“Welcome to music class,” the instructor greets his defiant charges. Before the boys can inappropriately “diss” the teacher with groans and moans, Bruce whips out a harmonica from his shirt pocket and tears into an extended blues riff. Instantly, the look on each face portrays a dramatic transformation.

“Do y’all want to learn how to do that?” Before the stunned boys can respond, Bruce adds, “If you do, hold out your right hand. But if playing the blues is not your bag, head on back to study hall.” Before he finishes his sentence, 12 hands eagerly reach out. Bruce places a shiny new $5 harmonica into the extended hand of each rebel. His return to the front of the room is accompanied by a cacophony of reedy wails from the dozen harmonicas. One by one each boy gives up on trying to coax a tune from the 10-hole instrument and turns with out-of-character anticipation to his music teacher.

Bruce Andrews is part of an outreach program that provides hands-on experiences for people who have limited or no access to the arts. Sponsored by the Shelby County Arts Council, professionals are providing lessons, performances and exhibitions in art, music, drama, dance and creative writing in an effort to improve quality of life. And the results are life changing. This alternative school principal reports that Bruce’s music lessons provide at-risk youth with practical skills, self-confidence and motivation that transfers to all aspects of life, as well as appreciation for music and its place in history.

The powerful influence of the muses is evident. It is amazing what a pocketful of music can do for a kid with low self esteem bent on responding to life’s challenges with dead-end behaviors.

Even more amazing are the scores of similar life-altering initiatives underway across Alabama, most flying below the radar of public recognition. Incarcerated youth are learning to write and publish their stories (writersforum.org). Live symphonic music is also provided for hundreds of elementary school students (shelbycountyartscouncil.com). Authors are revealing their creative secrets to community groups (ahf.net). Thanks to corporate, foundation and private funding, purveyors of the arts and humanities are reaching out to serve those considered to be the most vulnerable, and among the rewards are productive citizens who make valuable contributions to society. Young men leave Bruce’s class with more than music in their pockets; your brush of humanity has tinted their souls.

Written by: Bob W.

Drive to downtown Mobile and stop by Boo Radley’s bar for a drink or fly to Capetown to dine in a restaurant that bears his name. One can purchase ladies’ clothing in Australia with the Boo Radley label. A rock band in Cincinnati, a law-school seminar at William and Mary, half-dozen popular songs, a champion West Highland Terrier and a popular British musical group are just samples of the thousands that have appropriated the name of a man who exists only in the imaginations of To Kill a Mockingbird fans across the globe.

The mystique of Maycomb’s lone recluse has gnawed at more souls that those of Scout, Jem and Dill. It seems the world has entered into a virtual relationship with his identity. Student essays, professional papers, psychological profiles, tweets and blogs have explored the psyche and social ramifications of Boo Radley’s character. Why?

On this 50th anniversary of the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird, Arthur “Boo” Radley still fascinates the reader in much the same way he intrigued the Finch kids and Dill. Ms. Lee wrote this story in an era when children and adults with special needs were often tucked out of sight either at home or in institutions. The secrecy could not help but engender suspicion and childhood fears.

Student essays, professional papers, psychological profiles, tweets and blogs have explored the psyche and social ramifications of Boo Radley’s character.”

Her portrayal of Boo does reflect those fears but, in a masterful stroke of the pen, she adds an uncharacteristic sense of trust to the mix. Subsequently, Boo Radley leads the reader to a poignant reconciliation of disparate feelings of fear and trust. So, thanks to Harper Lee for divining the name for a character that helps shed light on the plight of many misunderstood souls that dwell on the margins of society.

The Alabama Humanities Foundation congratulates Harper Lee on the 50th anniversary of her remarkable achievement and for helping to release the Boo in each of us.

Visit ahf.net/mockingbird for more information.

Written by: Bob W.

As they grudgingly try on their heavy winter wear, the adults finally reveal the second part of a Christmas surprise. The kids will travel in February, with their parents and grandparents, from Alabama to Northern Minnesota, birthplace of their great grandmother and former home of their French/Ojibwe great-great-grandfather, a Boundary Waters fishing, hunting and canoeing guide.

How ironic! The day we are to leave for the 1,200 miles to our winter cabin near Ontario, Canada, the weather report is snow on the ground in 49 of the 50 states, including Alabama. Our departure is delayed, waiting for snow and ice to melt, exhausting everyone. After our 10-year-old geography wizard sets his GPS, we proceed in caravan from Birmingham to the promised white Christmas in February.

The week begins with a family sleigh ride drawn by two giant Belgian draft horses, then exploring frozen Bear Island Lake in near zero-degree temperatures and knee-deep snow, making snow angels and snow ice cream. Following a day of adjusting to the extreme climate, the educational activities begin in earnest—visits to the Dorothy Moulter (Root Beer Lady) Cabin/Museum, the Bois Forte Ojibwe Heritage Center, the International Wolf Center, the Ely Ice Sculpture Outdoor Exhibit, Chilly Dogs Mushing Center, ice fishing and snowmobiling. Each child keeps a journal, a condition for missing five school days.

To walk a mile in someone else’s snowshoes increases one’s level of appreciation for the hardy folks who live here.

Highlights of the trip are mushing six teams of sled dogs through several miles of wooded trails flanked by towering birch trees and evergreens, and howling to wolves deep in the nighttime wilderness with guides from the Wolf Center.

As I write this blog I glance occasionally at the snow-bound lake outside our window and wonder why I almost refused to take this journey into our country’s official deep freeze in the dead of winter. It’s a frontier for folks who prefer the raw challenges of nature to the domesticated conflicts of urban survival. This cross-cultural experience is proving enlightening as well as inspiring for each member of our family. To walk a mile in someone else’s snowshoes increases one’s level of appreciation for the hardy folks who live here.

This morning, our host at the lodge asks one of the children how he’s enjoying the vacation his grandmother planned. His answer comes quickly. “Gram doesn’t take us on vacations; she takes us on field trips.” We hope he remembers to say that to his teacher back home.

Written by: Bob W.

Caught off guard? Maybe, but even the seasoned travelers who have witnessed the seat belt, flotation device and emergency exit routine countless times now fix their eyes on the uniformed attendant.

Commanding people’s attention is difficult with the increasing number of distractions that assail our senses daily. While this flight attendant used a creative approach to capture our interest, live communication seems to be losing its appeal today. An appeal has come for families to sit down and talk about their lives with each other.

A family in Tennessee initiated the first National Day of Listening, a campaign to emphasize the importance of capturing oral history from their elders before the opportunity is lost. What better way to preserve unique family culture? Yet, some families are reluctant to talk about their past for various reasons.

I remember my mother’s refusal to tell her story about growing up in her sharecropper family. She countered questions about her childhood with the admonition, “Remember, the best part of our family is here and now.” Had I not interviewed numerous friends and relatives after her death, I would not have discovered my family’s Scots-Irish culture and language, rich and colorful even with its warts and scars.

The quest for oral family history is an integral tool for studying humanities. In recent years, this very effective approach for understanding history has found a niche in elementary and high-school classrooms. Teachers require interviews with family members, grandparents and other retirees to demonstrate to students the relevance of the past to their own lives. The results of these interviews may even be documented through quilts, photographs, DVDs, videos, drama productions, journals and storytelling. Furthermore, these projects often become the focus of community heritage celebrations.

The Alabama Humanities Foundation is pleased to have supported numerous oral history projects through the Jenice Riley Memorial Scholarship, which is now accepting applications. Moreover, these assignments enable students to develop effective listening skills. Recording oral history is not limited to schoolchildren. Do you recall the popular television show several decades ago which opened with, “The city has a million stories to tell, and this is just one of them?” There is a wealth of untold stories in every Alabama community, in every Alabamian waiting to be told and recorded—one of the greatest treasures we can leave for the generations that succeed us.

As my plane lands in Birmingham and taxies toward the terminal, several passengers, contrary to the attendant’s instructions, release their seat belts. “Not yet!” she warns. Another click. “Not yet!” The command is louder this time. Then as the plane comes to a stop, she mockingly declares with feigned disgust, “Now. . . get out!” Maybe it’s time to get out and mine that mother lode of stories in your community. AHF is here to help. Click here to learn more.

Written by: Bob W.

These studies confirm my bias against background music anywhere, including elevators. More than six decades ago, Musak convinced merchants, restaurant owners and others that background music relaxes customers, subtly coaxing them to purchase more products, while at the same time, distracting them from noticing poor service or overcooked tuna. Not so. The tempo of marching music does not prompt me to rush through a meal at a crowded restaurant and neither does the Beatles’ rendition of “A Hard Day’s Night” convince me that I’m enjoying waiting for service in some long tedious line.

From the beginning of recorded history music has been at the center of human activity from ceremonies and celebrations to reflection and recreation.

Our rapidly changing technology has long sent Musak’s piped-in music to the elephants’ graveyard and replaced our public option with private choices of listening pleasure. Anyone can now be in two places at once: perhaps at a virtual concert hall while working out at the gym; or in a front row seat at a comedy club while maneuvering through traffic; or taking a self-improvement course while sitting in Starbucks sipping cappuccino. Are we suffering from an ODD condition—Overload of Distractions Disorder?

Perhaps I am overly critical of how other people use, or abuse, music. From the beginning of recorded history music has been at the center of human activity from ceremonies and celebrations to reflection and recreation.

This year, the Alabama Humanities Foundation partnered with the Smithsonian Institute to sponsor Museum on Main Street, a traveling exhibit that honors America’s contribution to music.

This exhibit, “New Harmonies: Celebrating American Roots Music,” opens at its sixth location tomorrow, at the Tuskegee Human and Civil Rights Multicultural Center, where it will remain open to the public at no charge through December 31.

This fascinating, interactive exhibit featuring the origins of indigenous American music will impress any visitor, even the critical musicians among us, including this writer. Across the genres of music presented, many of which were born in the South, I dare you to find the slightest hint of Musak or elevator music.

Written by: Bob W.

This fall, the Alabama Humanities Foundation celebrates 35 years of serving the people of Alabama. Coincidentally, there are other anniversaries to note, some pleasant and others not so pleasant. For example, 35 years ago, Garrison Keillor broadcast the first presentation of Prairie Home Companion. I emailed Mr. Keillor to advise him of our shared anniversary commemorations and asked if he would email the board of directors a greeting. The poor man suffered a stroke. I hope my e-mail was not the culprit. Anyhow, news reports indicate he is recovering nicely.

On a devastating note, our country observed the eighth anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center in New York in September. Of all the reactions of world leaders to this tragedy, I was most impressed with Tony Blair’s selection of a passage from Thornton Wilder’s masterpiece The Bridge of San Luis Rey, as reported in the September 28 edition of Newsweek: “When a Peruvian bridge collapses and sends five people to their deaths, a well-meaning monk sets out to learn all he can about the deceased, thus to reveal whether we live by plan or by chance…” Tony Blair made an inspiring citation of the book’s closing peroration on love, and how it endures through cruelty and death: “There is a land of the living and a land of the dead,” it concludes, “and the bridge is love, the only survivor, the only meaning.”

So whether one remembers traipsing around in the mud at Woodstock, or calling the roll of the first freshman English class of official UAB students 40 years ago, both are events to be treasured. And there are many other memories that comprise the rich experiences of Alabamians that need to be shared. It doesn’t require the soft literary touch of Thornton Wilder or the folksy humor of Garrison Keillor to keep our history alive.

Be sure to let us know what you are commemorating this fall.

Written by: Bob W.

Most of my classmates in that 1951 senior class had their own visions to pursue. The Korean War draft claimed many young men, and marriage plans dominated the thoughts of the young women. A handful of the remaining few applied for college.

Six decades after high-school graduation, sipping coffee before the Sunday morning church service, I hear a familiar name in the conversation behind me. I turn and approach the gentleman. “Are you Mr. Ponder, my high-school science teacher?” He chuckles. “I am Norman Ponder, and who are you?” 

So, he is indeed my Mr. P. I scan his face, the crisp features now fleshed out and mellowed by age, the strawberry-blond crew cut now a swirling sea of gray waves. As we talk, the twinkle in his eye confirms that the keen sense of humor, his love of a good story, have not faded, nor has our long-ago connection.

As we migrate from the church parlor to a middle row pew, the organist’s prelude cuts short our initial reunion. Subsequent “reunion” conversations ensue and the half-century long hiatus in our relationship gradually closes. Mr. P. confesses that his dream of a teaching career had ended in disillusionment after that first year at B.R.H.S. His meager salary was insufficient to support a growing family, so he had explored several other careers, finally finding his niche in a public utility’s real estate department.

Lt. Col. Norman Ponder’s service as a C-47 pilot in the WWII Pacific Theatre led him into a hobby of constructing experimental aircraft and military scale models. He built and donated a replica of the battleship USS Alabama, now on display at Battleship Memorial Park in Mobile. He presently serves on the advisory board and as a volunteer at the Southern Museum of Flight in Birmingham, where two of his scale models are on display: the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise and the cruiser USS Birmingham.

Although Mr. P. left the teaching profession almost sixty years ago, his creativity and dedication to documenting authentic history continue to enrich the experiences of the public, especially students who study the displays of his models and listen to his stories.

Norman Ponder typifies the many Alabamians who integrate contributions to the humanities within their work-day lives. Whatever occupation one chooses, there dwells a bit of creativity and a yearning to serve humanity that surges within each soul and demands release. The Alabama Humanities Foundation strives to provide opportunities for citizens to develop and share the fruits of their creativity.

Written by: Bob W.

Following that year of adventure, promotion to the eighth grade was somewhat disappointing. The “library” consisted of a double shelf of encyclopedias and copies of National Geographic magazines—interesting but not inspiring.

Eventually, I was directed to the public library in downtown Alexander City, Ala., in the basement of City Hall, which opened only two afternoons a week and Saturday mornings. By juggling my time between a paper route and library visits, I renewed my relationship with literature. But it was several weeks before I realized that people were checking out books to read at home. (I was a slow learner, to say the least.) Thereafter, my world expanded beyond imagination.

Librarians are blazing new trails of service to their patrons, even developing cultural centers of their respective towns and cities.

The town’s librarian was a nice low-profile lady whose name I cannot recall because my friends referred to her by a special covert nickname—”Miss Hush”—due to her habit of bisecting her thin smile with an index finger and hissing “shhh.”

The 1940s was an era of library “mausoleums” dedicated to preserving the ghosts of literary giants in ambient silence. Only the most serious readers dared to enter.

Since the publication of my novel Grave Dancin’ three years ago, I have addressed readers in libraries all over Alabama and discovered an amazing transformation has been in progress. Librarians are blazing new trails of service to their patrons, even developing cultural centers of their respective towns and cities.

Leading this transition are innovative directors like Dr. Shirley Spears, who uncovered the rich history of the textile and marble industries in Sylacauga, Ala., and developed programs to honor and preserve those who contributed to that city’s development.

Recently in the tiny hamlet of Chatom, Ala., Librarian Jessica Ross exposed the roots of Washington County’s contributions to indigenous music by sponsoring the Smithsonian’s exhibit “New Harmonies” in the local library. By combining the talents of local-folk musicians with the exhibit, Ross converted the Washington County Public Library into a lively cultural center for one of the oldest communities in Alabama.

In Alexander City, librarian Judy Tidwell is developing special collections of archival photos, publications and records of the two textile industries that laid the foundations of that town’s economic growth during the 20th century. Although machinery in those expansive brick buildings no longer hums prosperity’s persistent tune, the public library will preserve the spirit and the history of Russell and Avondale Mills for posterity.

Although the rapidly expanding city of Hoover has a relatively short history, this young city boasts one of the most progressive libraries in the nation. Award-winning librarian Linda Andrews has led her staff to create programs and services that literally lure its citizens through its automatic doors.

Now this is not to suggest that librarians have gone wild and stripped books from their shelves. Rather, these innovations are attracting more and more readers. So it’s time to bid a hearty farewell to Miss Hush and welcome Ms. And Mr. Entrepreneur, professionals who are transforming public libraries into vibrant cultural centers by dusting off the vestiges of local history, exposing its dignity, color and humanity in order to pay tribute to the people whose sweat and toil have contributed to community development.

As soon as I finish writing this piece, I plan to drive to the local library, peruse my e-mail, order a cup of cappuccino, read the New York Times and check out Warren St. John’s Outcasts United, which I plan to read prior to his address at the annual AHF luncheon on September 14.

(Pictured: Dr. Shirley Spears of the BB Comer Memorial Library in Sylacauga spoke at the 2009 Cultural Leadership Summit.)

Written by: Bob W.

Subsequently, the brick building on mill property was demolished as its students were transferred to the city school system. Recently, all former students were invited to a reunion in Alex City. Hundreds showed up the first Saturday in June, including a dozen members of my 1948 ninth-grade class. The 50 year history of our beloved school came alive again as we perused a display of pictures of our younger selves and listened to slightly exaggerated tales of Bevelle survivors.

Next year the State of Alabama will recognize and celebrate the Year of Small Towns. What an opportunity for those of us who sought our fortunes away from home to return and honor the seedbeds or our values, visions and ambitions!

A trio of former teachers glowed in the shower of elaborate well-deserved praises, but they also endured some good-natured ribbing about how they had exercised the then-accepted in loco parentis style of discipline—spare the rod and spoil the child. In those days our mill-hand parents reminded us that a spanking at school deserved equal treatment at home. Because time tends to mellow one’s perspective and memories of the past, testimonials of the former mill school students were fraught with a theme of “happy days.” 

Although WWII had shaped our visions of the world during those impressionable elementary school years, we emerged from the ninth grade unscathed, yea even optimistic about our futures.

The event organizer Laura Oliver introduced her boss, Mayor Young, who reminded everyone that next year the State of Alabama will recognize and celebrate the Year of Small Towns. What an opportunity for those of us who sought our fortunes away from home to return and honor the seedbeds or our values, visions and ambitions! 

It seems to me the Alabama Humanities Foundation can play an important role in supporting efforts to spotlight the historical significance of small towns in developing world-class citizenry. Museums, libraries and other civic institutions have a rare opportunity to collaborate and develop proposals to help fund programs and events to celebrate your small town. Although school reunions do not qualify for funding, keep us in mind for your other events.

Consider an AHF Road Scholar for your small-town celebration, or visit the AHF website for grant guidelines.

Written by: Bob W.

As a young lad growing up in the shadow of a thriving textile mill, I found a virtual paradise among the creosote-covered houses of the village—swimming pool, baseball, basketball, scouting and music. All were free and within walking distance. It was music that caught my attention at a very early age.

Occasionally, but not often enough for me, family members would gather on our front porch, retrieve picks from their overalls bib pockets and attack guitars, banjos and mandolins with unrestrained vigor. Kids would flail washboards and tap spoons in rhythm with the music.

This fascination with country music morphed into marching music in the fifth grade, when I joined the school band. Graduation from the mill school after ninth grade led to further expansion of my musical pursuits through the church choir, high-school chorus and band. Sousa was replaced by Wagner as symphonic band music displayed its charms.

Family members would gather on our front porch, retrieve picks from their overalls bib pockets and attack guitars, banjos and mandolins with unrestrained vigor.

During this process of expanding my musical appreciation and experiences, country music string bands lost their fascination. This “hillbilly” music now appeared to be low class and beneath the dignity of a “real” musician. The appearances of Grand Ol’ Opry performers on the edge of town in tents did little to attract this urbane teenager, although their dust-covered Cadillacs had some appeal. Also, the nasal pining of a lonesome Alabama cowboy did not sound like music to my ears.

I eventually finished high school, college and enjoyed six years teaching music in public schools. I never looked back at the stomp-down, tear-jerking hillbilly genre—that is until I began teaching in college. It was an era of increasing sophistication among youth as they began to dig into their roots, searching for cultural and personal authenticity.

During the decades of the 60s and 70s, students from upscale families discovered Bluegrass (a new synonym for Hillbilly) music as an appropriate expression and accompaniment for their journeys of discovery. On a dare from my teenage daughter, I accompanied her to a folk festival at Horse Pens Forty and began to see country music through fresh lenses. On becoming a music snob, I had denied the genuine reflection of humanity inherent in musical expressions that generate from any cultural group.

Now, I am proud to be a part of the Alabama Humanities Foundation’s efforts to promote the musical roots of our state’s rich heritage of authentic music, often described as folk music. AHF and six communities have arranged programs for the nationally sponsored Museum on Main Street celebrations of Alabama folk music.

Look for these “New Harmonies: Celebrating American Roots Music” programs around Livingston, Chatom, Fort Payne, Troy and Tuskegee this year.

Written by: Bob W.