Quin gets the archives and establishes his routine

Red was good to his word. When Quin returned to his office around noon after teaching his class he found a manila envelope leaning against his office door. Across the envelope twenty five years ago Red had scrawled in permanent black marker in all caps “Archives of the Appendix Historical Society.”
Quin smiled to himself as he bent over to pick up the envelope. As he picked up the envelope he found a short note attached with a paper clip to the back, “Quin the Society is so pleased that you have agreed to write this paper. It is going to be fabulous.” The note was signed, “Red Wilson.”  

Quin took the manila envelope containing the archives and threw it in his brief case. When he returned to his apartment that evening he took the envelope out and then sat it in a corner next to his ancient computer that had no connection to the internet. There it sat until February.

Early on Saturday of that week Quin woke to his phone ringing persistently, he walked groggily over and answered with a big yawn, “Hello.”

“Hello Quin it’s your granddad, Red Wilson.”

“Hey Gramps, what’s up?”

“Sorry for calling so early. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I’ve been up for awhile I was just getting out of the shower. What’s going on?”

“I’ve got great news Quin, we had a special meeting of the Society last night and I gave them the good news that you had agreed to accept the assignment to write the history. They were all really excited, and then we had this idea that we should hold a special celebration for the unveiling of the history. So we are going to host a banquet and a dance to celebrate.  Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Yeah that’s great news gramps.” Quin responded automatically and then a brief panic set in as he fully realized what Red was saying. “When is this going to happen?”

“Well that is why I am calling we have a couple of dates in mind and I just wanted to call and find out what will work for you.”

Red let Quin know the different dates for the banquet the following February. As far as the dates went any of them were good with Quin whose social calendar was completely wide open for the following year. He was about to let Red know that any of them would work when he decided it would simply be best to pick the latest date. That date would give him the most time to procrastinate or as he explained to Red, “That way I will be sure to have all the time I need to do research and time to fact check and revise my first draft.”

Red was gleeful, “This is just fabulous Quin. This is fabulous. It is going to be some night. I can hardly wait.”

“Yeah gramps it will be some night. Well gramps I better get going so I can get started on my research.”

“Yeah I don’t want to keep you from your work I know how busy you are.”

After Quin hung up he immediately returned to bed were he slept on and off until noon.

Over the second week of school Quin established a pattern of getting up around seven drinking some decaf, driving to school prepping for about thirty minutes and then teaching his classes. He could have lectured on the Great Gatsby in his sleep. He was entirely bored by the book, but he had already prepared these lessons when he was a grad assistant and literature seemed like his calling. So though he was bored he was content to coast along on these lessons.

The class was obviously already bored by his lectures as well and any attempts at drawing out discussion from them had fallen flat. They were more than content to just coast along with Quin taking notes on his regurgitated lectures, assuming that they would have to regurgitate the same facts on an upcoming test. In this assumption, they were of course entirely correct.

Through the early afternoon Quin would pretty much vegetate in his office, just waiting for Jack to swing by for their afternoon jog around campus to the field. The run was already becoming somewhat easier and Quin was pleased when he stepped on the scale to note that he had lost a couple of pounds already. Quin had to admit that he was enjoying practice and watching some of the young pitchers begin to get some of the mechanics. His lessons were already paying dividends in their ability to hit the strike zone, and in their ability to throw without their arms hurting the next day.

Red and Quin meet for Breakfast

They met at seven the next morning, and Red spent the first forty minutes of the breakfast peppering Quin with questions about his classes and coaching pitching.  Quin ate it up. Finally Quin turned the conversation to Red’s phone message. “Now granddad you said that you had something very important to talk to me about. We need to talk about that.”

Red took a big slug of coffee and then began his spiel. “Well Quin you may remember that I am the President of the Appendix Historical Society.”
Quin nodded. “Absolutely.” Quin had been to one or two meetings during the summers when he was a kid and Red had brought him along. He had liked eating the donuts and all the attention the adults at the society had given him, but the meetings and the telling of the stories had been almost intolerably boring for him.

Red went on, “Well none of us in the society are that young any more and we need to get the history down on paper, particularly the history of Wondermaker and the carnivals.” Quin nodded he could easily see where this was headed. “We took a vote yesterday morning and voted to commission a writer to write the history for us. Then Quin the Society unanimously voted to commission you as the writer, since you are a son of Appendix, and you are a Professor of Literature. Only I didn’t know when we took the vote that you had your plate so full with your classes and coaching baseball, or I would have told the committee to think about somebody else.”

It was the perfect opportunity for Quin to beg off. Red was giving him an out. Quin had absolutely zero desire to write a paper about Appendix, but he was still basking in Red’s admiration of him as a coach and a professor and he did not want to disappoint. “I am pretty busy, but I would love to help out the society. I used to love going to those meetings as a kid,” he lied convincingly.

Red jumped in, “It would be wonderful if you could do it Quin, but I don’t want you spreading yourself too thin.”  Quin of course had all the time in the world since all of his lesson plans and tests were already written from his previous years of teaching, but he played along.

“I’ll have time, gramps once I get on top of my classes and fall practice will end in a few weeks here.”

“That’s fabulous Quin that is really fabulous, the society will be so pleased. Hey you should come join one of our meetings some time.”

This time Quin made the most of the busy lie, “I don’t think that I’ll be able to make a meeting. I really am swamped in the mornings getting ready for classes and planning practices with Coach Preston., but I can get going on a little bit of research for the paper. When does it need to be done?”

Red was a little disappointed that Quin would not attend a meeting like he had when he was a kid, but he was heartened by the prospect of him beginning research on the paper, “This is really fabulous Quin. The paper will be amazing I just know it. We hope to unveil the paper sometime in March or February at a meeting of the Society.”

At that moment Quin knew if that were the case he could rest easy, and that he wouldn’t even think of the paper again until late January. “That’s good gramps. That should really give me some time to really dig in and wade through the background material. I would like access to all the information that the Society has.”

“Absolutely, I’ll see that it is made available to you.”

“That’s great gramps that will really help me get started. Hey I need to get going so that I can get to class. The young minds need molding you know. Let me get the check so that I can hit the road,” Quin offered knowing full well that there was not a chance of him paying for the breakfast.

“No way Quin. This one’s on me.” Then Red added in a far away voice more to himself than Quin, “This is just fabulous. It will be a great paper,” then turning back to Quin, “You get going now and teach that class. I’ll make sure that I get the Society’s materials to you.”

Red makes contact with Quin

Red tried calling Quin at his office at the college immediately after the Society had adjourned, but Quin was not in. He left a message there and at Quin’s apartment. Quin did not get the message until he got home from practice. Quin walked through the door and saw the light flashing on his machine. He hit the button and a very pleasant female voice said, “You have one new message.” There was a beep and then Red’s gravelly old voice came over the machine, “Quin this is your Granddad, Red Wilson.” (Red had a very peculiar habit of identifying himself by his full name even when calling his relatives or friends, even inspite of the fact that as far as he or anyone else knew he was the only ‘Red’ in town). Quin smiled when he heard his grandfather’s voice. The message continued, “Quin I have something very important to talk to you about. I need you to call me as soon as possible.” He then left a number even though Quin had known the number since he was a very young boy and the number had never changed. 

Quin dialed Red’s number quickly hoping that nothing was wrong. Red answered gruffly on the first ring. “Hello this Red,” he growled on the other end of the line. 

“Hey granddad this is Quin, I just got your message, sorry it’s so late,” Quin paused for a moment caught between a desire to impress his granddad, and the desire to find out what was so important that he needed to call right away. He went with the desire to impress, “I got hung up late at ball practice.” 

It worked like magic. “What do you mean you were at ball practice?”

“Yeah I’m helping out a little with the pitchers. You remember Jack Preston, gramps he was my catcher when we won state?”

“I sure as hell do. That kid hustled and had the balls to sit back there and catch the bullets that you threw in there.”

“Yeah, gramps that’s the one. Well he is the coach at the college and he asked me if I could help out a little with his pitchers and their deliveries. So I’m just helping a little.”  

“Well he sure picked the right man, if anyone could coach a pitcher that would be you.”

“Well I don’t know about that gramps, but I wasn’t calling about that.  Your message said you had something important to talk to me about.”

Red had momentarily forgotten about the commission in his gladness that Quin was coaching pitching. “Oh yeah I’ve got some very exciting news myself and something important to ask you, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. Can you meet me for a breakfast or lunch at the Caboose?”

Still eager to impress Quin lied about his workload, “Sure gramps, I have a bunch of prep work to do for my classes, and I have to get ready for practice, but I could meet you for an early breakfast before class.”

Red paused not wanting to take his grandson away from all the important work that he had to do with his classes and coaching. Still, he had a duty to the society who had voted unanimously to commission Quin to write the history. He accepted the invitation to breakfast.

The mall and worship and a viral video that is worth experiencing

Last Sunday I talked little about worship and how worship focuses our hearts. What we admire we worship. Then I read a really lengthy excerpt from the book Desiring the Kingdom by James K. A. Smith that portrayed the mall as a place of worship – I thought it was  a brilliant description, but long.

Today I happened to check an old email account that I rarely check because I thought maybe I had a recipe there. I didn’t find a recipe, but I did find this – worship of the King of Kings breaking out at a mall. This video has as the saying goes gone viral, and I think deservedly so…. If you can, listen where you have really good speakers….

The Appendix historical society meets and votes to commission Quin

I think one very interesting thing in viewing our lives as stories, is how stories intersect. In this section Quins story begins to be intersected by the historical society's....

The Society had added a few new members in their first five years, but the Appendix Historical Society had not added another member in the past twenty years. A few members had let their annual membership dues of twenty-five dollars lapse, but most had let their health lapse and had had to be removed from the membership roll because they had been removed from the rolls of the living. Now there were only the five left for their quarterly meeting.

The meeting began with Red calling the meeting to order. The meeting always began promptly at nine even though all the members would be there by 8:30. They would gather at 8:30 and eat the day old plain and powdered donuts that Red had picked up that morning from the supermarket on the way to the meeting. They would also drink the scalding hot extra strong coffee that Red made at 8:15. Red was very precise when he made coffee. He always made certain that he filled the filter all the way to the top with grounds. With this method he consistently turned out very bitter, very dark, strong coffee.

The members talked ate donuts and drank coffee for half an hour as they sat on the metal folding chairs that are the staple of all church basements.

At about 8:58 Red would say to one of the members, “Well it is just about time to get this show on the road.” Then he would gravely get to his feet and walk to the podium that stood at the ready by the table that was home to the donuts and coffee. At precisely 9:00 AM he would begin the meeting by solemnly banging a gavel on the podium as loud as his old arm would allow; three times.

He had been banging the gavel since the first meeting of the historical society. Ed Reynolds had told Red that they needed a gavel, before the first meeting. He said that it would give the society legitimacy. Red immediately latched onto the idea. He had never led anything before in his life so the gavel became the symbol of his leadership and authority.

He learned in the first meeting that sometimes simply having the right costume is what matters. During that first meeting he banged the gavel and everyone came to attention. Later that meeting they had elected him president and he had been president ever since. He had led the historical society through six different US presidents.

That fall he again banged the gavel and brought the meeting to order. However on this day instead of handing the podium over to one of the other members to tell a story that the committee had heard a hundred times before, he kept the podium to himself. He decided that this would be the morning that he would share a plan that had been forming in his mind since early summer when he had first heard that his grandson would be moving home to teach at the college. He had rehearsed how he would deliver the plan a number of times before the meeting, and though he had practiced he was still a bit nervous, though he need not have been.
The four members of the audience listened in rapt attention as he unveiled his second stroke of genius.

He began with a bit of self- reflection. “Fellow members of the Appendix Historical Society, it has been my great pleasure to stand behind this podium and serve as your President for these past thirty years. I love this society as it has helped me remember the best days of my life. Ed Reynolds and I talked a number of years ago about the need to remember the great events of our youth, and we decided that we would invite others to help us in the remembering. Many joined us in this endeavor. The intention always was to remember and to commit the memories to paper, so as we passed on our memories would not.”

The members of the society nodded in agreement with all that Red was saying. “Well I’m sorry to say that many of our members in good standing have passed on, and yet we do not have anything on paper.” The members shook their head in grim recognition of the sad truth.

“Well ladies and gentlemen I suggest that this is no longer acceptable. I fear that I myself am drawing closer to that other side, and I do not want this work to be left undone. I propose that we draw upon the savings of the Historical society and commission a writer to write this history, so that after we are gone a record will remain of what life was like in our youth. So the chair will entertain a motion to commission a writer to write the history of Appendix, MI and its Carnivals.”

One of the members immediately jumped to their feet and shouted, “Mr. President, I move that a writer be commissioned to write a history of Appendix and its carnivals.” The other three remaining members said immediately in unison. “Second.”

Red smiled as he said, “It has been properly moved and seconded that the society commission a writer to write a History of Appendix and its carnivals. Is there any discussion?” Each member of the society basically repeated the gist of Red’s opening statement. They all hit the main points. They wanted to get something on paper so that the memories would live. Each also noted that a bunch of their members had “passed on,” and they were approaching that marker themselves. After the fourth member had spoken they brought the matter to a vote and the motion carried unanimously.

Red banged the gavel, “The motion carries. Now I suggest that we move quickly on this motion and commission a writer as soon as possible. I would like to make a suggestion, but it is of course entirely up to the society. I have no special say just because I am the president. Many of you probably remember my grandson Quin. He was the kid who pitched the shutout in the state championship game the year that Appendix won the state title. Well Quin has always loved Appendix and has moved back into the area.  He is teaching literature at the College. He has studied writing and he loves Appendix, and I know that he would be willing and that he would do an outstanding job writing the history.”

Red paused. In that brief pause one of the members was on their feet. “Mr. President I move that the society commission a son of Appendix, Professor Quin Holsten to write the History of Appendix.” Again there was a unanimous second. Again Red asked for discussion and each member repeated similar things and the phrase “son of Appendix” was a particular favorite of the committee. The last member of the society to speak summed up the attitude of the whole, “Who could possibly better write a History of Appendix than one of her own sons. I urge the society to vote in unison on this very important matter.” They did just that.