had yet to marry. Agnes Sharp Patterson the sister of John Sharp also came with her husband Robert Patterson. John Sharp senior and his wife Mary Hunter Sharp were the parents that came with their children as well.

They made their way south into England and in Liverpool they took passage on board the "Erin's Queen" that arrived in New Orleans late in 1848. From New Orleans they made their way to Saint Louis by Steam Boat like many of the converts to the Mormon Church. There in Saint Louis they went to work for a year in the Coal Mines of Gravois Diggins or Grave Diggins to accumulate money to buy and outfit wagons for the journey to Utah. It was during the winter of 1849 that a Cholera epidemic broke out in Saint Louis killing nearly twenty percent of the population. It was there that the Mother of the family, Mary Hunter Sharp died and was buried. John Sharp went forth to the sick in the community to administer prayers and healing working tirelessly while still working in the mines. Joseph Sharp met a young woman named Janet Condie the daughter of another family of Mormons that had been working in the mines. They were married there and she joined her husband’s family for the journey to Utah. That spring the Sharp set out for Salt Lake City along the old Mormon trail which was on the southern bank of the Platt River opposite the Oregon Trail on the North bank. The John Sharp Company led their family and some sixty other Mormon converts on the journey. They spread out for many miles along the trail.

It was during their journey that John Sharp had an additional child named Mary after their mother Mary Hunter Sharp. The Sharps were described in several journals of the company as being tough, strong, sturdy and reliable. John Sharp was especially noted for his refined and mature judgment. Upon arriving to the Salt Lake Valley late in the fall, the Sharp family came down immigration canyon and instead of going directly into Salt Lake City they skirted the foothills around to what is known as Red Butte Canyon. There they found an outcrop of sandstone and quarried out a square section where they put the wagon boxes over the top and built a stone wall in the entrance to wait out the coming winter. My wife and I went for a small hike in Red Butte Canyon and could not distinguish the Sharp family quarry from the many WPA quarries started by President Roosevelt's programs in the 1930's. The terrain is much like it must have been and Sego Lilies still bloom upon the hillsides, which had been a much needed food source during the late winter and early spring. That spring John Sharp made fast friends with Brigham Young and the success of the family depended much on his patronage. John and his brothers began quarry stone for the Tabernacle, the Tithing House and many of the brown stone buildings from the time period. Soon the Sharp brothers were teaching many of the newly arrived converts the methods of stone quarrying along with many of their neighbors from Clackmannanshire and Fife. It was during that spring that John Sharp Jr. was born.That spring John Sharp made fast friends with Brigham Young and the success of the family depended much on his patronage. John and his brothers began quarry stone for the Tabernacle, the Tithing House and many of the brown stone buildings from the time period. Soon the Sharp brothers were teaching many of the newly arrived converts the methods of stone quarrying along with many of their neighbors from Clackmannanshire and Fife. It was during that spring that John Sharp Jr. was born.

John Sharp next became the superintendent of the Church quarry where the huge blocks of granite were cut for the Salt Lake Temple and the massive wall around Temple Square, along with other structures on the grounds. (As a geologists son I knew that version of granite was called quartz monzonite and was one of the hardest variations of that stone. I did some stone carving in art school mostly out of Alabaster and some Sandstone which is very soft in comparison. Steel chisels would just beat the edges blunt on Granite and the secret of the tooling and carving of it has been lost until the advent of diamond saws and the like.)

Bishop Sharp represented Brigham Young at the Golden Spike ceremony at Promontory, since Brigham Young was unable to attend. Sometime after-word the Union Pacific failed to pay the Mormon railroad workers for their work on the railroad. It was John Sharp, Joseph A. Young and Apostle John Taylor, whom Brigham Young sent east to do battle in the courts for the LDS Church. Sharp played a key role in the construction of the Utah Central Railroad as well in 1869-70, and became it’s superintendent in 1871, and its president in 1873. He was also named vice-president of the Utah Southern Railroad Company when that company was formed in 1870. As the purchasing agent for the this railroad, he became acquainted with some of the Union Pacific directors in New York City and eventually was named a UP (Union Pacific) director, which position he retained until he died late in December the 23rd of 1891 at his home in Salt Lake City. John Sharp became known as “The Railroad Bishop” and he did well in life having risen in status from a childhood as a miner in the coal pits of Scotland.

John Sharp’s son James Sharp became a stock holder in the Railroad company as well as Mayor of Salt Lake City, Utah from 1884 to 1886. His oil portrait can still be seen on the second floor of the City and County building. This is a quote from the Utah Herald in 1886 about James Sharp’s tenure as Mayor. “James Sharp was the Herald’s candidate for Mayor two years ago, and his record has been such that this paper is proud that it advocated his election and stood by his administration. The gentleman may retire with the perfect assurance that he enjoys the gratitude, the esteem and the confidence of the public he has served so faithfully, and with so much ability, intelligence and integrity. It is ever a pleasant thing to be able to conscientiously approve the course of a public officer when he retires, and in Mr. Sharp’s case it is doubly enjoyable.”

James Sharp had several children and it was and still is a tradition of the family to name one of the kids John. So it was that John Francis Sharp MD became the next person in our family to bear the name. He was sent to New York City to study medicine and there he met his future wife Luella Ferrin from Huntington, Utah, while both were taking singing lessons from the famous Opera singer Madame Von Klenner. They named one of their first sons Klenner or ‘Klink’ for short. Luella had been sent by the LDS church to study Opera as the lead soprano for the Salt Lake Opera Company and both sang later with the Tabernacle Choir. John Francis Sharp MD became the head surgeon at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah as well as the commanding officer of the MASH unit from Utah. Serving as the units commander for both the Poncho Villa campaign and throughout World War I. (I ran in to an elderly woman at a rest home I played music at a few years ago. She said she worked at LDS Hospital and remembered Dr. Sharp as a gentleman that always said good morning and held the elevator door open for her and anyone else in the Hospital.) The sister of John Francis Sharp was named Cecilia Sharp (my father’s aunt) she was a well know pianist. She was married to Mahonri M. Young the sculptor (1877-1957) he was also the grandson of Brigham Young. Their oldest son Mahonri Sharp Young became a well known Art critic, art historian, writer and former museum director. After the death of Cecilia Sharp, Uncle Hon married Dorothy Weir an educator and daughter of the american impressionist painter J. Alden Weir. Mahonri taught at the New York Art Academy and was a well known member of the Ashcan School, an art movement of social realism during the depression, depicting both the poverty and dignity of the working class of America. Mahonri Young influenced many artists studying in both Paris and in New York. He was a great mentor to my father Byron James Sharp and my Uncle Gil Sharp, he took them on many sketching trips through out central and southern Utah. He and Dorothy Weir would stay at the home of John Francis Sharp whenever they traveled to Utah, and my Uncle Gil later studied art and taught at the New York Art Academy with Uncle Hon. Mohonri made an interesting sketch at the family duck club of the time with my father and his dog. “Byron and Terry on a raft” It’s a sketch of my father as a teen with his dog poling a boat through the cat tail reeds along Farmington Bay of the Great Salt Lake.

My father, Dr. Byron James Sharp, flew a glider on D-Day during World War II. He later received his degrees in Geology, Paleontology and Mineralogy from the University of Utah. His art ability gave him an ability to make geologic and topographic maps, interpret aerial photographs and cross into many fields to make contributions of all kinds, despite resistance from so called area experts in the sciences. He mapped many of the energy and metal resources for ERDA (Energy Research and Development Agency) throughout the western United States. He published many papers such as the “Asteriod impact theory” and discovered many fossils one with his name such as Pseudoarctolepus sharpi a soft bodied Cambrian pre-trilobite from the Wheeler shale of Southern Utah. The research he is proudest of is his many papers and artifacts on “Early Man in the Americas”, for which he won a scientific award for “The Study of the First Americans.” He also did many water colors and sketches much like the type of subject Mahonri did, having been taught by him on their many sketching trips. My father told me stories of his older brothers and sisters, of which he was the youngest. My Aunt Marion Sharp Robinson was a famous Opera singer with a Fulbright and career in Paris. She sang for the Paris and San Francisco Opera Companies and sang in many of the most famous halls in Europe. She collected art and started the University of Utah’s Art collection with donations of her paintings, she wrote books and poetry as well as dealt in real estate for a while. Aunt Martha Sharp Toronto the next sister in line, wrote an interesting book called “A Cherry Tree behind the Iron Curtain” about her experiences as the wife of a mission President in Czechoslovakia during the Nazi and then the Communist occupation. My Uncle John Sharp was a B-26 Pilot and later a A-26 fighter bomber ace during World War II, later becoming the commanding officer of the Air Force base in Sacremento. (Now of Hill Air Force Base in Utah.)

My generation came next David Spalding Sharp, Douglas Spalding Sharp and my sister Dianne Elaine Sharp-Roberg are the children of Byron and Elaine Sharp. My children Dylan John Sharp, Daniel Brendan Sharp and step children, (Carol's kids) Kory, Chris, and Georgianna including the grandchildren (Aspen) hear these stories from us. I believe it is important to tell them that we lived and worked and have something to measure up to, remember and be inspired by those of our family that have gone before. Someday it will be their turn and you don’t stop loving someone just because their gone.

David Sharp
Glastonbury duo

Joseph and Adam Sharp deliver telegraph poles and sacks of flour to Nevada

The Sharp brothers used the wagons they owned to haul other kinds of freight as well. After the stone quarries were well under way and the Temple quarry had its great blocks of granite delivered by the Sharp brothers to the Salt Lake Temple site. They turned to delivering telegraph poles to small settlements in Nevada. At one point flour became worth its weight in gold at the Silver mines in Carson City. The brothers decided to haul a wagon load of flour out to Carson City. The road from Salt Lake City through Winnemuca and onwards was troubled by highwaymen that were laying in wait for the return trip of any of the freight haulers that came across the desert with their pockets full of cash.

Joseph and Adam had devised a plan with the help of a non-Mormon friend they had met in Saint Louis. This friend was a gambler and had been very gifted at dealing cards. He could deal you just the hand he wanted to give you to reel you in and in the end when you begin to bet heavily he would deal himself a winning hand to take everything and leave the others at the table penniless. He lived in Corinne at the time, which was a notorious city competing with Salt Lake City as the Capital of the territory and railhead for the Continental Railroad during its day the anti-Mormon political faction resided at Corinne.

So it was that Joseph and Adam rode with their friend part of the way to Carson City, No one would suspect that they were friends coming from such opposite sides of the cultural climate of Utah. Some fifty miles from Carson City they parted ways and went into town from separate directions. There the Sharp brothers sold there flour for a whopping fortune. Part of the plan for them to ride home in safety was that Adam would slap Whiskey on his face like perfume and head for the saloon with the bank roll he had from the sale of the flour. With Joseph watching over him from a distance he began to play cards and a dapper gambler seemed to lose several hands to Adam. After becoming bolder from his success Adam began betting larger amounts of money until at some point all the money they had from the sale of the flour sat in front of the fancy gambler with the biggest grin on his face anyone had ever seen. Word got around town about the foolish Mormon boy that got liquored up and gambled away all his earnings. Many of the highway men and robbers had informants in the town and they knew now that the Sharp brothers were just plum busted. So with sad faces the Sharps started home for Salt Lake with an empty wagon and empty pockets.

Some fifty miles out of Carson City the Sharps met up with a dapper stranger that handed them a huge bank roll. They had a great laugh between them all, and Adam hid the bank roll wrapped in a seal skin, in a can of axel grease for the wagon wheels. No Highwaymen or holdup men did they see until they came well into Utah and parted ways with the stranger who took the turn off road north to Corinne.

Joseph and Adam Sharp deliver a message to Johnson’s Army

One day, since the Sharp family had arrived in the Salt Lake Valley in the fall of 1850.Joseph and Adam Sharp used the wagons the family brought with them to ship the sandstone that was quarried from their camp site in Red Butte Canyon. Many of the first permanent stone buildings in the valley were built with the stone the brothers hauled and quarried under the supervision of the older brother John.

When Brigham Young spotted them he came over to ask a task of them, since Porter Rockwell was busy elsewhere. The Sharp brothers were youthful, fearless and somewhat handy with a rifle or a pistol. He asked the brothers to ride out to meet with Johnson's army that was camped at Fort Bridger at the time. The United States Army had captured two men of the Mormon militia and they were being held there at Fort Bridger. Brigham Young would have them pick up the militia men and deliver a message to the commander concerning consequences of the army’s incursion into Utah. So taking a couple of extra horses for the men of the Mormon Militia they rode north for Fort Bridger.

In the meantime John Sharp then a Major of the 3rd Infantry of the Navuoo
Legion had gone with a small group of men under his command to bring much of the church's portable property of value from Northern Utah of sequester it in a safe place further south.

Joseph and Adam upon reaching Fort Bridger were not well received by the men of Johnson's Army. The Army had campfires going and supper was being served to the men. Joseph and his brother were not even allowed a place by the fire to warm themselves.
They were called many names and given to many threats to their persons by the soldiers of Johnson's Army. When the Mormon Militia Men were saddled up and ready to go and the message from Brigham Young had been delivered, a soldier nearby made such threatening and insulting remarks that Joseph Sharp spat in his eye. Off they rode out of camp as Adam Sharp said, "It's a lucky thing, little brother, that he didn't reach for his side arm, or wed've had a shoot out for sure."

The Sharp family immigrates to America

The Sharp family originally came from Clackmanan in the county of
Clackmannanshire, Scotland. The family worked their hands in stone as quarrymen, stonecutters and coal miners since the earliest mention of Sharps in Clackmannan around 1500. The Sharps were allies or a sept of the Stewarts of Apin. Clackmannan means "Stone of the Manu" in Scottish Gallic. Manu is the Scottish version of the Irish Sea God Mananon Mac Lir. The Stone sits on top of a stone pillar in the town square next to the navel cross that bears the coats of arms of the Wallace clan. Clackmannanshire was the kingdom of the brother of Wallace and is the smallest county in Scotland. It was there that John Sharp was converted to the Mormon Church and along with his brothers, parents and in-laws began their immigration to America in 1848 to join the "Saints" in Utah where the kingdom of Zion was being built. John brought his wife Jane Patterson and their son James, then four years old. Adam Sharp the next oldest brother came with his wife Janet Cook Sharp, and Joseph Sharp the youngest had yet to marry. Agnes Sharp Patterson the sister of John Sharp also came with her husband Robert Patterson. John Sharp senior and his wife Mary Hunter Sharp were the parents that came with their children as well.

They made their way south into England and in Liverpool they took passage on board the "Erin's Queen" that arrived in New Orleans late in 1848. From New Orleans they made their way to Saint Louis by Steam Boat like many of the converts to the Mormon Church. There in Saint Louis they went to work for a year in the Coal Mines of Gravois Diggins or Grave Diggins to accumulate money to buy and outfit wagons for the journey to Utah. It was during the winter of 1849 that a Cholera epidemic broke out in Saint Louis killing nearly twenty percent of the population. It was there that the Mother of the family, Mary Hunter Sharp died and was buried. John Sharp went forth to the sick in the community to administer prayers and healing working tirelessly while still working in the mines. Joseph Sharp met a young woman named Janet Condie the daughter of another family of Mormons that had been working in the mines. They were married there and she joined her husband’s family for the journey to Utah. That spring the Sharp set out for Salt Lake City along the old Mormon trail which was on the southern bank of the Platt River opposite the Oregon Trail on the North bank. The John Sharp Company led their family and some sixty other Mormon converts on the journey. They spread out for many miles along the trail.

It was during their journey that John Sharp had an additional child named Mary after their mother Mary Hunter Sharp. The Sharps were described in several journals of the company as being tough, strong, sturdy and reliable. John Sharp was especially noted for his refined and mature judgment. Upon arriving to the Salt Lake Valley late in the fall, the Sharp family came down immigration canyon and instead of going directly into Salt Lake City they skirted the foothills around to what is known as Red Butte Canyon. There they found an outcrop of sandstone and quarried out a square section where they put the wagon boxes over the top and built a stone wall in the entrance to wait out the coming winter. My wife and I went for a small hike in Red Butte Canyon and could not distinguish the Sharp family quarry from the many WPA quarries started by President Roosevelt's programs in the 1930's. The terrain is much like it must have been and Sego Lilies still bloom upon the hillsides, which had been a much needed food source during the late winter and early spring. That spring John Sharp made fast friends with Brigham Young and the success of the family depended much on his patronage. John and his brothers began quarry stone for the Tabernacle, the Tithing House and many of the brown stone buildings from the time period. Soon the Sharp brothers were teaching many of the newly arrived converts the methods of stone quarrying along with many of their neighbors from Clackmannanshire and Fife. It was during that spring that John Sharp Jr. was born.

John Sharp next became the superintendent of the Church quarry where the huge blocks of granite were cut for the Salt Lake Temple and the massive wall around Temple Square, along with other structures on the grounds. (As a geologists son I knew that version of granite was called quartz monzonite and was one of the hardest variations of that stone. I did some stone carving in art school mostly out of Alabaster and some Sandstone which is very soft in comparison. Steel chisels would just beat the edges blunt on Granite and the secret of the tooling and carving of it has been lost until the advent of diamond saws and the like.)

In 1853 John Sharp senior, the father of John Sharp died just three years after entering the valley.
In 1854 he was ordained by Brigham Young as the first bishop of the Salt Lake Twentieth Ward. John Sharp and his brothers owned two blocks next to each other on South Temple. Later James built the manor that was to become the LDS business college for a time. Ten years later John Sharp was appointed as assistant superintendent of public works, and became the acting superintendent when Daniel H. Wells was called to preside over the European missions of the LDS Church. Bishop Sharp was a member of the council of fifty made up of the most prominent business men of Salt Lake City, he was a member of the council of Enoch, He and his brother Joseph were Salt Lake City's police chief and constable respectively for many years, he was on the board of ZCMI, and Zion’s bank for thirty years and held the rank of Major and later Colonel of the 3rd Infantry of the Nauvoo Legion.


Recognizing his industry and ability, President Young invited him to become a chief subcontractor on the Union Pacific contract, particularly to be in charge of the bridge and tunnel work, where his experience in stone cutting would be a valuable asset. So it was that three of the eldest sons of Brigham Young (Joseph Young, Brigham Young Jr. and John W. Taylor) along with John Sharp chief mining Engineer and contractor (who was also a lawyer) were brought together in the firm Sharp & Young they took on grading contract and the boring of tunnels they soon had some fourteen hundred men working for them in Echo Canyon. Upon reaching the Promontory region the two companies’ blasters worked very near each other and when the men of Sharp and Young’s Union Pacific first began their work the Central Pacific would give them no warning when they would set off their fuse. It was then that Jim Livingston, Sharp’s able foreman went to work loading a point of rock with nitro-glycerin, and without saying anything to the CP ‘let her rip.’ The terrific explosion caused the foreman of the CP to come down and confer with Mr. Livingston about the precaution of notifying each party when the other was ready to blast. An example of the danger involved in blasting operations and the need to advise each other when one was about to be set off can be seen from a Deseret News dispatch of March 5th, 1869, just two months before the railroad was joined at Promontory.

“The heaviest work on the Promontory is within a few miles of headquarters. Sharp & Young’s blasters are jarring the earth every few minutes with their glycerin and powder, lifting whole ledges of limestone rock from their long resting places, hurling them hundreds of feet in the air and scattering them around for a half mile in every direction.”


Bishop Sharp represented Brigham Young at the Golden Spike ceremony at
Promontory, since Brigham Young was unable to attend. Sometime after-word the Union Pacific failed to pay the Mormon railroad workers for their work on the railroad. It was John Sharp, Joseph A. Young and Apostle John Taylor, whom Brigham Young sent east to do battle in the courts for the LDS Church. Sharp played a key role in the construction of the Utah Central Railroad as well in 1869-70, and became the company’s superintendent in 1871 and its president in 1873. He was also named vice-president of the Utah Southern Railroad Company when that company was formed in 1870. As the purchasing agent for the this railroad, he became acquainted with some of the Union Pacific directors in New York City and eventually was named a UP (Union Pacific) director, which position he retained until he died late in December the 23rd of 1891 at his home in Salt Lake City. John Sharp became known as “The Railroad
Bishop” and he did well in life having risen in status from a childhood as a miner in the coal pits of Scotland.

John Sharp’s son James Sharp became a stock holder in the Railroad company as well as Mayor of Salt Lake City, Utah from 1884 to 1886. His oil portrait can still be seen on the second floor of the City and County building in Salt Lake City, Utah. James was just a boy of four years when his family started out for Utah and he came with his father’s Pioneer Company from Saint Louis.

This is a quote from the Utah Herald in 1886 about James Sharp’s tenure as Mayor. “James Sharp was the Herald’s candidate for Mayor two years ago, and his record has been such that this paper is proud that it advocated his election and stood by his administration. The gentleman may retire with the perfect assurance that he enjoys the gratitude, the esteem and the confidence of the public he has served so faithfully, and with so much ability, intelligence and integrity. It is ever a pleasant thing to be able to conscientiously approve the course of a public officer when he retires, and in Mr. Sharp’s case it is doubly enjoyable.”

During James Sharp’s tenure as Mayor of Salt Lake City Brigham Young died and many of the official institutions flew their flags at half mast. The Federal government had forbidden Utah officials to fly the flag of the United States at half mast since Brigham Young had defied them in previous years. Yet Brigham Young was not seen in that light by most of Utah’s population and he had been a great benefactor to the Sharp family. So it was that James Sharp flew the flag over the City and County Building in Salt Lake City, at half mast. Soon Federal Marshals came knocking at the office door of the Mayor and fortunately James was out and the Deputy Mayor had to deal with the Marshals. One was a Union Veteran and the other was a Veteran of the Confederate States and they disagreed about the nature of the insult to the flag and James avoided being taken into custody.

by David S. Sharp

Don't look at the Cat

This is a story I don’t tell on stage, I usually tell this to friends that have met this particular Cat.

Years ago, I had more time on my hands than now days. One of my best friends and I used to go out to coffee every Friday, since we both had that day off for one reason or another. I would arrive around 10:00 am and we’d get some lunch at some place that had good coffee. Every morning as I would come over to pick him up he would open the door and as I came in he would say, “I’m gunna go finish getting ready." and "don’t look at the Cat.” I would wait in the living room, and for a couple of years I thought nothing of it since he said it in such a casual manner, and I mostly ignored the Cat. The Cat in question had been rescued off the street when it had been struck by a Car. My friends wife had nursed it back to health after many months, but the Cat’s behavior was strange since it was left a little cross eyed. We would all laugh at the story they told about the cat being taught to go through small panel door to the garage where the litter box was, it soon thought that it could walk through walls and would butt it’s head against the wall trying to move through the wall as it had with the panel.

One Friday I came over to pick my friend up for lunch and a bit of coffee, I came in the living room as usual, and as usual he said, “don’t look at the Cat.” Off he went in the back to finish brushing his teeth. I should say at this point the living room was connected to the kitchen by a swinging door the back door of the kitchen to a short hall and back you could walk into the living room. After my friend had disappeared I walked into the kitchen and there was the little cross eyed Cat glaring at me, as I looked down I just burst out laughing it was so comical. The Cat took offense as if it was a sign of aggression and started coming at me like a rabid Wild Cat, hissing, spiting, yowling. Terribly frightened I backed out through the swinging kitchen door only to realize the thing had gone around the back through the hall out into the living room. I quickly stepped back through the swinging door into the kitchen again. I prayed that the frothing, spitting creature could not understand or work the door. It whirled back around and came in the back door of the kitchen, and we did this little dance back and forth, as I would call out several times to my friend, “are you ready yet,” or sometimes, “help”! Finally the Cat faked me out and doubled back when it lunged at me glomming on to my pant leg, like a miniature Lion of the undead variety biting the neck of a small Gazelle. I was amazed that it didn’t hurt more than it did, since the attack was so ferocious. After much urgent pleading my friend made ready to go, he yelled, “Cat!!!!” and it slinked into a back room to sulk, and out the door we went. As he locked the door he said kindly, “I told you….don’t look at the Cat!

Memories of my Great Grandfather Ed Spalding Deputy Sheriff of Fremont County Colorado

Some of my earliest memories surrond a trip my parents made along with my maternal grandmother. We arrived somewhere in Colorado to a farm where some one special lived. My parents came to the door and were greeted by an elderly couple that came out and hugged my Grandmother and mother. I came to realize later that they were the parents of my Grandfather Clay long past away leaving my Grandmother a widow to raise her only child my mother Elaine.

My Great Grandfather had a Parakeet perched on his shoulder he called Corky, and to me he seemed taller than anyone else there. He took me over to a shelf where he brought down a Silver Star with the words "Deputy Sheriff Fremont Colorado" on it. It became a real treasure to me and I spent many hours with a childhood Hopi friend wearing it while we chased imaginary bank robbers and cattle rustlers. I still have it locked in a safety deposit box with other things of value for I would never choose to loose it.

Ed Spalding had been a Civil war veteren and had been shot as a young lad in the leg by a Confederate Musket ball. (He still had a limp for the musket ball was still in him.) He moved out west to Colorado where experience with a revolver stood him in good stead as a Deputy Sheriff. When we made our visit he was 94 and my great Grandmother in the picture was still with him.

We made one last visit to see them and I asked where Corky was and he told me that he got knocked out and didn't make when he ran into a door jam. My sister found this old photo of him with my Grandfather as a little boy in my Mothers stuff and made a present of it to me. It was interesting to see them when they were younger and to compare my vague memory of our vist 50 years ago.

Dave Sharp

The Holy Tree

I've told this story just once to an audience, during a Saint Patrick's
Day concert we did in a theatre with our band "Idlewild" and a troop of
step dancers, a pipe band and some of my storytelling, four years ago.

At the time some years ago I would travel to and fro in downtown Salt Lake
City and in one part of the inner city neighborhood my wife and I would have lunch at a wonderful little Japanese Restaurant called the Koko Kitchen. They have some of the best Teriyaki, Udon and Sushi in our area. As we would gaze out the window across the street we would see a platform
built around one of the trees along 3rd East. It had lite candles all
around the edges of the platform and on wooden boxes nearby. There were
notes with prayers for family members pinned to the trunk of the tree
under neath a sawed off branch. The heartwood of the stump had an image of
the Virgin Mary in it. Many of the Catholics and others in the area made
little pilgrimages to the tree for St. Mary to bless them or a loved one.
To me it seemed a beautful belief and I thought about some prayer I might
write and a candle I might light on a relatives behalf. Some time went by
and on the local news I'd heard that vandals had come during the night
with chisels and chopped out the image in the tree. When traveling in
Ireland and Wales we saw many Holy Trees within the old Medieval Church
walls or on other sacred sites. Most of these were Yew, but some of them
were of other types, some bleed blood red sap, others were said to be
sentinels and so on. I was broken hearted that someone could be cruel
enough to try to quash other peoples beliefs in our community, but as fate
would have it that did not stop the belief of the people. They still came
and lite candles, pinned their prayers to the tree as if the sacrilege had
never happen, they continued. That was the real beauty of the Holy Tree, it stands there more sacred
than before.

So after I told that story we played a medely of Irish jigs for the step
dance company to dance to called "The Humors of Cappa and The Holy Tree,"

David S. Sharp
Glastonbury duo

If you don’t know where you’re going how do you know when you get there

I feel that my wife and I know exactly where we're going and how we might get there. For several years now my wife and I tell each other retirement stories. We bought a little 10 acre lot in the deep west, far from the beaten track on a little piece of wind-blown prairie covered with sage, and an occasional Pinion. We like to fantasize about what we would like to build and what we might do when we're there. We aren't planning to quite playing music, storytelling or recording, but have more time for our research, writing, reading, growing a garden. I've been a wood carver and make musical instruments in my wood shop. We hope to take hikes with our dog into the national forest up the road one half mile. We hope to have time to work on that puppet show and tour a little bit with it and combining our music and storytelling with carving and back drop paintings. My wife wants to keep a couple of Alpaca's and maybe a chicken or two for eggs. We have a railroad storage container currently on the property to store our cabin kit in. When we finish the cabin I'll use that storage container for my carving studio. My wife wants a greenhouse for growing things year round and big enough for her to practice her Tai-chi and Kung-fu. We hope to have our children and grandchildren come and stay for extended periods, and the air is as pure and clean as anyone could ever wish for. No freeways will be built through that area in the next hundred years, because there is nowhere to go to in this vast under populated area of the state. Hawks, Eagles and other fowl and wildlife seem to thrive, because there is no pollution concentrated in the food or prey they eat. Our son bought a lot just up the road from us, and he and other members of the family have offered to help us build. Our water permit has been applied for and there are maybe a half dozen year round residents in the entire vast sweep of the valley. Part of the joy is the journey, just dreaming about it and telling each other stories is a pleasant topic of conversation. Obviously when we get there is when we can stay for an extended period of time, or finally make a permanent move, but there will always be somewhere to go, new projects to make and new stories to tell.  We just recently built our first building with a ninety foot turn around and a large swath graded off for our larger residence.

Dave Sharp
Glastonbury duo

The Hawaiian Nose Flute

Ohe-hano-ihu, is the name for the Hawaiian Nose Flute. Instruments of this type are made of bamboo and are of undoubted antiquity long before contact with western civilization. The instrument consists of a simple joint of bamboo, with an embouchure placed about half an inch from the closed end, thus enabling the player to supply the instrument with the air of his left nostril. The left hand covers the three holes bored mid-way along the length of the instrument, and the right hand index finger is placed over the right side of the nose closing that nostril, while the thumb of that hand is placed under the instrument. Often these instruments were intended to accompany poetic recitation or as instrumental improvisational music played for members of the royal family upon waking or at other times for magic and religious rites. They were also used to serenade someone you were interested in courting. In making improvisational music the description of the music is as follows:

The player begins slowly with strongly accented, rhythmical melodic movement, which continues to grow more and more intricate. Rhythmical diminution continues in a most astounding manner until a frenzied climax is reached; in other words, until the player’s breath-capacity is exhausted.

I’ve learned to make all kinds of world flutes from Anthony Natividad. His website is at www.anthonynatividad.com he is also a gifted storyteller even if he doesn’t realize he is one. He would tell you, and I believe him, that the ancient Hawaiians believe the Ohe hano ihu speaks only the truth because you can not lie from the pure breath of your nostrils. (An important feature of trust for couples falling in love.) I’ve included an illustration of one of the many flutes I’ve made among my other pictures.

In my wood carving studio I’ve learned to make Japanese student Shakuhachi’s and Shinobue, Chinese Xaio’s and Tai pei Xaio’s, Tongan Fangufangu, Native American Plains Flutes, Vietnamese Sao Truc, Maori Nguru, and Bansuri of India. I’d like to make a world flute album with many of these flutes we have all over the house. They make great ideas and focal pieces for legends of flute players from those cultures, and there is always some further shore to look upon with my music.

Dave Sharp
Glastonbury duo

Some Norwegian you are!

Some Norwegian you are!

My wife is of Norwegian descent on her father's side of the family. They came from a little enclave of Norwegians that settled together in midwestern Canada. I often kid my wife when she complains about cold, dark and sometimes wet Utah weather. (It's a desert but it rains or snows more than you would think.) The other thing she is not fond of is the smell of fish. So I'll say, "some Norwegian YOU are, you don't like the wet, the cold, the dark or smelly fish. Aren't you supposed to like Lutefisk and Herring?" She'll reply, "no, I think past generations of mine must have been sick of it, that's why they immigrated!" She couldn't look more Norwegian unless you put her in one of those traditional costumes.

I've learned to eat my tins of Sardines out in my wood carving studio, and take the tins out to the garbage can through the Garage entrance. Her sense of smell is so acute as to pick out the scent of the unrinsed fork I used lying in the sink waiting to be washed. (Now I rinse them off!) Of course for many hours I have what she'll refer to as kiity breath. I like nothing better than butter and brose (Oatmeal) with smoked Herring on top, but I'd have to eat that in my studio as well.

For some time we've had that sort of husband and wife banter on stage she's been my best friend. I sort of like that she's learned to tell some of her own stories as well as play the music behind so many of mine. My wife used to work as a volunteer harp therapist (She graduated from Tina Tourin's Harp Therapy school in Vermont.) at the local children's hospital and she will often tell a story of the little girl that used the music for pain reduction and guided imagery. It would help her feel better and she would imagine that she was in her mother's rose garden while the harp would play. I've often told my wife after working small miracles with children that if only there were more people in this world that played the Harp and cared about children they could fix everything else that's wrong with the world over night. The carving on my wifes Harp would be part of a little story she would tell to the children. It has a Raven's head that I have carved out of maple for her, with little semi-precious stones for eyes, and decorative knot-work from the book of Kells carved down the main pillar of the front. The local news did some air time on her work at the hospital, I'm very proud of her and hope that she can continue working with children, because she has a real gift at communicating with them.

Dave Sharp
Glastonbury duo

Let me see your keys!

Let me see your keys

It was more than twenty years ago, that I was sitting in my office on the 14th floor of the "Boston Building" in downtown Salt Lake City. Along with other contractors we were working on a Saturday morning cartoon for Marvel comics animation out of California. We made pretty good money when we were busy working, but much of the time we would wait for contracts or new shows to come in, and animators without something to keep them busy are much like a Mad Hatter's tea party without any tea, or even scones and jam.

One day out of my window I heard shouting from the street below, and looking out my window, I noticed a man in jeans standing in one of the 6 X 6 foot planters in front of the bank screaming and eating pansies from the planter. I called to some of my other studio mates and they came in and took a look down as well. "You don't suppose that's Tom gone stark raving mad down there?," someone said. Tom was the latest animator in the studio to go through a seperation, probably something to do with the dicey living we all made. "No," said I, "we would have noticed something before now." The police came and the man calmly gave himself up to custody. Funding cuts of the time had turned many of the mentally ill and handicapped out on the street, and many were not being properly cared for.

Many years later, I had among my musician friends some that were LCSW's (licensed clincal social workers) that worked for what is called Valley Mental Health in our area. They would ask many of us to come once a month, on a week night to play for dances for the patients at the treatment center. I learned to call dances for them and found them to be very willing to participate in group activities. Many of them dance and listen to directions as well as their counterparts in society. Only one unsettling thing happened during several years of donating our time. My wife would also come and play the Hammered Dulcimer at the dances, and on one occasion between dances a young man came over to talk to my wife. He said "Do you want to know how to say, I'm going to kill you in Swedish". Having heard that I was over there like a shot, fearing the worst. My wife knew what to say, "I'd rather know how to say I love you". He rattled it off like no big deal and that was that. Later my social worker friend said, "often they hear a lot of those types of things from innner voices, and that actually very few of the mentally ill are dangerous to others, mostly to themselves. Most of the people committing violent crimes are sociopaths actually." As they would get on the bus, a Guitar playing friend of mine would ask me, "Let me see your keys!, " I said, "Oh stop it", and he said, "well you have to get on the bus then." He had noticed that none of them have keys, since they don't own cars, homes, safety deposit boxes or anything else that would require a key.

I found it rewarding to work with them, and I had a good deal of empathy for them, since my mentally retarded brother was greatly misunderstood by the neighbors and other kids when I was a child. (Several of the neighbors believed we were cursed by God, so when they would grab their children and haul them inside, I would stagger around with one bulging eye and my hand in a claw mewling all the while just to prove them right. I had other friends.) So it wasn't a great leap for me to realize that this was very similar. I would see many of these people I called dances for out in society later, as their medication would stabilize them, they grew to have a great appreciation for music and stories. I would see them in our audiences even though I didn't know their names. Music and stories gave them a bit of focus on normal activities, appreciation and quality of life. Many of them now have a number of keys on their ring, and I'm glad I still have mine just in case I need to show them to someone.

Dave Sharp

My Father's D-day story

My Father’s D-Day Story

In looking back on how I fell into storytelling, I began to realize my Father is a great storyteller. As a child I heard stories about my family, but on some occasions I would hear my Father talk about his experiences landing a Glider on the early morning hours of D-Day behind the beaches of Normandy.

My Dad (Dr. Byron James Sharp) was a young Lieutenant in what was then the United States Army Air Force. He was trained to fly a plane called a DC-3, or “Gooney Bird” as they were known and the Glider that he later flew. He said, they’re built of canvas and wood, there really isn’t any metal in them. So if something ever happens, like a crash landing it’s bad.” I should say that they have a metal skid plate of some kind on the belly of the craft, but only enough to keep the glider intact for a landing, since weight is a key factor as well.

They had many false starts for D-Day and the Gooney Birds would tow the Gliders out over the English Channel and they would be called back. My Father said it was hard to sleep those nights before and after. Finally on one particular pre-dawn call they made a real dash across the channel and passed over the continent to be released by the tow planes. My Father said as he came in for a landing he could see many of the Gliders smashing into the hedgerows and killing the crews and their troop compliments. The intelligence work on the landing site underestimated the distance between hedgerows which look like over grown hedges but conceal hard packed earth banks beneath with trees sticking up at intervals from the bank. There were also poles planted in the ground by the Germans on some of the larger fields to prevent Glider landings. My father skimed one of the trees on the way in to help slow the Glider. He then chose the comand post that had been set up in the center of the field as a way to slow the Glider and perhaps they would all live through the experience. So heading for the make shift building, he planned to set one wing against the building as he stomped on the airlions with all his might. The Glider slowed enough to stand on its nose as the right wing spun it around the shack. The troops inside, members of the 82nd airborne, along with the jeep they carried were all bunched up in the nose of the ship. Every single person in the Glider lived through the experience with some serious bruising, but many of the Gliders and their crews and troops did not. My Father said that eighty five percent of the Troops and Gliders sent that morning were casualties.

The survivors collected together and some groups took certain tasks and the group of Glider Pilots along with their Paratrooper escort began to head for the beach which was under assault at that moment. Along the way the Paratroopers encountered some sniper fire and captured the snipers, my father realized they were just young boys, around sixteen or seventeen. My father is a kind man and said he thought at the time, “Now the War is over for you guys and you can sit this one out.” That was not the case unfortunately for Paratroops do not take prisoners and it is impractical to do so since it would endanger everyone’s life. So they were taken behind one of the hedgerows and shot.

After a frightening night and day the next night after the beach heads were taken the Glider Pilots waited on the beach in the starlight to be collected by an out going landing craft and taken back to England. The Allies ruled the skies at that point, but during the night a lone Messerschmitt ME109 hunted along the coast looking for targets during the night and the Glider Pilots were silhouetted on the sand and some were smoking cigarettes. The fighter plane began to strafe the beach, but as he did so the ships in the channel opening up turning the night sky to day. My Father said he could see the frightened look on the pilots face as he pulled away from his attack just short of the group of Pilots.

It was some hours later that a landing craft came to take the waiting Pilots off the beach to a ship in the channel. They all boarded the craft and headed for a large LST. As they pulled up the Glider Pilots began to climb up the rope netting that hung over the side, and just as they did the crew from the LST began climbing over the side on top of them to get in the much smaller landing craft. In the confusion the larger ship had struck a mine and was busy sinking at the very moment the landing craft tried to unload its passengers. Now the small landing craft was really crowded and moved out into the channel, with one pass by a Stuka dive bomber that missed entirely, they found another LST and arrived safely in Briton that day.

My Sister bought our Dad a D-Day Glider Pilot ball cap, he’s our hero and from all those family stories I have a lot to live up to. I’ll be happy if I’m half as good of a person because I’ve had some great role models, and that was only one of my Father’s courageous acts through out his life.

* I took my Dad to lunch and read him the article and he informed me about my mistake of which airbourne group he brought in on D-Day. It was the 82nd instead of the 101st. The command post was also the thing that he spun the Glider on not a tree in the center of the field. It's good to get it straight, and I laughed and told my Dad I did listen sometimes to the things he said.

David Sharp
Glastonbury

Dance Pinnochio

I told this story at a Music and Storytelling concert last March, 2007, when our group was asked for an encore.

During the day I work part-time for the American Federation of Musicians, Local 104 as the Business agent. My office co-worker is also a musician contractor and plays in a German, Swiss, Bavarian band called Salzburger Echo. They travel to the various Octoberfests and ethnic festivals around the country. My friend came to work one day dressed in his Leder-Hosen, since he had a gig that night. I was looking at the office emails that day and one was titled “Encore”. So I said, “encore, what’s that?” My friend said, “you know, it’s that thing that Irish Musicians don’t know anything about.” So I shot him right in the Leder-Hosen with the rubber band I had in my hand at the moment. He took a little hop, much like you see a Marionette do, as I said, “Dance Pinnochio.” Some nick names stick like glue after that. It made for a lot of material, such as the Alpine hat left on the desk comment, “If I put this on, and tell lies, will my nose grow” or when he goes home for the evening I’ll say, “later hosen.” We have a pretty good time most days and it all makes me laugh. I refer to him as “das Uber dorken” for his title at work and he refers to me as “das Office dorken.” Or when he gets a call I’ll say, “It’s a little old lady who’s on the phone for you.” Sometimes I’ll sing something from Wagner like the song of the Valkyre or something. We cover the office for each others gigs and or storytelling so it works pretty well. I should say I’ve always wanted to work a puppet show into our storytelling and music as well and have half the stuff built. I’ll finish everything with all that spare time someday soon.

Dave Sharp
Glastonbury

Tales from the Isles of Man

A Celtic Tale from the Isle of Man

The following story is a Manx tale in the public domain. It has a typical Celtic theme of mortals becoming ensnared in the fairy world. The Isle of Man has a very interesting history and culture. Celtic Settlers came to the island during the bronze age, their language is akin to Irish Gaelic and had much in common with Ireland and the Western Islands of Scotland. The island is named for the Celtic Sea God – Mannanan MacLyr and was called “The Throne of Mannanan” because of its central position in the Irish Sea. Viking Sea Kings ruled the island during the Viking age and influenced the language and music in a unique way when they were assimilated by the native Celts, the Scots also ruled the island for a time under Robert the Bruce. The island is famous for their tail-less cats but the people there tell wonderful tales about music learned from the fairies. Today the English have ruled for many centuries and english is spoken by the inhabitants, but many of the Celtic people still retain a bit of their language. The flag of the Isle of Man is a triskelion of three legs on a central hub over a field of red. The motto is: “Which ever way you throw us, we stand.”

The Fairy Cup of Kirk Malew

I’ve heard many a Manxman complain that they’d been insensibly carried great distances from their home, and without knowing how they got there, found themselves on top of some lonesome mountain peak. One fellow, I know, named old Jimmie claims he had been led by invisible musicians for several miles, since he was unable to resist their tunes and beautiful harmony. (TUNE HERE) At last he was led out on to a grass common in the woods where a great number of the little people were sitting round a great table, eating and drinking, playing music in a jovial manner. (TUNE HERE) Among them were some faces whom he thought he had recognized, but forbore taking any notice, or they of him, till some of the little people offered him drink, one of those nearby, whose features seemed not unknown to him from years before, said “if you do,” added he, “you will be as I am, and return no more to your family.” Well old Jimmie was much affrighted, but resolved to obey the injunction. Sure enough a large Silver Cup filled with some sort of liquor, was put into his hand, and when no one was looking he found an opportunity to pour what it contained out onto the ground. (TUNE HERE) Soon after, the music ceased all the company disappeared, leaving Jimmie standing there with that great cup in his hand. So he returned home much wearied and fatigued. The next day he went to the minister of the Parish he lived in and told him all that had happened and asked his advice how he should dispose of the cup. To which the Parson replied, “You could devote this cup made of silver to the service of the church.” And it is said that very cup is still used to this day, for the consecrated wine in the church at Kirk Malew.

Sound scapes for storytellers

One of my favorite sound effects for storytelling is the Irish Bodhran.
(pronounced in Gaelic, Bough-ron) It is a versatile frame drum with a
variety of pitches and sounds that can be made.

A few years ago my wife and I had our first experiences making sound
effects and music for other storytellers. It seemed to me that the Bodhran
helped express a number of moods and narrative sound effects. Many African
cultures use storyteller drums for their art, and I began to see what a
good idea it was. That doesn’t mean that a storyteller can’t make perfect
use of mouth sounds to convey something in a story. I still do plenty of
that, (The boat in bath tub stage, I suppose.) But the drum lent itself to
many ideas. One was a simple knock on the doors of the King’s Hall or a
R-r-r-umble sound as the giant picked up the castle and turned it so a
window in the castle would have a more favorable view. A jig rhythm played
on the drum gave a sense of drama to traveling or of approaching danger. A
Dragon’s footsteps could be played using deep center struck beats upon the
drum. An open handed slap, or a rim shot with the drumstick (or Tipper as
it’s called) can give a completely different effect. Slip your left hand
(if your right handed or vice a versa if not.)behind the cross piece in
the back of the drum, by putting pressure on the drum head from behind you
can raise or lower the pitch. Hold the Tipper or drum stick like a pencil
and curl your hand in until your finger nails face the surface of the
drum. The up and down with the Tipper to single the beat with just one
head of the two headed stick.

You really don’t need to be trained as a musician to a play an instrument
like a frame drum. If you can clap out a simple beat you can learn most of
what you need. One way to start is to buy music CD’s and play along with
them. Learn the different rhythms and experiment with different sound
techniques. If you sing, learn a song while playing the Bodhran, there are
many great stories in old ballads. You could even write a story around the
verses.

When buying a Bodhran you should get one that has the ability to tune the
drum head. You should also get a round case for transporting with a pocket
for a spray bottle, a tube of pure lanolin and a cloth to rub down the
water or lanolin. By treating the Goat or Sheepskin with the spray bottle
and or the lanolin regularly, you can tune the drum head to the pitch you
prefer no matter what humidity or season. Otherwise it will end up too
tight in the dry desert air of Utah.

Other instruments that make wonderful sound effects for stories are:
Tambourines for Gypsies, Egyptian Priestesses, Revival Tent Preachers, or
Wild Cossacks. There are many fine instruction books and different methods
from different cultures to chose from. Playing, listening to and experimenting will help the most.

Spoons, Bones and Triangles have different abilities to illustrate actions
in the story. I use spoons to play a rhythm that imitates the hammer blows
of a fairy Tinker as he makes items quickly by magic.

My favorite sound scape while storytelling is the Harp. My wife plays a Celtic style Harp and uses tunes that emotionally fit the mood of the story. It has an almost magical effect like a glissando raising a curtain or conjuring a scene. The Celtic Harp must have been the hallmark of Bards and Shanachie when they would play music and tell stories in front of the great hall of the patrons they visited and stayed with. It is also the best thing to go with the vocals or flute. (continuo)

One festival my wife and I performed at, had a children’s storyteller that
called herself Mother Goose. She had a large Goose puppet in a wicker
basket and told stories from the book of Mother Goose’s Nursery rhymes,
and gave out medals to children that participated in the activities. She
also had a small Lute backed Guitar she sang with and had a limber jack toy
she pulled out of her basket. She would sing “Dance to your Daddy” while
bouncing the paddle of the limber jack man to make him dance with the
music. The children were all mesmerized and it was wonderful. She was much in
demand around the west coast and had a busy touring schedule.

We also saw an unusually good Punch and Judy show, performed by a husband
and wife team. They had a small proscenium with the husband inside working
the puppets, and the wife outside as the “Bottler”. She wore an
interesting costume and carried a Bass Drum with a Cowbell on it, and in a
harmonica neck brace she had duck calls, siren whistles, kazoo, etc. The
husband used a traditional device used by Puppeteers that fit into the
roof of the mouth that allowed him to talk in an unbelievably high voice
for Punch. Wow! The sound effects were perfectly timed with the dialogue
and action on the stage. They had some wonderful ideas for storytellers.

Those are just a few ideas thrown out quickly. I still make mouth noises
mixed in with everything else in the story. One idea is a raspberry sound
while I pantomime a Troll sticking a piece of sausage on a fork. The fun
is really in the discovery and the possibilities are endless.

David S. Sharp
DBA Idlewild (aka Glastonbury)
Member of the Olympus Chapter of the
Utah Storytelling Guild

Things happen and I almost can't help but tell a story about it, even when my friends all look at their watches.

Things happen and I almost can't help but tell a story about it, even when my friends all look at their watches.

At one time in my past, I worked as an animator. Scripts and storyboards came out of the Los Angeles area to the studio where I worked. One of the things I learned to do while drawing animation or illustrations, was to tell my self a little story about the scene I was creating. For a wizards den I would start by telling myself what was in there. Old books would be on the shelves with cobwebs and bird skulls, potion bottles or various shapes and sizes or large urns or pots to stir ingredients in. A table might be in the center of the room made of old worn planks with a high backed chair or two, candle holders with partially melted candles, an ink well with a bird quill pen next to some old leather bound manuscript. There would also be cobble stone floors and heavy oak beams in the ceiling, the door would be made of heavy planks of wood with a wrought iron door handle. Then add a Raven in a heavy cage next to the table, put scrolls strategically around the room and on the shelves. Maybe a few jars with eyes of newt or warts of Toads sitting around, and the stage is set for the character’s to act upon. Often the characters would be designed by someone else if they had a major role, or by me if they did not. I found that the opposite process also worked well, in that pictures tell stories themselves. Looking at pictures can also give a person ideas for dialogue or action or even a new twist to the plot.

The first people were the first storytellers

I used to dwell upon my father’s work as a child and study all the things he got his degrees in. Our home was full of rocks, minerals, fossils, and artifacts. Especially of interest to me were the artifacts manufactured by early man, my father would map the areas the material came from and photograph the most important ones, and publish the findings in scientific journals. Later in his life, after he retired he won several important scientific awards for his work, after many years of publishing and advancing a new theory in that field. I was very proud of him, even before all those accolades I used to imagine what early hunters did and behaved like since we found so much evidence of their existence out in the field. My father told me they were similar to the people that painted cave paintings in the Neolithic past in France. In looking at the paintings I could see that they were about hunting for the most part and had a sort of drama to them with figures and pre-historic bison forming the story for the people that dwelt their. It didn’t take much imagination to visualize a hunter (maybe someone named Thongor) from the group telling stories in front of the fire with those paintings on the wall behind him to help the people of that group imagine what must have happened, or at least what the hunter had told them happened. (We’ve all heard the story about the one that got away.) Add someone blowing on a bird bone whistle or some kind of Drum and or Didgereedoo, (call them Tweedle, Thunk, and Blat) and you’ve got a stage production.

Years later while with friends that owned a ranch outside of Kanab, in southern Utah, we went into the backcountry where they kept their cattle, to see the rock glyphs of the pre-native American culture that dwelt their. I saw something that right away looked familiar, here again was a scene laid out in a drama of some type of antelope or deer being hunted by members of the tribe that had long vanished. Off to one side was a stone etching that my friend and his wife described as the “Laughing Rabbit”. Perhaps laughing at the scene that was before him, we took some photographs and left them as we found them. As I came upon storytelling years later I realized that the process is as old as the very first human beings that the need for stories resides in every person in some form or another. Imagination was something that must have seemed like magic, or if you’re an aborigine “dream time”. How fortunate modern human beings are that are able tap into that ability to suspend one’s disbelief.



Dumb Guy, Bad Karma

One morning I got up and made some tea, and as the water was heating up, I noticed very, eensy, weensy, teeny tiny sugar ants on the counter. I hate ants, so I absent mindedly squashed the tiny creatures as I waited for the kettle to whistle. (In certain circles, this is known as bad Karma.) I poured hot water into my cup and rubbed my sleepy eyes giving a great big yawn. I sipped my tea in a dreamy sort of half asleep way and stared out the window towards the bird feeder hoping to see something. Suddenly blink, then blink, blink, ehh! My eyelids scraped over my eyeballs, and to my horror I realized I had rubbed tiny ant exoskeletons in my EYES. Ahhhhhhhh! Frantically, I ran to the mirror, the tiny serrated and spiked ant legs and other bits, were in my eyes, aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh! I’m shredding my eyes! Ahhhhh! “Oh I’m awake now”, I screamed to no one in particular. After washing my eyes with water and ointment and various things over and over, many hours passed before I felt better. That night as I traveled to my music job in Park City, I told the story to Scott on the way up the canyon. He was my accompanist for the other half of the duo at the restaurant that night. He laughed and immediately sang me a little song. “Dumb Guy, Dumb Guy, he rubs ants in his eyes” (Think of the song “There she goes just a walkin’ down the street, do wha ditty ditty dum ditty yay!” and then “Dumb guy, Dumb guy, he rubs ants in his eyes.”) We worked our job, and when we were done, sang the song with idiotic variations all the way home.

To this day my wife will gently remind me when I do something really, really dumb, (She had to listen to my screaming.) that I should be more careful considering I am someone that, “rubs ants in his eyes.”