I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT BOOKS

is a quotation by Thomas Jefferson that I especially like. Its veracity is felt by many besides me.

I think I've always loved books. My first was Molly at the Zoo which I committed to memory at age 2 It was a Little Golden Book of which I had many.

I devoured them. Friends and relatives bought me new ones from far away places. At least from other towns and cities where they lived.

I inherited a library when I became Communication Arts Dept. Chair and I was fortunate to keep the room after my resignation as chair after 15 years. Although I might not have read all those books, somehow they felt good just to surround me. Just in case. In this case the book case(s).

We've always had a lot of books and bookcases in our homes, too. Until the house we occupy now. It's crazy, but we have very few straight walls. With many windows, also, there simply isn't the room for bookcases that I desire.

We primarily have 3, but that's not enough for me. Ok, four. But that's not enough.

If I were a carpenter (would you have my baby--darn it if I ever understood that lyric) I would have bookcases in all the empty walls between the windows. Some would be very small, but I'd fill them with some books. Maybe not throughout the whole house, but lots of places.

I'm going to go over our house layout again and try to find some more places. I know I could fill them up.

JUNIOR TODAY

I don't know why, but I'm thinking of Junior today. I'm sure he's not thinking of me.

Junior failed fifth grade. He was pretty non-descript. Not that smart, but not dumb enough to fail in grade school. I guess no one fails today.

But what made me think of him was his name. He was in my high school Spanish I class. I don't recall him sticking around for Spanish II. But I wouldn't blame him.

Our teacher followed one of the greatest high school Spanish teachers anywhere. But I was a year or two too late to have taken my foreign language. My teacher was a dud.

When our Spanish II teacher arrived after Rudy's dismissal, she simply couldn't believe how little we knew. Despite her being a very good teacher, she couldn't catch us up to where we should have been. I figure I had one year and maybe one quarter of high school Spanish.

But Junior. He was treated unmercifully by our teacher. Rudy never even gave us Spanish names. He'd just call on us by pointing. Even "This row go to the board for conjugations." But he hated Junior's name.

"You must be called something else. Otherwise, you'll be a 42 year-old man and people are still calling you 'Junior' ." "It's ridiculous."

Then he'd get this falsetto going, "Junior. Junior." "And people will look around for a little boy, and it will be you with that silly name."

But he just took it. He wouldn't go by any other name. Not even for a lousy Spanish teacher named Rudy Margola. He always had the same reply:"What's wrong with the name Junior?" And that was his only comeback.

THE BRAVE ONES

who watched Pres. Obama's speech to the schools, still weren't sure they could stomach it. But as it turned out, there was nothing unpalatable about it.

To me, it seemed rather silly that parents would keep their children home from school because of the Pres. speech. Considering all the re-written history and one sided explanations that occur in the public school.

But also, past Presidents had used that pulpit for the same purpose. Geo. Bush I did. And maybe that's where the short memories of the liberals, well, fall short. In 1991, there was such an uproar that some Dems or is it Dims threatened an investigation (at taxpayers' money no doubt) looking into what GHWB was doingaddressing school children. That is where the squawking began.

So as misplaced as this rebellion is for Obama talking to the kids, just remember--it's not unprecedented. Or is it only an outrage when the other party does it?

THE CLUBHOUSE

was before Man Caves. But we always had one growing up.

Maybe the best was our old coal bin. I remember when we had a coal furnace. It was green and had to be loaded. And cleaned. The cinders hauled out to the alley.

But when we changed to gas, the bin was emptied, cleaned and painted. It served as a clubhouse for years for me and my nieces.

It was perfect. It was ours. It was somewhat separated from the world of adults. It was cool in the Summer. It was a place for kids to hang. Lots of comic books were read there. Lots of plans. Lots of dreams.

We had other neighborhood clubhouses, too. One of the best was in an old incinerator. A floor of straw on top of concrete and a plywood roof, it sure seemed big enough back then, but it couldn't have been any larger than 8 x 10. I know we seated 5 or 6 in there, but we didn't seem crowded.

Another clubhouse was the foxhole. Somehow the Collins brothers convinced their mom to let them dig a huge foxhole in the backyard for army games. No estimation on the size, but it seemed to take most of their good size backyard. When it rained, we had to wait for clubhouse meetings. We only had the foxhole one Summer, but it was worth it, and I never heard of another anywhere.

Clubhouse, man cave, den, garage--we still have our private or semi-private places that are ours and ours (mostly) alone. We need them for validation. For escape. For whatever we want.

ANGER LEAVES OFF ONLY 1 LETTER

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas talks about curbing his anger in his new book My Grandfather's Son. It's a good read about a good man and good Justice.

Anger rears its ugly head too often for me. Bad drivers, bad drives, bad plays, bad calls, bad breaks--those sum up about all the anger I have and haven't learned yet how to control it.

Oh, I do much better than I used to. But make me stop at four or five red lights in my city where they seem to think the wait at them needs to be an inordinate amount of time, and I'm reacting. Slamming my gear shift into park while mumbling about burning out my brake lights--fat chance. Umpires and refs who although much closer to the live action than I missing obvious calls that hurt my team(s). My reaction: loud yelling at the tv or at the park or stadium.

Players are not exempt either. "The ball was never in the strike zone. How could you swing at that"? or "Can't anybody on the field tackle?" Yep, those are faves of mine.

Bad slices or pull hooks off the tee, especially on Par 5's and I'm mad as a hornet at myself. While I may hit many great shots during a round of golf, I'd sacrifice them all for ordinary shots without any stupid shots that I invariably hit. Plus, if I keep track of my score after 8 holes, without a doubt I'll choke on the last one.

Finally, drivers who tail gate me or don't signal are fair game to my frustration and anger. That is, I'll react to the poor passenger in my front seat with a verbal carnage only best described as outrage. Not at the passenger. I know who causes me grief: the poor one seated next to me though has to hear my vent.

As I said, I'm making progress. But it has been a lifelong project. Fortunately, it's not a lasting anger. I feel foolish after my display, but I'm over it. Except when a driver makes me miss a green light and...

...''AT WORK I JUST TAKE TIME..."

I know I left out The Beach Boys, Bob Dylan, Johnny Rivers, and a lot of other great artists from the '60's in yesterday's blog. I'll leave out some great Black or Soul singers and groups today.

I started with Dionne because I liked this picture. But she was really good. I saw her at the DuQuoin State Fair one Labor Day when it rained and rained, a typical SoIl thunder boomer.

Another of my faves was Little Anthony and The Imperials. "It Hurts So Bad" and "Tears on My Pillow" mellowed me out after failed relationship(s). In that same vein, Percy Sledge's "When a Man Loves a Woman" was awesome. I didn't know what love was, but he sure made it seem like "that's the way it's supposed to be".

The Supremes, of course, could not be overlooked. I still remember the shock of seeing Ed Sullivan give Diana Ross a kiss on the cheek on national tv. Boy, that was a stunner for a Midwesterner. I don't know what a Southerner must have thought back then. But The Supremes were well, supreme.

The Four Tops, The Temptations, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, and Lou Rawls were also great. I was hard though to beat "The Duke of Earl," back then.

What really surprises me, though, is the popularity of 60's music today. Most of us cared very little for the music of our parents and grandparents generation. Oh, certainly there were some classics that endured; that lasted. But not like the 60's sound. That is truly classic.

DAVE CLARK, ET. AL

Because was a song I recall from 1964. The Dave Clark Five, or the first besides The Beatles to hit the American pop scene from Britain. When I came across this photo, it made me think, categorize, and pidgeon hole songs from that era with the years that I recall.

So I'll start one year before Because with You Belong to Me. I remember hearing that song and watching the older guys, the Seniors in high school, slow dancing with their hunnies at the Sub, a teen hangout for decades in MTV.

'65 was all about Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones. Still one of the greatest all-timers. Like a few old movies that I can't pass up watching just a little, this song will be listened to by me as long as it plays on the oldies. Somewhere, sometime, I will join in "and, I try, and I try, and I try..."

1966 was maybe the peak of the classics topped by Yesterday. One of the greatest of McCartney/Lennon. This was about the time of the silly Beatles cartoons. I was stuck watching the show because they always played at least two Beatle songs in the 30 minutes and it was worth watching the drivel to hear the music. Later in the year, Lou Christie's Lightning Strikes was a fave, too.

The Doors in '67, Spanky and Our Gang, The Association, Gene Pitney, well the hits just kept on happening. And that's the White artists. More tomorrow about The Supremes, Dionne Warwick, Smoky Robinson, et.al.