One of our core needs is to grow.
Growth comes from:
Nothing here about talking.
What else? This is just a teaser?
WHAT DID YOU LEARN TODAY?
I'm kinda getting with it. Lots of stuff happening here at Career Change Strategies.
New Logo. new plan and new direction. Stuff will be changing here on an almost daily basis. More focus on writing and selling my IP.
Stay tuned for more about this. Very exciting.
1st up that affects my good readers is the
All Jillian posts will now have this included, and you can add stories of your very own Jillian. Or at least someone who is very like our Jillian and has some interesting stories to tell. Or some weird stuff. We're into that.
Would love to see this grow.
Come on all you wannabe writers out there get your fingers going.
Colin
#ourjillian
Jillian has told me so much over the years and as I began this task; I compiled a list of potential topics. Many have already made it into print and many don't really lend themselves to one of our stories. There are others that will be revealed 'in the fullness of time' as they say.
That leaves quite a few that are not likely to make it due to not enough information, or just not being enough.
But I began thinking that they might make a paragraph or so, as part of a group of similar incidents or memories.
I figured I'd give this a try for the 21st episode. In America this is the drinking age, so I looked for a few drinking incidents. Let's hope it is a bit of fun.
Didn't make it for that number – a couple of others had the pleasure, but now is the time.
These are not all Jillian’s antics, but they are based around friends, family, colleagues, or even just (in some cases) mere proximity. ie Our Jillian was nearby or picked up the story details by osmosis. I don't know. They were just a list of things on my notepad.
There was some connection, however tenuous, with Jillian. If you are bored, just remember – we can't all be wonderfully funny all the time. No matter how hard we try.
“Did you know,” she said once, “that night clubs turn off the air-conditioning during the evening to make it hot and cause patrons to drink more? And then turn it to Arctic levels when they want them all to leave?”
“I figured as much.” I said. Was a no brainer really.
At the finishing stages of a party that a friend of Jillian's attended, many of the revellers popped outside and put one of the guest's cars (a mini as will become obvious in a moment,) up on some wooden blocks until the wheels were just off the ground, but covered by the longish grass in the parking field. When this fellow came out of the hall everyone was hanging around to watch. He got in started it up, put it into gear and went ----nowhere. Wheels just spun and spun. This was really funny because it was an official end of year shindig, she told me later, and the prankee was their teacher.
Gee she knew some dodgy characters, our Jillian.
Another chap was left behind at a night club. They thought he had gone home earlier. But the next day they found out what happened. He had fallen off the toilet in a drunken stupor (those early days when toilet cubicle doors went almost to the floor) and had become wedged between the bowl and the door. Jillian and her friends looked for him and not finding him, headed off home a bit miffed. He was found on the final security check when they couldn’t open a dunny door to check inside. Someone had to climb over and move his prostrate body so they could open the door and get him up and out of the place.
Takes all sorts I guess.
Old joke but a couple of her friends actually did try it – she swears - very early one morning on the way home from a student social function shall we call it?
Cops: “What are you lot doing?”
Students: “Scaring away pink elephants.”
Cops: “There are no pink elephants here.”
Students: “We're doing a f@#$%^& good job, then aren't we?”
I really think this one was Jillian herself. But she denies it. I suppose you would.
A young girl (I'll pretend I believe her) was going to a Blue Light Youth Disco back in the days when they still existed. She was 15 or so I guess and, thinking that this whole boring thing the olds wanted her to go to with her stupid school friends was going to be a complete bust, decided to spice things up a bit.
Not knowing at that time, (it has changed now – well it might have depending on who we are talking about here) much about booze she proceeded to 'borrow' a little bit from each of the bottles in the parents' booze cupboard.
If she had thought about it for a few seconds she might have figured if it was left in a bottle in the cupboard it was probably not much good, but that thought never crossed her mind.
She semi-filled a coke bottle with the concoction and topped it up with enough Coke to disguise the colour and the smell.
The attempt to share it with her friends failed because it tasted absolutely revolting. As it would, having a little bit of Pimms, Green Ginger wine, cheap scotch, cheap vodka, tequila and a couple of lesser know liqueurs. It was always going to be 'the pits'.
But as a girl of conviction, if nothing much else at this time, she figured. “I'd better drink it all as it was my idea.” And drink it she did.
Not long after she felt very unwell and had to be brought home by one of her friend's mothers. She was violently and continuously ill for some 20 mins when she arrived home, went off to bed chastened as it was obvious what had happened, and slept like a baby I'm told.
Didn't even have a hangover in the morning apparently.
Bugger.
#ourjillian
How Jillian and her Mum Hit The Town and Learned a Few Choice New Expressions and so Much More!
There was still another planned event to go. "How am I going to handle this?" Jillian said to herself.
What she really said to me was. "I had a couple of free tickets to the Les Girls show at St Kilda beach.
"They were given to me by a friend (Tom) who worked there as a photographer. You know the kind that muscles up to you and takes those "candid" (and she made the quote marks with fingers) photographs. Later on they bring the prints back and you have the choice to buy them or not.
"Most cases you buy them even though they're pretty awful.
"It was the big thing that used to go on in night-spots before roses.
"Now with the roses, of course, you feel like a bastard if you don't buy one for your girl, and if you do they usually die in a very short time.
"You're stuffed both ways,” she said, and I figured - she'd know.
She went on. “Tom told me all sorts of weird stories about how they operated. Female impersonator shows were relatively new to Melbourne although they had been in Sydney for some time."
Stan Munro
For more than 50 years Stan Munro has travelled the world in drag.
When Mr Munro came to Australia from the UK in 1963 he said he landed his first job as a dancer and acrobat.
"I starred in and compeered Les Girls in Sydney and then did seven years with Les Girls in Melbourne," he said.
"It wasn't long until I was doing solo female impersonating and I have travelled the world with it ever since."
On Friday, July 27, 2012, the then 72-year-old "warmed up" the crowd before Australian pop icons 'Mental As Anything' took to the stage.
In 2013 he was still performing around Australia.
Loads of men brought their girlfriends there while their wives stayed at home thinking they were out at an 'I don't know what - gambling evening maybe'? That would probably have been better than out with a girl. And Tom said the men usually refused the photograph because they didn't want their wives to see it. He often took a quick surreptitious one anyway. The girl usually bought it.
He figured if a bloke could get a night off to take a girl to a show in St Kilda, he could probably hide a photograph.
The Dark Room
But anyway - the dark room, he told me, where they did the developing and printing of the photographs was a long narrow bit of a room at the back of the auditorium, shut off to keep out the light.
He said he often found interesting things happening, on the dark room floor amongst the spilt chemicals and off-cuts of photographs, discarded film rolls and scads of damaged negatives. He thought it was pretty gross. Lucky mum didn't see any of that. Me too. It would have been an image hard to 'unsee'.
“OK.” I said. “Enough of the background. Tell me the story.”
“Ha-ha yes!” She reckoned that the background was indeed fun. I agreed, but, “Let's get on with it.” she said.
“OK. We went there in a taxi. I'm not sure what mum was expecting but even after the débâcle of the Flying Trapeze she probably wasn't thinking she was going to get a man dressed up as a woman singing off-colour songs and making off-colour jokes; some of which she may not even understand.
"And lots of fellows dressed up as girls in a chorus line.
"A magician and a few other cabaret style acts.
"Actually it was quite a good show. Dinner theatre kind of thing. We sat at tables, shared with others in our case, and the food was just the usual basic institution kind of roast beef and potatoes. OK but not special and not, to be honest, what I really wanted to show her food-wise in Melbourne. Afterwards I thought that what we ate was more like the stuff she was used to and would have gone over very well."
This time it was me that did the eye-roll thing. This was getting a tad boring.
She saw me and cut to the chase. I didn't get 'The Glare' Funny that!
The End
“The funny bit,” she said, “was what happened at the end of the evening.
"After it was all over, I went to the toilet and left mum in the foyer. Told her to wait for me. Strange really. She was usually the one to rush to the toilet as soon as a show was over. Not tonight!
"On my return – no mother.
"Now this was a bit of a shock. And not a pleasant one. How could I lose my ageing mother in a down-town venue after a show? I had no idea. Panic set in and I began running all over. Back into the auditorium, the dark-room (NO), the toilets again. Calling out 'Mum' in the dunnies is not a good thing in a drag venue in Melbourne. Still nothing. Back to the foyer.
"Then I spied a small sitting room kind of thing a bit off to the left of the foyer. I rushed in.
"Shock again.
"There was my dear old mother, her daggy ancient handbag on her lap, her hand on a man's knee and …. the chap was Stan Munro – the star of the show. OMG. I couldn't believe it.
"She was chatting away in a very lively and almost intimate manner with a female impersonator. They were both so engrossed in conversation they didn't seem to notice me creeping up to them.
"Don't ask me what they were talking about. I have no idea. I don't want to know. Believe me."
I gathered her up, apologised to Mr Munro and made a hasty exit.
The Cab Ride
In the cab on the way home she was quiet for a long time. Then she said, 'He was a very interesting young man that Stan chap. Very clever and quite sweet. His head was shaved. I thought that was funny. Why do you think he would have a silly job like that? And why dress up as a woman?'
This time I went home horrified.
#ourjillian
How Jillian and her Mum Hit The Town and Learned a Few Choice New Expressions and so Much More!
Some time ago, now (must have been mid to late 70's) Jillian was in Melbourne with her mother. It was the first time Nancy had been in the big smoke. Any big smoke. Much less Melbourne. I mean there was nowhere you could stand and see the whole town. It was too big to even imagine.
Nancy was a small town girl at heart. Her one vice was a very tiny sherry at Christmas. Although I heard there was one occasion she was coerced into taking a shandy. But that is most definitely a story for another time.
Jillian wanted to show her mum a good time while she was here. But our Jillian sometimes missed the mark with her plans. This is the story of two of those times. For some reason it was the night-life Jillian thought would be a good idea. Remember the sherry? Mum was going to go home with a cupla stories NO-ONE would believe.
Sometimes I really wonder about her mind. Jillian figured a live performance would be the thing. A kind of comedy cabaret venue, reasonably new, owned and operated by a Melbourne University chap Johnny Pinder. (After all, he was from NZ. How bad could it be?)
(6 January 1945 – 27 May 2015) born in Timaru on the South Island of New Zealand and raised 80 kilometres (50 mi) further south in Oamaru, North Otago was a comedy producer and festival director who produced band performances, ran live venues and co-founded three Australian comedy festivals, including Melbourne International Comedy Festival and Circus Oz. In the early 1970s Pinder established The Flying Trapeze Café, Australia's first comedy cabaret venue, in Melbourne. (WikiPedia)
The night started well. It was a gorgeous warm evening and mum and daughter went to a very nice little Eyetalian place on Lygon St for dinner. (Nancy's pronunciation) She was a tad racist and a bit slow to change old habits. Of course she was not sure why they weren't eating Australian food, and why was it so late? I mean they were eating TEA as Nancy called it at 7.00. That's PM. In the evening. Nearly midnight really.
After this experience which may well be the topic of anther story they headed off to the dark and dingy venue colloquially known as the 'Fly Trap'.
"Things are very strange over here, darling," Nancy mused, on the way which was a short walk. Only one toilet stop. "We have tea or am I now supposed to call it dinner at night and long after the usual time. Your father used to come home after work and his tea had to be on the table at 5.00pm. No later? Except dinner is what we eat in the middle if the day. Lunchtime. You used to as well, dear. Don't you remember?"
"And why are the pictures or concert or whatever we are going to see on so late. Will I be able to get a cup of tea, and will there be a toilet? You know how I am when I'm not at home?"
"I bet you were doing the Jillian olympic eye roll by this time?" I said, chuckling,
Again the glare. I thought I was being funny. Bit I digress.
A largish, slightly unkempt guy in jeans and a T-shirt met them at the door. The place really was quite small. They had a booking. The chap looked at his list and back over his right shoulder into the dark room behind him (we can only imagine what Nancy was thinking at this time) and found the table. It seemed to have people sitting at it. John (for it was THE John Pinder who was looking after them) walked over to the table and sort of politely asked them if they wouldn't mind moving as this table was booked for a lady from N.Z. no less. Almost family.
The couple looked around at the crowded house (sorry - couldn't resist), at the piano suspended from the ceiling immediately above where they were being directed to sit, and pleasantly suggested that as they were there first they should NOT be the ones to move.
Without missing a beat Johnny shouted at this unfortunate couple. " Well, If you aren't going to move - you can FUCK-OFF then."
Jillian was gob-smacked. But Nancy was almost apoplectic. Her mouth was open so wide you could pretty nearly hide in there which is what Jillian wanted to do right now. Hide. Not in her mum's mouth, silly. She wanted to be anywhere but there.
Realising that Johnny was not to be crossed they collapsed into the seats at the table and looked at each-other.
"He said wha...???" exploded Nancy. "I mean what IS this place? How can anyone talk to people like that? What are we doing here this late at night anyway. (Editor's note it was about 9.00 pm) With THESE people? We are going to get killed! What will I tell them back home if that happens? What has happened to you Jillian, my baby?"
"I have not heard anything like that before even from your father and he was in the war." she continued in a kind of frenzied voice. Fright and shock mixed together.
"I am not even sure I know what it means, but I know it is a bad word. A very bad word." she erupted again. I thought she was going to have a fit and hit someone.
"I told you she was a strange species," Jillian said as I looked at her not even sure if this was possibly true.
"It was true. Unfortunately," puffed Jillian, reading my mind.
Jillian didn't remember much more of the night. She had a wine or two and a bit later a small snack of cheese balls.
She had a vague recollection that the acts included a man sitting, swaying on a piano stool suspended above our heads playing a Tom Lehrer number 'The Masochism Tango' on an equally dangling and oscillating piano.
Of course Nancy understood that the name of this song also included a bad word and was talking about terrible things.
These thoughts even transcended the unbelievable sight of the piano, stool and man above our heads. “I thought that bit was magnificent,” remembered Jillian.
Things were ominously quiet in the taxi on the way home. But that was infinitely better than Nancy worrying about their safety and the morels of young people today, and what is being called entertainment, and what about the old pictures like the December 1939 classic 'Gone with the Wind' with the lovely Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable and things like that?
And so the night ended. But there was still tomorrow.
“Bloody hell,” thought Jillian. “How can I have stuffed this up so much? What will happen at the next place? Why the hell did I think any of this was a good idea? A cup of tea at home would have done. We could have talked. Mother daughter catch-up stuff. Yeah. Right. I don't need this.”
“FUCK. Who am I kidding? I am so stupid.”
#ourjillian
Woo Hoo. Yippee and all that jazz. Another publication under my belt.
This time an article in a magazine.
Here is the link.
June Issue - The Successful Coach Magazine
It is the first in a series of 8 articles covering the topic of retirement / retrenchment (Laid off for my American readers) which leads up to the generation of a life plan and a set of SMART goals. Stay tuned to see the rest of them.
Comment if you will.
That link again.
June Issue - The Successful Coach Magazine
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
Sea Fever by John Masefield -1902
This was as true for Jillian much more recently than when it was written.
She had ventured on a voyage from Melbourne to Hobart (Tasmania) on a tall ship, 'The Enterprize' a wonderful replica of the ship on which the first settlers to Melbourne travelled.
Wikipedia tells us a little about Mr Masefield - Born in 1878, died in 1967. He left boarding school in 1892 to train for a life at sea, and to break his addiction to reading, of which his aunt thought little. He found, though, that he could spend much of his time reading and writing Later as his love for story-telling grew, and as he listened to the yarns told about sea lore, he continued to read, and felt that he was to become a writer and story teller himself. Sorry Aunty.
While the poem was not quite the Ancient Mariner it truly resonated with our Jillian on that voyage. You see all the passengers were expected to perform shipboard tasks as much as the crew.
And one lovely night Jillian found herself at the tiller (this ship did not even have a wheel - a bit early in maritime history for that - but who's quibbling - the tiller still had a kick), steering on a compass heading as instructed by the 1st mate. She was joined at her lonely task - the only other person on watch was a lookout on the front of the ship (bow) - by the Captain.
"Of course" I muttered. "Once a Siren always a Siren."
"Anyway," she said, giving me the evil eye, "He told me to check that I had the correct compass heading and then look up and forward. For a star. Find one that lines up with a part of the ship and keep them lined up as best you can. For at least a few hours that will be as good as anything and much less to-ing and fro-ing will occur. A compass heading, he told her, will require constant vigilance and many, many corrective actions making you very tired and not in the end being all that effective, or comfortable for the rest of the crew and passengers. Hmmmm, perhaps that was what brought him out of his bed and up on deck in his PJ's", Jillian mused.
“It was good advice, but made me recite that stanza of the poem over and over. I couldn't remember any more," she said.
“There were many other memorable events and sights on that cruise if you can call it a cruise.” She said. And she went on to mention some of them. Not in any particular order. But she was not the most logical in her memory, our Jillian.
“Yep. It was hard work. And I paid more than $1,000 for the privilege,” Jillian mumbled.
“But, did you enjoy it?” I asked.
#ourjillian
Sometimes Jillian tells me funny stuff, sometimes life stuff and sometimes general stuff that is not very much of anything.
This time I reckon we got some dramatic substance.
Can't remember when this was nor where in the world, but it was obviously exciting and emotional for Jillian.
During her religious period Jillian was persuaded to go on a 3 day retreat. Having never done anything like this, before, she figured why not? Could be interesting (probably not that much fun as it was a non-speaking – unless in structured discussions - and non fraternising between sexes kind thing.) But interesting is definitely a word that comes to mind. She was not to know how interesting.
It started on a Friday night and went until after the evening meal on the Monday following. Approx 3 days. At least that was the plan.
The format was a dinner and evening fellowship with all participants on the Friday, (no alcohol came as a bit of a blow to our Jillian, but 'in for a penny, in for a pound' she thought), followed by days of prayer – of course; study of The Bible, biblical and saints stories, meditation, rest and relaxation, discussions of social and community activity, and some personal development material relating to goal setting and life planning. All sounded fine and a bit of a change from the daily routine, which was pretty much the idea of the founder of the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) St. Ignatius of Loyola, in the 1520s.
This retreat was run by these Jesuits in a complex of 4 buildings on the outskirts of the city. One building was a common area with meeting, cooking, eating and other such admin rooms, there was a dormitory for girls and one for boys and the priests lived in the 4th building. They were all separated by lovely and secluded walkways and gardens. It was very quiet and even serene particularly for outer suburbia.
“Actually,” said Jillian, “It was really very lovely. I was looking forward to it and would probably have enjoyed it immensely.”
“Probably?” I questioned.
“Yep.” she nodded. “That is the story here. It never happened. Well the opening dinner did and we headed off to our separate dormitory rooms for a read of some saintly literature and an early night. But it was not to be.”
“Oh.” I mumbled. “What happened?”
“We found out later what started it, but at about midnight the boys dormitory went on fire. The building was a bit like a T where the top bar part was a long corridor with individual bedrooms on one side and in the middle where the down-stroke of the T is there was a lounge with a fireplace, large comfy armchairs and sofas, etc for reading and such.
It seemed a spark from the fire had somehow gone into the woodbox (which was full of small cut logs, kindling and newspaper on the bottom), during the evening after dinner, and no-one noticed anything untoward.
After lights out this must have flared up and began to burn the wall beside and behind the fireplace. One of my friends who was in the boys building said they were all very surprised to wake up to the sound of fire and a huge amount of smoke. The silence thing flummoxed them for a minute or two until they realised that this was an emergency and that quite probably as of this moment the retreat was over.
This friend came out of his room which was right at the top of the T to find that the corridor wall just outside his room – the rear wall of the lounge - was completely engulfed, and that the only fire hose reel in the building was on that wall in the middle of the fire. A few seconds longer he thought later, and he would have been no more. He dropped and rolled along the corridor knowing that there was a door at each end, and he could get out.
Safe; he ran round to the front of the building where he and others were able to assure themselves that all the other boys had evacuated. By this time the priest and the girls were collecting in the area in front of the main building. I think some of the priests, and the boys too, were having trouble deciding which was more exciting – the girls' night-attire or the fire. Suffice to say there was hotness all around.
Being Friday night, and outer suburbia there were pubs and drunks in abundance, and a big fire like this is always a draw-card. My friend saw a couple of likely lads throwing rocks at the fireys who were working hard to stop the blaze from reaching a number of gas cylinders and some waste tar drums – from the driveway upgrade a few weeks earlier. He alerted a fireman with a big hose (you know what I mean – stop it) who then turned this towards the two idiots and needless to say the rock throwing was a wash-out.
The building was not completely destroyed, but might as well have been. It was going to have to be demolished.
We had an emergency meeting in the main meeting room to formally close the retreat, and after ensuring that we had collected all undamaged stuff from the boys building (with help from the fabulous firemen), we all began to head home.
Some people had been dropped off by family and were going to be picked up at the end so Jillian and her - very lucky to be alive - friend began a taxi service to take some of these new acquaintances home.
There were a number of other admin kind of things needing to be done and Jillian's friend (I think I remember now, his name was Patrick) offered to help the priests who were a tad upset and not sure what to do nor to whom to turn in this completely unforeseen and extremely unusual circumstance. The upshot was that Jillian and Patrick managed to get to their homes - to their own safe, unburnt beds - late on the Saturday night.
It was a pretty dramatic retreat. Nothing like what was expected. Probably took a few days for the adrenaline to leave the system and for things inside to return to normal. Patrick could not remember he or anyone he knew being that close to death. It was an awakening. As good as any retreat for bringing one closer to God and renewing one's zest for life.
Patrick was able to retrieve the remains of the very burnt crucifix that had been above his bed-head (on the wall nearest the actual fire) and he brought it along to the Church service at his local Parish on the following Sunday. The priest gave a sermon on the fragility of life while Patrick stood there with this burnt offering in his arms.
Beat that for Drama.
#ourjillian
“I was at this party with my sister. She was a few years older than me (she was 14, I think, at the time), but it was a youth group party, no booze and kids my parents knew, so it was all right. Besides the olds were going out with my aunt and uncle and so sis had to baby-sit me and this was how it was going to go down. All good.
“We were driven to this house in the suburbs and went inside. It was your typical young teen party – dim lights, loud music, a sort of supper of pointy sandwiches (with hundreds and thousands – we were all still supposed to like the stuff we had liked when we were 7), a few sweet biscuits, and some fruit cake. Plastic bottles of coke, fanta and lemonade with plastic cups. You know the story, right?” she asked.
I said I did. I didn't ask about the parents of the kids living in the house, or whose house it was. Seemed inappropriate.
“Well, it wasn't all as mum and dad had thought, but I was hardly going to say a word. You don't look a gift horse and all that sort of thing.
Ya see, a few kids believed that Vodka mixed with lemonade – a lot of lemonade – didn't have a taste of booze nor the smell, so a few enterprising ones had managed to get hold of some parental vodka and fill up their own bottles with this concoction. Nobody would know, they thought. Sis made sure I didn't get any. Spoil sport.
The party moved into full swing a tad after we arrived. Bit of booze and the snogging began. It was really neat to part of this grown up stuff. It wasn't long before I couldn't find sis any-more, but not to worry.
What really got me was the music. It was coming out of the radio, really loud, but somehow not like normal radio, I couldn't tell what was different. At 8.00pm there was the Radio Network News. Pips and all. It seemed so right, but also wrong.
The main announcer was called Jim Post. He kept on saying 'This is your host with the most, Jim Post. The most hits, the most gossip and the most fantastic party vibe.' I think that was a new age word - vibe, I hadn't heard it before. There were a couple of other announcers, someone called Mike and another, John, I think. But there was definitely something weird.
The radio station was called 'Best Radio Around - Radio BRA' I thought that was funny as well as I hadn't heard of this station, and I listened to the radio a lot. We were in the early 60's here and there was not a lot else to do. 'Surf music' was playing. That was neat as well. My favourite”
“A bit of history here,” Jillian said. “This was the time of The Surfaris, Jan and Dean, Duane Eddy, The early Beach Boys and even Chuck Berry. There were two Australian bands that became known in this genre as well. The Atlantics with their hit Bombora, and Col Joye and the Joy Boys. Their biggest hit in 1963 'Murphy the Surfy' was covered by The Surfaris a year or so later. Nuff history. OK?
“I think what really got me was that every now and then someone would yell out a song they wanted to hear and nearly always, not long after, that song came on. Very strange.
But after I heard the name of one of my sister's friends called out on the radio, and some gossip about her new boyfriend I knew there was something I needed to find out. What was going on here?
“I went over to the radio set and it didn't seem to be tuned to any station I knew about. But the sound was definitely coming from the radio speakers. This was intriguing. I couldn't figure it out. I had no idea, but there was stuff here I needed to know. Little detective Jillian?
“A few moments after this my sister clapped me on the top of my head (I really hated that but it was her quiet way of saying 'squirt - You're the little sister' and asked how I was. 'Was I enjoying myself?' She asked.
'Too right, I replied. 'But what's going on with the music and the radio stuff?' I asked.
She laughed out loud, a bit too loud I thought, probably she had indulged in a little bit of the vodka drink. 'Don't ya know?' she said. 'It's not really the radio. It's a couple of our mates doing it all from the back bed-room. Come on Jillian, you are such a KID,' she said.
'I know,' I said. 'I ... ah ... just wondered how it was all being done is all.'
'Come on – I'll show you,' she said. And we headed off down the passage to a room away from the lounge. I spotted a big hand written KEEP OUT sign you couldn't miss. She listened with her ear to the door and then tapped lightly on the wooden panel and said her name. The door opened a moment later and we walked in.”
“This is my sister Jillian,” sis said.
To say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. The room was totally full of stuff, and 3 older boys. Men really. I mean they were to me at my tender age.
There were a couple of tables in the middle of the room and two record players side by side with funny felt thingy's on top of the turntables under the records; 2 tape machines - 1 a cassette player and 1 was with reels. There was a transistor radio, several big boxes of records and cassette tapes, 2 or 3 pairs of headphones and 2 microphones on stick things covered with a foamy sheet of some kind. There was a funny kind of box thing on the table under the microphone with knobs and switches on it. And wires. There were wires absolutely everywhere. Everything was connected to everything else with wires - every bit of table not covered with equipment was covered with wires. And power cords and double-adapters were all over the floor.
This was so exciting. I had never seen anything like this.
Just then one of the blokes held up his hand to us and motioned us to keep quiet. He leaned forward towards the microphone and with one hand flicked a switch (the sound in the room of the music currently playing stopped suddenly) while his other hand was holding a record on the turntable of the record player to his right (I could see the turntable was going round, but he was holding the record still). What's that about? I thought.
He started talking. I was so excited I nearly wet my pants. Well maybe I did – a little.
Anyway, he said, and I'll remember it 'til I die.. 'Hey all you party goers out there, once again this is your host with the most Jim Post, and you're on the best radio around radio BRA. (only this time he said the word bra and smiled up at me).
We have a very special tune to play for you right now. This is a favourite of a friend of mine - Jillian.'
And I noticed he let go of the actual record which started to turn around. and wound one of the knobs. The music started as he finished speaking my name and got louder as he turned the knob. It started straight away not after a few seconds like when you put a normal record on and it all sounded so professional. Then he turned to me - to us.
'How are you cutie,' he said. 'You sister has told me a lot about you.'”
#ourjillian
I was enthralled.
You were awesome, and you were personally inspiring.
I loved your relaxed laid-back (Australian?) attitude. I loved your answers to the interviewer’s questions. I loved how you extended the questions from the audience and answered more than you were asked. And I loved how you overruled the presenter and asked for one more question when he had already done that. So great. So fantastic. Such a wonderful evening.
Can I make a comment or two, though?
As mentioned your generous donations to independent book-stores are to be applauded.
In 2014, James gave away over a million dollars to book-stores across the USA.
In 2015, James Patterson will continue to support independent book-stores in innovative ways and will champion a new initiative centred on getting our kids reading and supporting school libraries.
Now this is a fantastic initiative, but it made me think of the horse and cart.
Back in the day, horses used to pull all sorts of vehicles which were used for transport of goods and passengers in pretty much all countries of the world.
A complete set of industries grew up around this means of transport. Such as farriers, carriage makers, stables and stable hands, grooms, horse-shoe and horse-shoe nail manufacturers, carriage wheel makers and many more. And of course manure collectors. Not to mention the farmers who grew the food these magnificent beasts ate so they could toil all day toting people and packages across our fair cities. Although some of these cities may not have been all that fair much of the time. But your stories cover some of this evil doing.
Anyway there came a time when some malcontent invented a motorised vehicle. And once we all got over the fact that these mechanical beasts could and should be allowed to move faster than walking pace the industry blossomed.
We could now go further and faster, in more comfort and carry more weight than ever before. Progress, I hear you say. A fantastic thing is progress and these newfangled inventions. True.
But what of the poor people and animals mentioned previously who relied on the earlier tried and true methods of transport? Their existence and their livelihood depended on this now old fashioned and outdated technology. What about them?
Well, I personally don't know what happened on a day to day or month to month basis, nor how long a transition period there was, but transition certainly took place. Now the only 'horse-dawn carriages' are in places like Melbourne as tourist attractions.
Cars and trucks (and trains and planes as well, but let's not extend our argument too far) have completely taken over the role of these quaint methods of conveyance.
Book shops. Ah the wonder. They are such an institution. The shelves and shelves of paper and cardboard, printers ink, glue and sometimes string. The smell of new books, the smell of old books. The chesterfield sofas and crazy bentwood chairs that we happened upon in these oases of almost quiet; full of the soft sounds of riffling paper, and the low murmurings of cajoling voices “Oh My God, will you have a look at this one?” Fantastic. Beautiful, exciting, inspiring and emotionally intense.
Bookshops are the bees knees.
BUT. There is another way to read NOW. We can do it 'online' and on 'portable devices'. The same stories. Even the older ones (the historic, the famous and venerated texts) are all progressively being made available in a digital format. They don't smell. There are no sofas, no booksellers with unbelievable knowledge, (I could say encyclopaedic but that is too trashy), but the end result is the same. The information, the emotions, the feelings, beliefs, the wonderment is all still imprinted on the brain of the reader. We still even call these infidels readers for goodness sake.
We can take 1000's of books with us wherever we go and enjoy them at any time. In the light, in the dark and at all times and all places in between.
In a similar vein to that of old fashioned travel, reading is going to change. We are going to do it differently. We are going to transition, possibly completely, except for tourist curiosities, to the new world.
It is as inevitable as the march of the automobile. Whether it is a good or bad thing is a moot point. IT WILL HAPPEN. IS HAPPENING NOW. AS WE SPEAK.
While I know, James, we all love your passion for book shops, books in general; and we all follow your fights with Jeff Bezos, I wonder if it is all for nothing?
Is it possible your wonderfully generous money might be better spent? Instead of railing against online behemoths, and propping up an institution whose time has come?
Might you be better off spending the money to make online reading better? More accessible to the masses of people who do not read at all or do read but not as much as they might and do not embrace the joys of the electronic media? Easier, more exciting, more fun. More interesting.
Perhaps we could have online book-stores with extra special benefits.
We could have electronic book clubs.
What about huge global discussions about books and the meaning of life. I don't think it really is 42 by the way.
We could have huge webinars with everyone being able to see and hear what I did the other night. You know what I mean. You. Or other famous or infamous - read E L James) authors on Skype, in our own lounge rooms, our cars, our … (no I won't go there.)
They could be streamed, or recorded or both. Live questions could be asked and answered. Visuals and videos could be included.
Collaborative writing classes and group readings could happen.
Training in writing and other stuff related to reading might be the go
Authors reading their books for children. (So they can still have their nightly story even if their parents can't or won't do it for them.) Refer the following:
“Could snuggling up in bed and reading a bedtime story to your children ever be a bad thing? An ABC Radio National program about whether 'Having a loving family is an unfair advantage' has questioned whether bedtime reading is causing an uneven playing field for more unfortunate children. British academic Adam Swift told ABC presenter Joe Gelonesi the benefits of the time-honoured custom were greater than a private school education.”
The worlds of writing and reading could collide with a bang greater than all the atomic bombs in the universe.
Books and reading could be even more important than ever before. A different kind of book experience.
No longer little out of the way places you can only get to on your next trip to NYC.
No longer elitist but for all.
No longer expensive books where the publisher takes more money from the sale than the creator of the work itself. (Perhaps that is a problem currently with Amazon, but there is no real competition is there?)
Free books for specific purposes/readers/topics
Note I'm not suggesting books are off the agenda, just the method of getting them to the reader. A change in the delivery mechanism.
It has started.
Perhaps you James, and/or other readers or writers can come up with some more new and innovative ways to make the electronic delivery of books better, more accessible, easier, more effective.
Perhaps there is even another as of now completely unheard of way of getting books to the reader?
Think about it. Those who can adapt best, survive. Those who cannot become extinct. Darwin discovered this scientific truth many moons ago, It is still as true now as it was then.
Comment please.
