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HOW ED WAS MADE

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Come join this conversation with the author as he tries to include you, the teachers who helped put him together, in this life’s venture of How Ed Was Made. The journey could only happen as he talked with you and many others along the way.

 

‘At the end of this book my first two attempts at writing are mentioned. In those it was explained who I am. I hope this will explain how it happened. In any event, if we haven’t talked yet, I certainly hope I get the opportunity. This ballgame isn’t over.

 

‘A dear friend also in her 80s responded, “Yeah, but it’s the ninth inning.” I danced with her just 65 years ago at the Royal Hawaiian. Thanx Barbara Stubbs, the lovely lady that Joe married.’                

   

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ISBN: 978-1-922229-56-4

Format: Paperback
Number of pages:106
Genre: Non Fiction

© Cover Design—Zeus Publications 2014

 

 

Author: Edw. S. Kohler
Publisher:
Zeus Publications

Date Published: 2014
Language: English

 

AUTHOR BIO

 

 

My wife, Marilyn, dog, Maggie, and I are again returning to Upstate New York after another exciting winter traveling throughout the country, enjoying friends, old and new.  

The new Mighty Bajon is now docked right in front of us as you can see. This 60' Ferretti 592 motor yacht is the new purchase of Carol and Steve Cardamone, often mentioned in my other books. I was retained to assist in the purchase, survey, sea trial, finance and documentation. This made our Florida stay quite interesting and then we followed along as it made its way up the east coast and through the Erie Canal to Mariner's Landing in Sylvan Beach, NY.  

Here we are amongst our friends and family for another summer. Flowers and tomatoes are planted as we watch this beautiful place turn to many shades of green and surround us with the great feeling of being home.  

Our children are so happy to have Marilyn close by for five months as our dog ascertains all the spots to place her P-Mail so everyone will know "Maggie is back in town". Just how wonderful can life be?

Chapter 1

 

 

For the life of me, I’m trying to understand why I’m writing this. I guess that’s it – for the life of me. I’m alive, love living and have this inborn desire to put in writing why this is. I live it with the fullest of intent. I am not afraid to speak up. I am not afraid to get it said and live with the consequences. I listen hard. I listen deep. I live with love and like that I do. I practice being well, exercise every day and play until I’m tired. As I look back over all these years it seems that my teachers were not found in schools. This book will be heading in this direction; mostly about those I learned from.

 

My first two books seem to be doing okay. The first is my autobiography – certainly about me. The second is a quick, little social commentary about interesting people that help shape my life. This too would be considered about me to a certain degree. In the beginning I wondered who would read these books with all the “Me’s” and “I’s”. It was concluded that you get nowhere without trying. You cannot try without doing it. It’s not so much they’re about me but more like “by me and why me”. Some may consider this another ego trip. To me it seems more like a search; a search for ways to learn.

 

This being, I can barely remember finishing Grade School. I do know that it was in the 8th Grade that life was turned into a very uncomfortable situation. My father, Ed Sr and Manhands Mary, were constantly changing addresses to stay ahead of the law. I perceived myself to be a “tag-along nuisance” and being present was hardly noticed. Better yet, not being seen was an easier path to follow. The 9th Grade at Central High School in Omaha was attended on a part-time basis because I was constantly picked on and bullied for not appearing like the other students in dress and language. As I recall, the 10th Grade was at Omaha Technical High School that was arranged by a truant officer. The 11th Grade was my introduction to street life. Up and until then I was just peering at it and wondering if this was the next step. This is where I met up with the likes of Hard Head Pete, Duane and Snuds and indoctrinated into the 24 & Farnam Gang.

 

So on we go and this is where we are, wondering about this part of my life so many years after. Wondering just what is left of it at the age of 82. That part is a much shorter journey than the one going in the other direction. Again, let’s go there, in the beginning. Not so much about the “how” but more about “why”. In order to do this I must look back at these teachers; these people I learned from. Always ready to commend them for their help and assistance, this will be more about what was learned and how it was applied. As with the others, this book will hit upon these constructive measures as they jog my mind and not in any specific order.

 

Recently I read about the illegitimate daughter of Strom Thurmond. A perfect “tie in” to those not wanted. The black child born out of wedlock with his young maid so deeply in the south – South Carolina. Her name was Essie Mae Washington-Williams. Please note Thurman is not included in those names. While I had a last name, it was not given by my birth parents. It was given by my grandfather. Carrie Butler was her mother’s name and she took Essie Mae to meet her father when she was 16; the same age as Carrie when she bore Essie Mae. This meeting took place in the law office of Mr Thurman. This is the same Mr Thurman that ran for President on the segregationist “Dixiecrat” ticket with the battle cry of “All the bayonets of the Army cannot force the negro into our homes”. This is the same Mr Thurman that said to Carrie when she asked him why he was so unaccepting of having a black daughter, “Because this is the way it is.” First, wasn’t Carrie a maid in his home? Wasn’t she the one with whom he shared the most personal act, causing this pregnancy? This isn’t the way it is. This is the way it was. So against the probability of any change. I spend a great deal of time in the south. Quite frankly, I see little change. I hear little change amongst the local folk, as racism still is the only true battle cry born in a culture so different to mine. This hatred is mostly about our black President. What these people have learned since the Civil Rights movement and all the other advances by these people is nothing. Their minds are closed and their argument repetitively ignorant to basic fact. They refuse to learn and consider their position firm because of “the way it was” many years ago and yes, even before Strom Thurman way back before his 1948 battle cry.

 

I was then 17; just a couple of years after Charlie and his mother took me in from sleeping on the streets in cardboard boxes. They’re black. I’m not. When his mother was questioned about this, her only comment was that she was making me black on the inside. I was overcome by a feeling of being cared for. This lesson will never be forgotten because it was based only in love; caring for someone in need. Not at a time determined by Charlie and his mother but a time presented to them by me. I certainly have been helped by others along the way but we are now speaking of why I’m still here. Not the how I am.

 

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