April 3, 2020

Vagabond Traveler; Brave New World…

Category: News — Ira @ 5:32 pm

photo-2-small.JPG

But this is the end,
This is the end of the innocence.

—Don Henley, lyrics
_______________________

The darkness came like a great, pestilent cloud, descending in slow motion right before our disbelieving eyes. We could see it coming, the plague, or what was called a plague. It swept from country to country, you could never be quite sure of what was actually going on. The “news media” went insane, trying to freak everyone out. Vile, vile people, they are. Through all the noise, you could be sure of one thing, pretty much, and one thing only. Something wicked this way comes.

I’ve been a “prepper” for years, sort of. Not hard core, just sensible. Back 20 years ago, Y2K came at us kind of like this latest virus did. You could see and hear and feel the countdown. I remember the last evening of 1999. Ellen and I got engaged that year, we were planning to get married in the summer of 2000. And we kind of held each other as the days counted down to the New Year. First the months, then the weeks, then the days. And that night, the last night of the year, we got together at the house of some good friends, Paul and Anne Marie Zook. They had one or two other young couples there. We sat around and talked all evening. The clock ticked on, and on. And on. Then came midnight.

And nothing happened. All the hype, all the fear, it was all lost energy that was wasted and would never come back. I hadn’t spent a lot on supplies, just a few five-gallon buckets of hard red wheat (I guess you can bake things with hard red wheat), and a bucket of fine ground corn meal. And guns and ammo, of course, but you can never run out of reasons to buy guns and ammo. The long-term food, um, well, it was a bit embarrassing. After a few years, I set that corn meal out when we had a yard sale. The Amish neighbor, Jonas, wandered by with his middling son. I tried talking him into paying the $5 price tag. It’s good corn meal, I told Jonas. Heck, for you, today, I’ll give a discount. How about two bucks? He stroked his beard and looked thoughtful and wise. At last, he turned to his son, who was lurking nearby. “Chon, gey hole da veggli,” he said solemnly. John, go get the (little red) wagon. The boy dashed off, and Jonas handed me two crumpled $1 bills. They trundled the corn meal home. I probably should have kept it for a time like now. I didn’t. I guess it would have gotten old and stale, anyway. But still. I thought later I shouldn’t have sold it so nonchalantly. But I did. And that was the end of that little “crisis.”

Another big event came rumbling at us, not long after Y2K drifted into oblivion, except for its embarrassing memory. September, 2001. We had been married right at a year, me and Ellen. I remember the long and heavy solemnness that descended on the land as we struggled to grasp that the world was about to be irrevocably altered forever, very soon. And the nation marched off on its forever war on terrorism. A futile, costly war that benefits only the blood merchants of death, the military/industrial machine. Lord, open the eyes of your people to see this simple truth, that all war is murder, it’s wicked and wrong. Open the eyes of your people to see and know that the shedding of innocent blood is always abhorrent to You. It doesn’t matter what color the children are, the ones who get chewed up and spit out by the dogs of war. All their blood is innocent, and it all cries out to You.

After 9-11, no big event happened, not that stuck with me much, anyway. Oh, sure, every few years there was another virus scare of some kind. SARS, Swine flu, I can’t remember them all. Oh, and AIDS. That was going to decimate half the population. We were supposed to be scared, every time, according to the breathless media. Run, run, hide, hide, but they can’t tell you where. So just be afraid, instead. It makes me crazy sometimes to see the public emotions so easily whipped into a frenzy.

After going through some personal storms, I was cruising along pretty good in 2008 when that crash came. Well, cruising along as best I could the year after my marriage had blasted sky high. Lots of raw stuff was floating around in my head in 2008. I remember how some friends connected over those days and we got some survival stuff. We made sure we had basic tools. I stocked up on a good store of whiskey. Just regular brands, nothing fancy. I think a few of those bottles might still be stuck around somewhere. Those were never stored with my regular whiskey, so when I cleaned the cabinet out a few years ago, I never hunted down the stuff I had bought for hard times. So it’s still there, for hard times. To trade, I mean. Not to drink.

It always stayed interesting during those years. Somewhere there was a flood or a hurricane, somewhere there was some great snowstorm that really shut things down. And all too often, there was another school shooting. I remember how the private gun market got real busy and how the prices rose, if you could even find what you were looking for. My friends and I were in good shape, mostly, though. We bought when the market was normal. We didn’t really need to rush out and buy anything. It felt pretty good, to be about half prepared when a large event came knocking like that.

And time drifted on. I remember when Ebola was the big monster out there. If you got it, you were dead. I remember how Pastor Mark Potter talked about it in a sermon. He talked about the wilderness. Wilderness is not what we western people have come to view it as. Maybe a range of mountains where you could go hiking or camping. You went in, and you fully expected to return when you planned to. That’s not real wilderness, Pastor Mark said. Real wilderness is when you go to Africa to care for people who are stricken with Ebola. That’s the real place, the hard place. You could easily die.

The Ebola scare came and went. Or maybe we just didn’t hear about it, and it’s still out there same as it was then. It never developed into anything more than a distant horror, not imminent or that threatening. I never forgot how Pastor Mark described it as one version of the wilderness. A hard place. Where you could die.

It seems like a long time ago, when I took a trip to New York City. It was early March. Like I mentioned at the end of the last blog, I was scheduled to go record an intro to my book at Hachette’s headquarters in Manhattan. I got a little tense as Tuesday morning approached. My ex-brother-in-law, Paul, was going to meet me at the station in Lancaster. We were taking the 9:30 train, right through Philly to New York. I tossed about that night and woke up early. And very early on, I was nicely dressed and had packed my messenger bag and was driving Amish Black along 23 into Lancaster. I didn’t know how the traffic would be. I was taking no chances. An hour before departure, I parked Amish Black in the spacious Amtrak parking lot. Paul texted that he’d be there before nine. I walked in and sat on a large bench, waiting for my friend.

He got there right when he said he would. Came up the stairs to where I sat. We shook hands. It had been a while. We walked up to the window and I bought two round trip tickets to New York City. Paul and I caught up as we walked out to the tracks. A short wait, and the train came whooshing in and hissed to a halt. We found seats and soon the train shuddered and smoothly slid into motion. It’s always a thrill, to set out on a trip of any length by train. We talked as the countryside slid by. Paul had brought his laptop and worked remotely on his business matters.

It had been a while since I rode a train. You see the backside of things from the train. The old junk cars, the backyard fences, ramshackle barns, stacks of firewood, all shielded from the world from the front side of the place. The back gives it all away, the real comfortableness of the people who live there, I always thought. I watched the scenery fly by as Paul worked on his laptop and talked on his phone. Just as if he were right at home in his office.

Right on time, the train slid into Penn Station in Manhattan. We shouldered our bags and walked outside into a vast stream of people. We weren’t due at Hachette for a few hours. So Paul led the way to the old New York Public Library. I guess it’s a famous place. It sure was big enough. We wandered through, then back out onto the streets. Paul had everything mapped on his phone, and we headed over to the Avenue of the Americas. Many blocks away. The crowds surged and pressed all around. In all that day, I saw only one instance of awareness of the Corona virus. A group of young Asian people walked past us, wearing protective masks. Otherwise, there was never a hint that anyone was even aware of such a thing as the virus. The people didn’t look anxious, there was no tension whatsoever in the air. None. Nothing.

We found the headquarters soon enough. Hachette is a large French company that bought out Time-Warner a number of years ago. I have to say, I had never heard of them until they came nibbling on my book. The offices were right across the street from Radio City Music Hall. We had more than an hour to kill, so we went looking for some lunch for Paul. We walked into a nearby restaurant. Paul bought soup and I got a bottle of fancy water. We sat at a counter along the window and watched the human and motor traffic flow by outside. I could not get over how calm everyone was. There was absolutely no panic at all.

After an hour or so, we wandered over to Hachette and sat in the gleaming lobby. I texted Stephanie, my contact there. We’re here. She answered. She would meet us at 3:30. In the meantime, she invited us up to the Hachette lobby. We approached the long counter there at street level, gave the attendant our names, and waited on our ID tags. We had to hand over our driver’s licenses for that. They are quite thorough and careful about who they let in. The attendant handed us our tags and told us where to go to get to the elevator. We used our tags as tickets to get through the turnstile. Then onto the elevator and up to the fourth floor. Hachette occupies the fourth and fifth floors of the building. A nice receptionist greeted us. We told her. We’re here to see Stephanie. She pointed us to a waiting area nearby and told us to help ourselves to coffee. We did, then took a seat and looked around.

The walls were lined with shelves and rows and rows of books. New releases, I would imagine, or books that haven’t come to print, yet. I scanned quickly for mine, no such thing in sight. Oh, well. Maybe it’s not important enough. Paul and I sat at a table, sipping our coffee. And soon she strolled in. Stephanie. I had never met her before, and we’d talked only a few times. Young, lovely, and totally professional. She offered her hand and I shook it. Introduced myself, then Paul. This is my ex-brother-in-law. She welcomed him, too. And then we followed her through the maze of cubicles and up to the next floor. Stephanie led us down a hallway, then into the little studio where she records books. A small room with her controls, then an even smaller room, a little closet, really, where the narrator sits and speaks into a microphone.

I had written a rough draft, a few pages. Kind of an intro to the book. Stephanie had done some heavy editing, and the draft came back about cut in half. One page, single spaced. Which was fine with me. That much less for me to stumble through. And now, she instructed me. Put on the headphones. Speak into the mic. Slowly, like you’re just talking. She stepped back into her control room and shut the door. And I heard her, crisp and clear through the headphones. OK. Now. I started to read.

Reading for a recording is not one of my strong points, I decided right there in that little room. I got through the page, and then Stephanie coached a bit. Speak slower. But Waglers talk fast, I thought. Stop at the end of each sentence. Pause. Then read like you’re just talking. A couple of times, she told me. “Ok, the mic’s turned off. Just practice reading.” That relaxed me. Paul told me later that the mic never was actually turned off. And I plowed into the whole thing again, from the start. Stephanie claimed to like some of my reading skills. But, here, can we just try to do this thing this way? She was a great teacher. I was a raw novice, half star-struck, from the country, and she got me calmed down to where I could actually get the words narrated. It took less than an hour. Then we were done. Stephanie thanked me and led us out, back to the lobby. I thanked her for making it happen, and she smiled and wished me well. And that’s how it went.

After catching a cab back to the train station, Paul and I ate sandwiches at a nice deli in there somewhere. I had the corned beef on rye. It came stacked high and wide, a truly authentic New York sandwich. We feasted, and then Paul heard the loudspeaker announcement. I never heard it, I wasn’t paying any mind. Paul turned to me. “The train’s boarding for Lancaster,” he said. Our train was scheduled to leave after six. It was five right then. We got up and chased about, finally running down the right stairs to the right platform. The sign said Harrisburg. Our train, more than an hour early. We snuck on. When the conductor scanned our tickets, he never said a word about being on an early train. His scanner just beeped and scanned. He went right on.

And that’s how it was that I walked into my home more than an hour earlier than I had planned. I had chatted with God that morning as me and Amish Black left home. Lord. Protect me as I go to the great, dangerous, evil city. See me safely back to my home, I pray. Well, He did. I absorbed the day’s events after getting home. Feeling grateful. Such a day as that would not soon come for me again.

Now it might never, regardless. I don’t know. That week was the last week that this country lived in any semblance of its old normalcy. You could see the thing advancing like a dark and encroaching specter. The Corona virus. And by the following weekend, the reality of our world had changed. Then more, then more, and still more. We are now living in times of darkness and tension such as have rarely been seen by anyone alive. A lot of information and misinformation is floating around on social media. You can find something that backs up what you want to believe. And make yourself more anchored in what you believe. I try to look at different angles, even though the core of what I believe will not change. To understand people, it helps sometimes to imagine how they think. How would I see it if I thought like that?

The Amish blood in me wants to downplay the Covid-19, which is what I guess they’re calling the virus, now. Corona virus, Covid-19. Same thing. I have huge issues with just shutting down the economy. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and all that. You keep working until you get sick. That’s how I was taught, and that’s how I think. It’s the same Amish blood that makes me highly, highly skeptical of almost every claim the government makes about what the virus is, why it is, and what it’s going to do. Any narrative from any government agency, I view with deep and abiding suspicion and hostility. Why is an elected bureaucrat an expert on such things? Across the board, they are not. It might be true, that the restrictions are necessary. But you can’t take any power-hungry bureaucrat’s word for it. The whole shutdown is tainted by lies. Call me a crackpot all you want. It’s true. Watch. Absorb. Analyze.

Covid-19, or the Corona virus, or whatever is the politically correct term to call it, this is a thing not to be taken lightly. It is serious, and it can kill. I remember when the fact hit me, not too far in. This is it. This is that real breakdown, that hard time you always looked for, back when you were younger and full of spirit. Now, after a lot of broken roads, when I’ve reached a fairly respectable age, a time when this battle-hardened wanderer wants to start thinking about settling into a bit of rest and peace, now, here it comes. Now, when I really don’t want to be bothered. Ah, well. It’s like I’ve said more than a few times in my writings. I wrote it in the book. What do you do when the road gets hard? You keep walking. That’s it. That’s all. Keep walking. Still. It’s a challenge to keep your head half straight when you’re walking through a time like this.

The first shudders of the effects of the virus reached my world at the end of the same week Paul and I went to the big city. That Friday evening, the 13th day of the month, governor Tom Wolf of Pennsylvania unveiled his startling decree. All nonessential businesses will close in PA for the duration of the plague.

I thought his act was drastic and I still think that. Sadly, what I think has nothing to do with the reality of what happened. In the days and weeks that followed, the governor firmed up his definition of what was an essential business and what wasn’t. All businesses are essential, of course, or they wouldn’t be supplying the market in any way. And just like that, all the bars and restaurants were shut down, and people were instructed to stay in their houses. A real recipe for an eventual explosion, right there. In my line of work, a lot of builders were shut down, or at least greatly reduced in their capacity to work. As a supplier of materials, Graber stayed open.

From the start, I quarantined myself from all mainstream news. Except on the radio, I might hear the headlines. I haven’t watched any “news” for years. It’s all fraudulent, and it’s all fake and deceptive. Even Drudge, my old online mainstay, has gone wacky left. I used to check that site multiple times a day, now I never do. I do connect with people and events online, and that’s where I get a trusted sense of what’s actually going on out there. I got a few sites I trust a lot. This is one that I check every day of the week. It got dramatic, real quick, here in Pennsylvania. And other places, too, not just here. The state narrative was always the same, from wherever you heard it spoken. Be afraid, be very afraid. A bad thing is coming. We are taking away your rights for your own protection. Trust us. It’s for your own good. Something about that just goes hard against my grain. It’s like a lion telling soothing lies to settle down a flock of nervous sheep.

What’s essential? What’s not? Who decides? The government? I’ve seen a lot of crazy things come and go, but I have never, never witnessed an economy deliberately shut down cold. Just like that. It’s like there were forces that wanted to unleash fear, confusion, blood, and death. Who gets to tell a man that he can’t go to work to feed his family? Who gets to tell a mother that she can’t go to work to buy shoes for her children? Who will pay the mortgage, who will pay the rent? Who will weep for those who give up in despair and take their own lives? That’s coming, big time. Everything was sacrificed on the altar of “safety.”

I guess I was lucky, at least as far as work goes. Graber Supply was considered essential. We sell building materials. People need a place like that to be open. So, I plugged off to work, day after day, as the country death-spiraled into madness. The politicians pretend they got it all taken care of, when they have no idea what’s going on most of the time. All the mainstream news sources have only one thing in mind. Be as scary as possible to as many people as possible. Spew hysteria and panic. Run. We’re all going to die. Vile are the people who dispense fear like that.

And the churches, of course, those were shut down, too. The evil government learned lots of bad lessons, about how easy it is to get the churches to back off and shut up. I didn’t and don’t fight anything. Just observe. Watch. Write. This is the first incident of this magnitude we’ve ever seen, probably. Pastor Mark wrote a lengthy email and sent it to all of us. His reasons were sound, I felt. He seemed slightly more alarmed than I was in my own thoughts. I don’t know. He may be right.

And yes, I know the virus is serious and can be deadly. I saw that when people that I knew died. Or knew of. Joe Diffie, the rollicking country singer from back in the 90s, left us. The virus. He was 61. Just a few years older than me. My favorite song from him is Pickup Man. It’s about pickup trucks, not a man picking up girls. Well, with his truck he is. The song is about pickups, though. Joe left us. And other people I had heard of. So I figure Corona is real, and it can be dangerous.

I may get the virus. I don’t know. It may kill me. I don’t know. Even if it does kill me, that would not diminish by one iota the fact that I strongly believe this country’s response to the Corona virus is vastly, vastly overwrought. It’s madness. The state can justify the panic only by stoking our fears. You crash the economy to save, what, a sliver of a percentage of the people? That’s insane, even if I end up becoming one of the stricken ones, and it gets me like it got Joe Diffie. Life has risks, life is risks. One of those risks should not be the deliberate wrecking of an economy that is giving you and your family a living.

I am certainly for precautions, of course. Things like social distancing, washing hands, and whatever else the experts tell us. Self-quarantining, if you get sick. I’m all for that. What I’m not for is an arbitrary shutdown of the market, as has happened in most states, now. You can’t just do that by decree. I mean, they did, but the damage will be massive. If the market is shackled through April as is currently the plan most states have, there will be no economy left to return to. I don’t care how many multi-trillion-dollar bailout packages are passed. The market has to be real, or it won’t work. Bailouts aren’t a real market.

You can sense the fear out there. A lot of people are terrified, probably because they watch mainstream news. I’d be terrified, too, if I listened to all that gloom and hype. Still. People are where they are, and that’s where you have to meet them. Figuratively speaking, of course, what with social distancing and all. I had a spell of fear myself, just the other night. What if it’s as bad as the government is saying? I had heart issues a few years ago. A-fib. Will that make my system weak? What if I’m compromised? All that hit me the other evening, just before bed. I had to calm myself, focus on my faith. Whatever hits me might be hard, and it might be bad. It’s OK, to fret about it a little. But you can’t stay there, and I didn’t. By the next morning, I got a grip, a little. Keep walking. Whatever happens, it will be alright, because with God all things are good.

I am saddened by another thing I see a lot of, mostly on social media. And that is how people love to stick their noses in other peoples’ business. That person should be wearing a mask. I was at the store and someone didn’t stay 6 feet away from me. I see people wanting to call the law, snitching on their neighbors. It’s like a twilight zone out there. In a time like this, a person’s true nature comes out for all to see. I see lots of fussing at certain groups of Amish that are still holding church services. Leave these people be. Don’t concern yourself over other peoples’ business, just make sure you socially distance yourself. That should take care of you not getting it from them. The right to assemble to worship God is among our most sacred. I’m proud that there are remnants of my people who will not bend the knee to the beast that is the state. You go, Swartzys, or whoever you are out there.

Maybe this pandemic is similar to the “Ebola wilderness” Pastor Mark spoke about all those years ago. Maybe this is something like he meant. Probably close, I’d reckon. We’re certainly in a place we’ve never been before, my generation is. And for the younger people, this is probably their first glimpse of the hard, cold reality that there are things in life larger than themselves. We all discover that, sooner or later. I feel bad for young people facing a monster I never saw at their age. We all are where we are, I guess.

A lot of things are going to change in the future in ways that we can’t imagine now. One casualty, I think, will be the universities. They were in trouble anyway, a lot of them. Now, the world has been shown that you can learn online. You don’t need to go to an actual campus unless you want to. It’s a lot cheaper at home. Welcome to the future. Same thing with home schooling. That’s going to expand, too, I think.

My book. A few words. As far as I know, it’s still on schedule to release on May 12th. Online by eBook, if nowhere else. Of course, the book signing I was lining up for Release Day up at Amish Experience over along Rt. 340, that little event was canceled. The evil virus won that one. I just don’t know. I don’t know what will happen between now and then. And I won’t pretend to guess. We’ll wait and see what can be done on May 12th, I reckon. I remain hopeful that the book will ship out on time. No way of knowing, though. That’s just how life is, these days. The truly unfathomable has become the norm.

Winding down, then. It’s kind of funny, how the thought hit me a few times in the last few weeks, right in the stress of things. Man, I’d love a drink. It’s the first time I seriously considered imbibing since getting through the original struggle to quit back in 2017. The old ghosts came lurking, crooning sweet siren songs. Here. See how good it looks? Think how great it would taste, and how fantastic it would make you feel. Think of that soothing amber fire, and how smooth it would go down. It all came back to me in a powerful way.

It wasn’t close, though, that I actually did it. I didn’t. Just saying. It was truly tempting in a real way for the first time in quite a while, is all. One day, when some other large event comes at me again, I may break and give in.

But not this time.

Share
March 6, 2020

The Fifth Son…

Category: News — Ira @ 5:54 pm

photo-2-small.JPG

And who shall say–whatever disenchantment follows–that we ever forget magic;
or that we can ever betray, on this leaden earth, the apple-tree, the singing,
and the gold?

— Thomas Wolfe
________________

It seemed like a safe thing to say, back when the message came. A request from a guy connected to Global Anabaptist Mennonite Encyclopedia Online (GAMEO). Soon after Dad died, the guy emailed me. We want to add your father to our database, our encyclopedia. Will you do the short bio for us? We’d like you to. And I thought that would be fine. Sure, I messaged back, relieved that they didn’t need it right that second. I was working on finishing up my book. So I told the man. Let me know when you need it, down the road. I’ll get it done. That’ll get them off my back, I figured. For now, at least. And it passed completely from my mind, that little promise I made.

Until a gentle reminder came floating in, more than a month ago. Greetings, Ira. Are you still up to do that write-up about your father? He didn’t call it a write-up. A bio. He called it a bio. We’d be ready for it, just about any time. No rush. Just when you can get it to us in the next few months. No pressure, or anything. I was busy that week with the blog, so I pushed it onto the back burner, writing Dad’s story in a short biography. The thing kept poking itself into my consciousness in the next few weeks, though. And finally, one night, I sat down to write out a few lines.

Where do you start? How do you start, writing about your father in condensed form? Always before, when I wrote stories about the man, they were mostly just random threads. How I went up to see him, and how we related while I was there. What we talked about, the things he told me. You can meander down all kinds of bunny trails, writing like that. It’s stream of consciousness, almost. I knew the bio would require me to write like I wasn’t used to. Fewer words, not more. Pack every word in there, make it taut. Get it said without emotion. Well, with a minimum of emotion, at least.

I looked at a few sample bios here and there, to get an idea of the structure. Yeah, I’d have to be tight and taut with my words, alright. Say who the man was, give his birth and death dates, and tell a little about what he got done in his life. I thought about it all a good deal, just rolled it around in my mind. And I began to poke around a bit.

His birth and death dates were easy. I knew those. As I knew the date of when he married Mom. February 3, 1942. That stuff I jotted down in my draft. And I got to thinking. His accomplishments. What did he get done? What are the dates of those things? And right there is where I ran into my first issues. When people read about a person in a bio, they trust that the facts therein are true. And here, now, it was my job to make sure they were.

I poked around some more. Checked things in the Wagler book, to see where Dad was in line. The ninth of ten children. And I realized for the first time, made the connection. Dad was a ninth child. I am the ninth child in my family, the ninth in line of my father’s sons and daughters. So that makes me the ninth child of a ninth child. It was a little bit startling. Of course, it’s just coincidence. But so what if it is? I think to myself. It’s still remarkable to carve out a little bit of special lineage.

I grasped early on, probably from the time I was about ten, that I could add forty to my amount of years, and that’s how old Dad was. Well, for most of the year, anyway. My birthday is in August, his in December. He turned forty years older than I was in December. So, I knew of that little link, early on. Just by doing simple math on my own. It took me a while longer, a few more years, to figure out the second remarkable coincidence. Dad was the fifth and final son in a family of ten. I was the fifth of six sons in a family of eleven. I thought it was astonishing. I was the fifth son of a fifth son. I even got that little fact poked into the book, somewhere early on.

Doing my research for Dad’s bio, I gathered information, old and new. He was almost forty years old when I was born. He was the fifth son and the ninth child of his family. As was I. I like the connection, the link back to Dad, a link I can call my own. But I don’t buy the suggestion that the link has anything to do with why I write. Sure, I’m pretty much the only one of Dad’s sons and daughters who followed in his steps, writing wise. That doesn’t mean my brothers and sisters aren’t writers. They are, every single one of them is, if they want to be. They just don’t choose to produce on a regular basis, like this blog. They could, they got Dad’s genes just like I do. It’s their choice, not to. Which is totally fine. To each his or her own. There’s nothing to fuss about at all.

Anyway, that was a bunny trail from what I was talking about. Dad’s bio. I had the basic dates and facts, now what about his accomplishments? In a long and tremendously productive lifetime of accomplishments, which few were the most influential? Which had the most impact? I thought about it, mulled the thing over for a week or two. Just kind of looked at it from every angle that I could. Two things stand out in my mind. The founding of Family Life made David L. Wagler a household name. And his first attempt at writing a book, well, a real book, I mean, other than little pamphlets. He wrote The Mighty Whirlwind. By the mid-1970s, I think, my father’s fame reached its apex. You could go to any Amish community in the world, pretty much, and the people knew his name. I can’t say for sure, but I think even the most stringent Swartzentruber Amish knew who David Wagler was. Or a lot of them did. The Swartzys are barely considered Amish by the Old Order, so that’s saying something.

So, I emphasized Dad’s accomplishments as best I could. The Mighty Whirlwind was published in 1966, when I was five years old. I remember it. And Family Life was launched a few years later, in 1968. Dad published a few other titles, too. Simon and Susie stories. Stories Behind the News. And, of course, the little four-volume set of memoirs he wrote in the last years of his life. These things, these accomplishments, I tracked down and dated. And I listed them in his bio.

Things always come jumbling in at random, seems like. And it happened right about the time I was focusing on writing about Dad. I heard from my publisher, the people at Hachette. They were looking to get my book read aloud for the audio version. And they asked me. Do you want to read it? I thought about it a good bit. Back for the first book, I never had a chance to read it aloud for the recording. Tyndale never gave me a clue it was even happening until it had. I just got a letter in the mail one day. Congratulations. Growing Up Amish is now available on audio. I never really thought about it, until a lot later. It would have been kind of fun to speak the narrative. I think it would have been. Not saying I would have read it. But it would have been nice to be asked.

Now, Hachette was asking. I wasn’t sure what all would be involved. So, I contacted Chip, my agent. Hey. I got a chance to read Broken Roads for the audio. What should I do? Chip talked to the Hachette people and emailed me. “They want you to do it.” So there was that. At least they weren’t actively opposed. I reached out to a couple of other writer friends. What do you think? To a person, everyone told me. “Read your own book. Your fans will expect that.” If I was interested, Hachette needed a sample. So, one day, I read the Prologue aloud into my iPhone. A little over three pages. It went OK. I sent it in to Stephanie, my Hachette corporate contact. A few days later she emailed me. They liked it. Can I come to the Big City and speak the whole book? It would take about three days.

Well. I wasn’t sure. I know New York City is the center of the world for many things, but it’s nowhere close to the center of my world. I could survive very well without cities. They are loud and dirty and unsafe, you can’t even carry anything to protect yourself, thanks to vile, feckless, leftist politicians. I have been most content in small towns and in the country. But I thought about it. Yeah, I could see going to the city. Checking it out. Hachette’s offices, right in downtown Manhattan. That’s about as big time as it gets, I reckon. Plus, I thought. I don’t know if there will ever be another book. Ride this ride for as long as you can.

And about this time, Dad’s bio pushed its way to the forefront again. I had it pretty much done, with the pertinent facts. David Lengacher Wagler was born on such and such a date. He married Ida Mae Yoder in 1942. And he died on such and such a date. The books he wrote, I listed them, near as I could. It was all condensed into part of a page of writing. I tweaked and revised and rewrote. And then I sent it in, along with one of the last photos I ever took of the man, when he was still with it in the summer of 2018. And that was done. I felt relieved.

The GAMEO man seemed to like it OK. He caught one embarrassing error. Somehow, I got Dad’s Mom mixed up with Mom’s Mom. Joseph K. and Mattie, I wrote. The editor, bless his heart, had done some basic research. He asked me. “Mattie? I thought your Dad’s Mom’s name was Sarah.” And I instantly slapped my head. Yes. Of course. Joseph K. and Sarah Wagler were my father’s parents. So we got that hashed out, the editor and me. I told him to correct it, my apologies. I sent along a good photo of Dad, too. I took it that last summer when I went up to see him. A real good thoughtful shot. You don’t have to use this, I told the man. But you can, if you want to. He did.

And bouncing back now to Hachette. One day out of the blue, an email came from Stephanie, my Hachette contact. She was sending me three professional auditions from three professional readers. Just to make sure they covered all the bases. See what you think. I listened to the five-minute reading of each one and marveled. I wouldn’t be able to read that well. No way. Still. I told Stephanie. I’d like to come and read the book for the audio, if the logistics can be worked out.

She emailed back to schedule a phone call, and we connected that afternoon. I had never spoken to Stephanie before. We got along fine, just chatting, and she felt it out, how badly I wanted to come. I didn’t, really, and she instantly sensed that. And she came up with an idea. “Why don’t we get you to read a short introduction, just for the front of the book?” She asked. “It would be a part of the audio version, only.” I jumped at the lifeline. Yes. That’s perfect. I can write something and we’ll fit that in. One day, that’s all I’d need to spend in the Big City. I sagged with relief. I have to say, on the journey of this book, things have just kind of worked themselves out, so far, somehow. I stay grateful.

And so it now stands. Next Tuesday, I will embark on a great adventure into the Big City. That vast and breathing “concrete jungle” Thomas Wolfe often talked about. I figured it would be wise to have someone go with me who knew the lay of the land a little better. I ended up asking my ex-brother-in-law, Paul Yutzy. A good old country boy, Paul is equally at home in the largest city. He’s been to the Big Apple lots of times. He knows the place. He’s fearless. I don’t figure I could ask for a better traveling companion through unfamiliar terrain.

Come Tuesday, we will take up our traveling staffs, me and Paul. (Like Willie sings, We received our education, In the cities of the nation, me and Paul.) I’m leaving the logistics completely up to him. If he wants to go in by train, I’ll get the tickets. If he decides to drive in, I’ll pay for fuel and parking. I think Hachette will pay a little something for my time. Whatever. I’ll take what I can get. What I can’t get, I won’t sweat. The door to this road may never open to me again. Just keep walking, I tell myself. Tell of your journey as your father told of his before you. Keep walking.

The broken road of the second book rolls on.

Share