By Sharon J. Anderson
Fantasy Jobs (in chronological order)
Miss America
Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz”
Maria in “The Sound of Music”
Nancy Drew
Sherlock Holmes
Archeologist
Barbara Bain in “Mission: Impossible”
Stephanie Powers in “The Girl from U.N.C.L.E.”
Diana Rigg in “The Avengers”
Margaret Mitchell and/or Scarlett O’Hara
A keyboard player for Carole King, Judy Collins or Joni Mitchell
Ayn Rand
A gang member in “A Clockwork Orange”
Lighthouse keeper
John, the beloved disciple of Jesus
Barbara Jordan
Flannery O’Connor
Vanessa Redgrave in “Julia”
Sigourney Weaver in “Aliens” and/or Newt, the child she protects
A mother with two children
Cherry Jones’ lover
Mary Oliver and/or Anne Lamott
An Academy Award-winning documentary filmmaker
Actual Jobs (in chronological order)
Babysitter
Gardener
FBI Laboratory File Clerk
Janitor
Dishwasher
College Student Newspaper Editor
FBI Crime Laboratory Digest Editor
Book Editor
Book Marketing Manager
Director of Communications
Senior Marketing Writer
Freelance Writer
Part-time Music Store Employee
Part-time Gas Station Attendant
Independent Creative Director & Storyteller
The Girl From U.N.C.L.E., photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Here I Am – Miss America
By Sharon J. Anderson
The first job I was determined to have was Miss America’s. In the early 1960’s, the crown came with an eye-popping $10,000 scholarship, plus Bert Parks announcing to the entire world precisely where and who I was. For my talent, I would play Beethoven’s, “Fur Elise” on piano, and then hope for an in-depth question about current events that I could tie to the Kennedy and Lincoln assassinations, my obsession at the time. I pictured myself wowing America with a detailed explanation of the amazing similarities in the bullet trajectories inside the Presidential skulls.
There I was, embodying both beauty and tragedy on a stage. And here I am, still pretty much doing the same thing. “Drama, drama, drama . . . always such drama with you,” my mother would say whenever she passed me nose-deep in The Day Lincoln Was Shot or newspaper accounts of the 1966 kidnapping of 17-year-old Peggy Ann Bradnick on her way home from school in Shade Gap, Pennsylvania, not far from our house. Holding Peggy at gunpoint, William Hollenbaugh, the kidnapper, led police and FBI agents through the thick mountains of central Pennsylvania for eight days. An FBI agent with my same last name — Terry R. Anderson – and a police dog were killed in the final shootout with the deranged loner, who was also killed. I was both entranced and frightened. I was lonely, too. Would I kidnap or shoot somebody one day? I needed to know.
I gave up the Miss America track and became an investigator. I had questions. I wanted answers. I wrote letters. I wrote to the makers of Lifesavers candy: “How do you get that hole in the middle?” I wrote to NASA: “How do astronauts go to the bathroom in outer space?” I wrote to Betty Crocker: “Why do you always look the same?” I wrote to the U.S. Mint: “Why is Lincoln on a penny? Don’t you think he’s worth more than that?” The answers came in large envelopes or boxes that included free Lifesavers, autographed photos of all seven Mercury astronauts, boxes of muffin mix and a spanking new Lincoln penny on a special card with my name on it, as though the coin had been molded and pressed just for me.
Intent on developing my investigative skills, I began to read detective stories and watch detective TV shows. I fell wildly in love with “The Girl from U.N.C.L.E.,” Cinnamon from “Mission: Impossible,” and, most of all, Emma Peel from “The Avengers.” I secretly carried their pictures in a small file folder that also included newspaper photos of Barbara Eden (in her genie outfit) and June Lockhart, with a desperate look on her face, talking on that wall telephone in a scene from “Lassie.” I began to practice kung fu kicks and comb my hair to one side so I could fling it back seductively. Walking to and from school and while on family camping trips, I stealthily wrote down the license plates of suspicious cars and trucks in a small spiral-bound reporter notebook like the ones I saw on “Dragnet.” Once I tallied 1,967 licenses (the same as the year), I was going to send the notebook to the FBI for further investigation.
My fantasy sleuthing ended abruptly during my senior year in high school. That year, I pretended to be an undercover “student” cop a la “Julie” from “The Mod Squad.” To the members of my lunch table I whispered enough details about mysterious drug dealing to pique their curiosity, and later, their cruelty. One day, I opened my hall locker and discovered a plastic bag filled with white sugar labeled, in embarrassingly large black scrawl: ILLEGAL DRUGS!!! An attached note said, “You are such a liar!!!”
Yes, I was. Why? Why did I lie? Why did I create a fantasy life so believable that when I first saw the white sugar in my locker, I pulled out a pen that I had told others concealed a two-way police transmitter?
Investigating my behavior now via this writing exercise (using a pen) and with years of living and therapy behind me, I see that my fantasy life was safer than my real life. When the fantasies stopped at age 20, after a born-again Christian experience (I was dressed like Alex from “A Clockwork Orange” at the time, complete with white jump suit, bowler hat and one false eyelash), all hell broke loose. I came face to face with my profoundly disturbed and wounded self. I became suicidal, wanting to be with Jesus sooner, rather than later. Thanks to grace (embodied in countless beloveds demonstrating inhuman patience and unconditional love) and my own steely determination, I turned my investigative eye on myself.
The tools of my investigation are on display for all to see when one enters the stage of my home. Peer closely at a bookshelf and see The Drama of the Gifted Child by Alice Miller or Bodies Under Siege: Self-Mutilation and Body Modification in Culture by Armando R. Favazza or I Never Saw Another Butterfly: Children’s Drawings and Poems from Terezin Concentration Camp, 1942-1944 or Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton or The Dream of a Common Language by Adrienne Rich or The Illustrated Gospels. See The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 by Lawrence Wright on my nightstand. See a documentary movie camera on a tripod in one corner. Hanging or propped against walls, tables and chairs, see more than 230 original paintings, drawings, photographs, and sculpture – collected over 30 years — focusing primarily on the female form.
See beauty and tragedy embodied together. See me. Crying one minute and laughing the next. See me. With exquisite taste in art and women and lousy taste in clothes and home furnishings. See me. A small independent creative director for large public corporations. See me. A lesbian Christian. Look. Here I am: Miss America.
About writing, Sharon says: My regular writing process is similar to the one undertaken to complete this post. Pairing dissimilar words together (such as “wizened” and “baby”) always sparks ideas. My first thought when I read about this “Help Wanted” topic was how much I wanted to be Miss America when I was younger. I then compiled a fantasy list of jobs I’ve wanted during my life, followed by a list of actual jobs I have had. Next, I literally placed the two lists next to each other and stared at them. Then, I actually heard myself say out loud, “Well, there I am,” and began to write.
To begin a writing exercise, I often compile word lists based on two contrasting words. The time I contrasted “death” with “joy” led to a story that begins, “The first time I talked out loud about death was with a girl named Joy.” I also force myself to sit with images. One simple, stark image haunted me as a child: a black rectangle. Go to my website: www.sharonjanderson.com, click on the “Read” link and read my published story, “Black Rectangles,” to see where my pen went after I wrestled with this image.
I see writing much like my matron saint, Flannery O’Connor, who once said, “I work from such a basis of poverty that everything I do is a miracle to me; however, don’t think I write for purgation. I write because I write well.” And for that, I give simple thanks.
-from Topic post, WRITING TOPIC – JOB! WHAT JOB!
Sharon: fantastic piece. There is so much energy there. And your job lists are inspiring. I wonder if I can be Nancy Drew AND Sherlock Holmes for a day? 8)
I think my comments are going to be in layers. There’s a lot of fertile soil in this post.
I first wanted to say that it’s amazing the way you are able to document your process with writing. In your bio, the way you said you followed the layers of the Topic post, Job! What Job? until you got to this point:
Then, I actually heard myself say out loud, “Well, there I am,” and began to write.
How did you come upon so much clarity around your writing process?
Another thing that struck me – the art collection. It seems like art has been healing for you. How has surrounding yourself with art helped you to heal?
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The fantasy jobs are, well, fantastic. Such breadth. I’m struck by Sigourney Weaver in Alien (which, by the way, was one of those movies that just bowled me over) and/or the child she protects. And then you jump to “a mother with two children.” I can see your wild mind.
When you tallied the 1,967 license plates, did you purposely stop at that number given it was the year in question?
You are a strange and beautiful creature, Sharon.
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ybonesy: Alien bowled me over, too. I was working at American Dental in Missoula at the time (see Goodbye to Old Missoula post for frame of reference) and my supervisor, John, who I was actually very fond of, told me I would love the movie. I guess he had me pegged. 8)
I agree about Sharon’s wild mind. You can really see the wild mind process throughout the whole piece.
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Here I am — a strange and wonderful creature!
First of all — the idea for the topic was fabulous — again, I can’t say enough about this website in terms of stimulating ideas.
About my writing clarity — I defer to the quote from Flannery O’Connor. It’s a miracle to me. I know that I am the one moving the pen, but I often feel like something larger than me is moving me. I know that it’s God — who lthese days looks like Toni Morrison to me.
And yes, I planned to purposely stop at 1,967 license plates when I got to that number, but I lost the notebook. Also 1968 soon followed and Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were assassination (RFK on my birthday). Think of the real drama of that year!
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Oh, Sharon, I’ve learned new things about you. What a journey from dishwasher to creative director. It’s no wonder that you are a storyteller.
I’ve heard a few of the FBI stories, but now I’m curious to hear some of the janitor, dishwaher, part-time gas station attendant stories from your real life. These jobs in-part may help to explain your self-proclaimed “lousy taste in clothes” … or at least they are the ones you didn’t have to buy new wardrobe for… Did you have a shirt
with “Sharonimo” embroidered over the pocket?
I love they way you weave elements of the times you grew up in into your story, but keep the lens clearly focused on the story of your life. There is such beauty your honesty.
Thanks for that and more.
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Sharon,
Thank you for having all those jobs – so I could have mine!
You are a wonderful spirit – with all your words, images, silences, outbursts, joy, trauma and drama.
You’re REAL job is to be the most wild and amazing you you can be. Be yourself proud, girl!
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Sharon,
You never cease to amaze me with your talent. You are a truly wonderful and gifted woman.
Thank you for your stories.. You don’t know how much you have helped to heal others through your words.
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Ok, I’m on my 2nd round of comments. The Time article link in your piece about The Battle of Gobbler’s Knob, Friday, May. 27, 1966, is fascinating. I, too, was a big True Crime fan. I think it got started when I read Poe in the pre-teen years. (I mean, how do we know? Maybe Poe’s stories were true.)
When I worked at Borders, True Crime was one of the fastest growing and hottest selling sections in the store. It’s just fascinating how people’s minds work.
Are you still interested in the investigative aspects of such stories? I just wondered if it still interested you.
When Liz and I were in Duluth a few years ago we went to Glensheen, the historic Congdon Estate (link). We went for the architecture, yes, the place is like a castle. But we were also intrigued by the murders that took place there. And to actually walk around where it all took place. It was an eerie kind of thrill.
There are several books about it. One is Glensheen’s Daughter (link). Why are we drawn to those things?
I think your lines capture the feeling of such events and places (and part of the answer):
I was both entranced and frightened. I was lonely, too. Would I kidnap or shoot somebody one day? I needed to know.
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Sharon,
I took you up on your offer and read “Black Rectangles” on your website. I noticed you sounded like a 6th grader in your writing, not an adult trying to sound like a 6th grader. Not everyone can pull this off. Well done! You were absolutely absorbing your environment as a child. Obviously a writer from the get-go.
Keep writing. I’ll keep reading.
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I’m humbled by these comments and feeling grateful in a place deep inside me that feels like new . . . and safe. Thank you all.
As the gods and goddesses would have it, today’s Washington Post includes an article called, “Could Modern Medicine Have Saved Lincoln?” And get this — there’s a diagram of the trajectory of the bullet that Booth fired into Lincoln’s brain. I can’t make up this stuff. I almost peed my pants when I saw it, today of all days.
To answer an earlier question, I collect art to fill the black rectangle that I perceived was my body until I was about 34 years old. The art is one way to hallow the body. I plan to write more extensively about my art collection and the fact that until about two years ago, NONE of the women depicted in my art collection had eyes. Their eyes were hidden or obscured in some way. Read “Black Rectangles” to get the significance of that.
And I LOVED crime stories when I was younger and still get hooked today by REAL ones, like the O.J. Simpson case. I work at home so could sit and watch that trial for hours on end. Plus, I knew the FBI shoe expert, Bodziak — he had been in the FBI Lab when I worked there. Speaking of that, I was there during the Patty Hearst kidnapping and saw all of that evidence. The lab even had a joke about the case:
Did you hear about the Heart burger? You open it up and there’s no Patty.
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Or, did you hear about the Hearst burger? You open it up and start coughin’.
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BTW, here’s the link to the Lincoln bullet trajectory (linked) that Sharon mentioned in her comment.
There’s also a picture of the deathbed at the house where Lincoln died that one of the boarders shot a photo of after they took Lincoln’s body. There is a dark shape in the bottom corner of the pillow. I presume that’s the blood stain. I see two round dots in it that look like a pair of eyes.
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ybonesy: thanks for providing the link to the Post article. Wow. Check out that illustration and old photo of the deathbed. That’s a strange synchronicity.
I still want to know the answer to Sharon’s question:
I wrote to the U.S. Mint: “Why is Lincoln on a penny? Don’t you think he’s worth more than that?”
I do.
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The U.S. Mint replied that because the penny was the most abundant and popular coin, they wanted a President who was equally as popular. Based on The Atlantic Monthly’s list of 100 Top Americans (a couple of issues ago), the Mint was on to something. Lincoln was #1 on the list.
Thanks for providing the link to Lincoln’s mortally-wounded skull. I’ve been to the Peterson House where that creepy photo hangs. The ACTUAL pillow with Lincoln’s blood stains is ACTUALLY on the ACTUAL bed (in some airtight plexiglass), but I don’t remember seeing a pair of eyes.
I have half a bookshelf dedicated to the Lincoln assassination. Yeah, I do. But it’s nothing compared to my shelves of books about the Holocaust. Yeah, that, too.
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They (the U.S. Mint) *were* on to something. Shiny penny, penny for your thoughts, lucky penny. A penny symbolizes something pretty powerful, even today. My girls love finding pennies. I tell them to never pass up a penny on the street. It’s a symbol of how even the lowest is worthy.
BTW, why was Lincoln taken to that bed after he was shot? Was he boarding there? Or was it the closest place?
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The boarding house was right across the street from the theater. The rest of the US cabinet, except for Secretary of State Seward (who was gravely injured that evening in an assassination attempt related to Lincoln’s), set up the government in the sitting parlor of the house. Visitors today only have access to the first floor. And the bed he died in is REALLY small. I, too (5 ft. 7 in.) would have to sleep in it diagonally.
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You must certainly be eligible for the best mini-autobiography– in the under a thousand words category. As always, you’ve exposed yourself completely in your expressive storytelling.
I know about you and Sigourney Weaver in “Alien,”— I’m certain you would be just as terrified and quick thinking as Ripley. I also believe SW shows another side of you in the movie “Snow Cake”– the gangly, other-spirited, Linda Freeman.
And thank you for reminding me how the most engaging opening sentances introduce the reader to the best compositions.
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Yes, I sleep with Miss America, so I may be partial.
I’ve been absorbing this piece since it was posted. Reading it over and over again, I find it as powerful as I did the first time. Your honesty pulls the reader in. Not many of us are so willing to expose ourselves to this level and be so insightful. You have reason to be proud of who you’ve become. A great piece.
My compliments to the author of the topic. It’s wonderful.
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I always wondered what it was like to sleep with Miss America. 8)
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I also had an affinity for WonderWoman. I guess I don’t appear very loyal, do I? Ah, contraire. Now I’ve got the best – my girl.
In high school, my Tri-Hi-Y and I used to watch the Miss America pageant with these two older lesbians, one who taught PE at the high school, and one who was the guidance counselor. They were an item. Even way back then. Anyway, I’m rambling now, but they had a gathering once, a celebration for a winning season, and we all watched Miss America. Could it get any stranger?
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Yes, it could get stranger if there was a way to find out how many Miss America contestants were lesbians in REAL life. I mean, what about those baton twirlers?
I’m thinking of designing the words, “The Girlfriend” onto a shirt in a way that makes her look like she is the Super Hero she is.
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That would be a great shirt. If you come up with said Super Hero design, I’d love to see it. Girlfriends, partners, lovers, spouses – ARE Superheros to put up with everything we can dish out.
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The major thing I get out of this story is that it is almost as if you are sitting next to the author and she is relating her life to you as we each have a beer or glass of wine. Her writing is very conversational in tone. It is extremely pleasant to listen to her even though I am neither a Christian nor a lesbian and my taste in women runs not to Cherry Jones, but to Sarah Paulson and I would rather be Father Brown than Sherlock Holmes. Thanks for sharing, Sharon.
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Father Brown — thanks for the kind feedback and revealing your own exquisite taste in women. Impressive, and certainly worthy of taking into consideration if you ever want to be an Honorary Lesbian.
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Thanks, Sharon, for the new insight that I now have of you! I especially love the new vision that I now have of you practicing Kung Fu kicks with your hair combed to one side so you could fling it back seductively! I always told you you looked great with your hair parted on the side. I Really enjoyed reading “Here I am Miss America”. I feel even more honored that you choose me to be your hair stylist!:-) Thanks for sharing such an important piece of your life. See you in a few weeks!
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Sharonimo: You have a hairstylist? I recall you mentioning that you don’t even like to be bothered with a shower…
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LOL 8)
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I have the BEST hairstylist in the world. My mother meticulously styled my hair (and my sisters’ hair) until we each left the house as adults (I’m not kidding — there’s quite an interesting story there), so I’ve had an acute fear of hair stylists until I met the appropriately titled, “The Hairstylist” above. She put me so at ease, and she is very, very good as what she does. If anyone reading this lives in the Washington, DC area, her shop is called “Fiddleheads”. PLUS she can do an imitation of her dog talking with a British accent. What’s not to love?
And breathepeace — it’s Saturday. Looks like I’ll have to shower at some point because I’m going to church tomorrow. Not that Jesus minds in the least.
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We’ve always considered it an honor to be included with your “Beloveds,” and thank you for sharing your latest work — a clever and thoroughly enjoyable read. We can hear your dramatic voice and see your beguiling smile, as you pull us deeper in to your story. You would, and could still, be a marvelous actor/writer.
Sharon, you continue to fascinate us. Apparently, we only knew the “Sharon du jour.”
P.S. Let us not forget your brief, but delicious, career as Apprentice Pizza Chef.
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Ella, Ella, Ella — what a happy memory — making pizzas with you and pretending, while we were making them, that we were on the Food Network! Cameras in front of us and a camera in the microwave overhead. Yes, I follow in the exquisite footsteps of your pizza-making skills and Les’ photo-making skills in my own lousy sneakers. I am honored to be your beloved.
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Sharon,
This story is the quintessential American tale. How brilliantly conceived, how compact and elegant. Yes, embodying both beauty and tragedy: for the longest time that was the only American dream for a young girl whose mind was merely the absent extension of her real meal ticket, her body, which was fought over by our culture, by men, and ultimately by herself.
Your depth, your sensitivity, your humanity are a blessing to us all.
This is a wonderful piece.
Kudos!
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BBB — thanks for reading and your insight about the “real meal ticket.” You are one of the more thoughtful men I know regarding the rights of women. I am grateful that I share the stage with you.
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Sharon – I just read your post here on Red Ravine and loved it. When we were in the writing intensive, your work was consistently wonderful – lively, funny, raw, wrenching, wide-open honest. It feels so good to bump up against you and your writing again.
When I saw Aliens, I was a single mom with a daughter Newt’s age. I identified entirely with Sigourney Weaver’s character. I would have (would still) kill for my daughter, absolutely. YES.
Is that murderous strain- which rises up for the most honorable reasons and yet is in fact murderous- part of why we (I) are so fascinated by murders, by crime stories?
I remember at the age of 8 standing beside the bed Lincoln died in, pulling back the bedspread and seeing that bloodied pillow, encased in a glass box. My father tried to convince me it wasn’t actually blood, but the chill running down my spine told me otherwise. Years later, maybe partly because of my father’s denial, I wondered if I’d imagined that dark spot. Now I know for sure I didn’t.
Jude
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Thanks much for taking the time to read my post. It was fun and illuminating to write — and I love your line, “It feels so good to bump up against you and your writing again.” Feels good to bump into you, too! Wished you lived closer as I am thinking of having an “Alien” series pajama party where all of us watch all FOUR Alien films and get really, really sassy.
I’m contemplating your comments about “that murderous strain”. My fascination with assassinations when I was a kid helped me to forget about how awful living in my house was. Compared to assassinations, I had it good. Plus, they were really difficult to put my small arms around. I didn’t understand the concept of death, let alone murder, let alone assassinations. It was huge to me because it was the only time I remember our entire family coming together for hours at a time to watch the Kennedy funeral coverage. Never again did we bond like that. And here’s a confession: I recently purchased that new 1,605 page book on the Kennedy assassination. The footnotes are on a separate CD affixed to the inside back cover. I’m such a junkie.
And wow — I, too, was haunted by that dark spot on the Lincoln pillow the first time I saw it when I was about 12 years old. I didn’t believe it either until I saw it decades later as an adult. Thanks again for taking the time to connect — and for loving your daughter so fiercely!
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So Sharonimo, if anyone knows, you will know.
Did Jackie Kennedy really leave some sort of document behind that cannot be opened for 100 years after her daughter dies? And if so, what are the secrets she will reveal? Tell all.
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While we’re waiting for sharonimo to shed light on the situation, where did you hear this rumor, Sinclair??
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Yes, Sinclair, where did you hear this? I know that the National Archives stuff/evidence can’t be opened until Caroline dies. I never heard of this 100-years-after-that requirement. I bet the new book I bought will have the info, however. I’ll keep you posted. But again, like yb, I’m curious where you heard this fascinating detail. God forgive me, but I’m practically drooling.
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I just love the idea of you both on the edge of your seats waiting for my rumor source. And, I feel especially super-smart that I may have a JFK tidbit that Sharonimo hadn’t heard. Gosh, can I uncover an unknown piece of Abraham Lincoln trivia? Especially about Ford’s Theater? Wait! I already have it!
Q: What is the hidden message the sculptor of the Lincoln Memorial put into his masterpiece?
Back to the subject at hand. When John Kennedy, Jr. died in the plane crash, I was watching a broadcast about all the troubles of the Kennedy clan. The focus turned to Jackie, and how she seemed to silently endure the infidelity of her president husband. Then these two commentator-types mused that we’d never really know what she endured, since she had stipulated before her death that her private, tell-all memoir couldn’t be opened until her children had been dead for 100 years. I don’t remember the name of the program, but I do remember feeling instantly and insatiably curious.
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I confess that I was going to spend hours on Google finding this answer about the Lincoln Memorial hidden message just to impress Sinclair, but I am taking the route of integrity. I have NO idea what the hidden message is. But I MUST KNOW AND MUST KNOW IMMEDIATELY.
Educate me, O Wise Sinclair.
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Please, come and sit at my feet, Sharonimo.
Several years ago I studied at Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C. I was there to fine-tune my sign language skills. The sculptor of the Lincoln Memorial (last name is French) also did several of the pieces on Gallaudet’s campus. This is where I learned the secret.
Lincoln is important to the deaf community at Gallaudet because he signed a bill (while president) that allowed the school to bestow college degrees. Sculptor French knew about this, so when he chiseled the Memorial, he made Lincoln forming his own initials in sign language. The left hand is forming an A, the right making the letter L.
Like all good secrets, this one is surrounded with speculation, rumors, and theories. The people at Gallaudet swear by it.
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WOW. I am genuflecting, Sinclair. This is a very moving story. I’m going to Google images of the Lincoln Memorial now just to get a closer look.
By the way, given how much our current President has screwed the country, you can guess what gesture I’d form on either one of his hands if I ever sculpted him. But let’s move from the profane back to the sacred — thanks for letting me know this. It really is a beautiful detail.
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Would you carve him picking his nose, by chance??
Not to take the wind out of anyone’s sails, but I did stumble across this little tidbit from the Lincoln Memorial Museum:
http://www.thelincolnmuseum.org/new/research/stories.html
Now, I prefer to believe the folks at Gallaudet, especially since there is the connection with the sculptor having done a piece there and as such becoming familiar with sign language.
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yb — I’m would like to say that I did not click on the URL you added to your comment because I, too, want to believe the folks at Gallaudet. But, alas, I DID click and the wind is taken out of my sails a bit. I feel like I did the moment I found out that there were FOUR Lassies and that they were ALL MALE DOGS.
Sinclair, I still believe in you. I do, I do, I do.
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Just because French’s daughter said French didn’t *intend* to form the letters A and L doesn’t make it so. I mean, I don’t know everything my father intended. I can speculate, but gosh, the facts as we know them are:
1. Before doing the Lincoln sculpture, French sculpted a memorial to Gallaudet;
2. The hands appear to be forming an A and an L;
3. Lincoln’s initials are A and L;
4. Sinclair has an uncanny ability to eke out secret truths from everyone and anyone.
I’m siding with Sinclair with this one.
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Your logic is sound. You have made and rested your case. I, too, side with Sinclair.
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Wanna-be Believers,
You can seriously trust me on this one. One thing that we tend to forget (living in 2007), is that at the time of French’s work, being deaf wasn’t okay, and using sign language definitely wasn’t okay. If someone was born deaf (the hearing people thought), the least they could do is try to be as hearing-ish as possible by learning to lip-read and speak with their mouths not their hands. Sign language had to go underground in lots of ways for long stretches of time. There have been rousing debates over the years, with discussions becoming ugly and political as oralists have tried to force sign language to go away. Happily, that debate is settled now, and most hearing people have stopped trying to insist that they know what is best for people who are deaf.
Anyway, French had the courage and clever idea to honor Lincoln and the Gallaudet community in one piece of art. In his own way, he’d “show them.” His daughter’s later claims are likely based on lots of pressure to conform the status quo. Her father, on the other hand, stood on the side of quiet integrity.
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“Stood on the side of quiet integrity.” Love that. I want to learn to stand there, too. Thanks, Sinclair
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[…] Help Wanted by Sharon J. Anderson […]
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