(00:00:00) I want to (00:00:00) start by talking about. someone a lot of you know, Agatha McGee and I want to start by announcing in case you've been looking for her in the crowd here. She is not coming to this event tonight. She thinks it's a desecration that somebody should be reading fiction. That somebody should be standing up here reading fiction in the Basilica. And half of me is hurt by that. And she knows it. And the other half of me agrees with her. Because Agatha is my Alter Ego. I didn't know that when I first began writing about her. But the after the books are published and I read them. I begin to understand. That she is my alter ego. Certainly, I couldn't have gotten so much mileage out of Agatha Maggie if she weren't my alter ego. She entered Stager Ford by the back door. I didn't see her. I didn't know she was going to come in. It was going to be miles Pruitt's book. And he needed a landlady. And so I called her Agatha McGee. And she nearly stole the novel from him. And then a few years later. She proved to be the main character in a second novel. And I still hear her at the back of my mind, so I'm probably not done with her. so for Yoo-hoo don't know Agatha. I want to read a section of Stager Ford introduced her to you and for you who do know her. I will tell you more about how she came to be and what purpose she served. in my writing and in my life If you could remember a time when Miss McGee slate and splay-footed and quick as a bird was not teaching at st. Is adores. This was her 41st year in the same classroom her 41st year of flitting and hovering up and down the aisles in the morning when she felt fresh. And perching behind her Walnut desk in the afternoon when fatigue set in. In the minds of her former students many of whom were now grandparents. She occupied a place somewhere between Moses and Emily post and when they met her on the street, they guarded not only their speech but also their thoughts. They knew of course for she had been telling it for over half a century. That when she was a girl she had met Joyce Kilmer. But who would have guessed the connection between that meaning meeting many years ago and the fire alarm this afternoon? Agatha even though she's 25 years older than I am. was born in 1971 perhaps 72 She was born the day that my 7th grade son came home from school. And said Dad we had this poet came to school today. Can you shoot us heard the words he used? And then he recited some of those words most of them four letter words, and my son was just overawed by this experience. And I was sort of overawed myself to think that that this was going on in the junior high school. And I complained about it for a day or two until I realized that I was sounding a lot like a spinster schoolteacher. I'd had when I was a kid. And that's when the idea came to me. It wouldn't it be interesting? If I set up this rather inflexible. woman teaching sixth grade and had her prepare her class. for a poet prepare them with some enthusiasm, you know and preach about the wonders of poetry. And then have this hippie walk in. so that was how Agatha McGee was born and it Turned out to be a short story entitled The undistinguished Port. Which would I came to Rice tiger Ford? remodeled to fit into the book Agatha McGee met Joyce Kilmer when she was six She was a first grader at Saint Isidore doors. The year was Nineteen sixteen and her teacher Sister Rose of Lima Prime the first grade four months leading them in a recitation of trees every morning between the Apostles Creed and the Pledge of Allegiance and then on the last day of school before Christmas break. Joyce Kilmer himself stepped through the classroom door at the appointed hour casting Sister Rose of Lima into a state of stuttering foolishness and her students into ecstasy. Miss McGee remembered it like yesterday. Mr. Kilmer was handsome cheery and a bit plump. He wore a black suit and a red tie. With a playful Sparkle in his eye he bowed to Sister Rose of Lima saying he was delighted to meet her and then he walked among her students asking their names. The children's voices were suddenly undependable and they told their names intense Whispers And unexpected shouts. Jesse Farnum momentarily forgot who he was in the silence was thick while he thought and when he finally said Jessie, mr. Kilmer told him that he had known a Girl by that name. And the first grade exploded with more laughter than Sister Rose of Lima permitted on ordinary days. The laughter ending as suddenly as it began was followed by a comfortable chat the poet telling stories some without lessons. Before mr. Kilmer left his admirers recited trees for him. For Agatha McGee. His visit was like Christmas In Those Years A Joy undiminished by anticipation. But that was long ago. Nowadays poetry among other things wasn't what it used to be yesterday at st. Isidore is as Miss McGee sat at the faculty lunch table. She overheard sister Rosie. Tell sister Judy in an unexcited whisper that Herschel man crieff was coming to town. He was touring the Midwest on a Federal Grant and would arrive at Saint Isidore is attend the next morning. The two sisters were huddled low over the Spanish rice trying to keep the news from Miss McGee about whom are you speaking she asked? Oh miss McGee said sister Rosie the light-hearted and in Miss Maggie's opinion lightheaded principal of st. His adores. We were discussing Herschel man crieff, and we were not at all sure. You would be interested. I will be the judge of my interests if you please who is Herschel man, Kris. He's a poet the younger generation is reading said sister Judy. We studied him in the novitiate. His credentials are super said sister Rosie. And he's coming to st. His adores. I might have been told will he visit classes? Will he or speak to an assembly? He will visit classes, but of course no one is obliged to have him in. I know what a nuisance interruptions can be. Poets are important to Childrens. Admissible Gigi. I was visited by Mr. Joyce Kilmer when I was a girl and I treasure the memory. Please show mr. What's his name to my classroom when the time comes what's his name? Herschel man Keefe he can give you 20 minutes at quarter to 12. The business about Joyce Kilmer. I remember from my grade school education. When one of my nuns I think sister Constance told us. About that highlight of her education when she was visited by Joyce Kilmer. So this morning Miss McGee announced to her sixth graders that they were about to meet Herschel Moncrieff. They looked up from their reading assignment a page headed Goths and Visigoths. And as a sign of their undivided attention, they close their books. Divided attention were was among the things Miss. McGee did not permit. slang an eyeshadow where others meeting a poet is a memorable experience, you said? When I was a girl. My class was visited by Mr. Joyce Kilmer who wrote trees the poem Every child carries in his heart from the primary grades and to this day. I can recall what mr. Kilmer said to us. He came to stagger for damir two years before giving his life for his country in World War One. She told her head and read her 24 sixth graders difficult reading these days for they lurked boys and girls alike behind veils of hair. The poet you understand is a man with a message. She said his mission is to remind us of the beauty. God has made. He writes of the good and Lasting things of life. His business is beauty. Are there any questions? There was one and several students raised their hands to ask it. How does trees go? Heavens surely you remember but it was discovered that no one in the class had heard it. As Miss McGee began reciting. I think that I shall never see a frightening sensation crept up her spine and gripped her heart and invisible Tremor like the one she had felt in 1918 when her third grade teacher said that Joyce Kilmer was dead in France. An imperceptible shutter that moved out along her nervous system and left her nauseous. Her name for it was the Dark Age dyspepsia. Because it struck whenever she came upon a new piece of alarming evidence that pointed to the return of the Dark Ages. Dark Age evidence had been accumulating last month at parents night Barbara Becca's father and mother told Miss McGee. They would see her fired. If she did not lift her prohibition against the wearing of nylons by sixth grade girls. They were standing in the assembly room where coffee was to be served. Mr. Becca, fidgeting and averting his eyes did most of the talking while mrs. Becca having called tune stood at his side and fingered his arm like a musical instrument. Fired indeed said Miss McGee turning on her heel and snatching up her purse in a single motion of amazing agility like a move in Hopscotch, and she flew from the assembly room before coffee was served. She was followed home by the Dark Age dyspepsia and scarcely slept that night haunted by the Specter of a man in his 50s sent out by his wife to do battle for nylons. The Craven mini. She said to herself at dawn rising to prepare the day's lessons. This morning as she concluded with the line, but only God can make a tree the door opened and Herschel man crease appeared. He was led into the classroom by sister Rosie. That was Miss McGee's first impression of him under his wrinkled suit coat. He wore a T-shirt and under his nose a Thicket of hair that curled around the corners of his mouth and ended in a stringy Gray beard. Miss McGee said I am pleased to meet you and she gracefully offered her hand. Groovy said the poet. Tapping her Palm with the tip of one finger. Up close. She saw that his neck and his T-shirt were unmistakably unwashed. Is asymmetrical sideburns held lint? She hopped silently backward and slipped into an empty desk halfway down an aisle and sister Rosie introduced The Visitor. Mr. Moncrieff has already been to three rooms and he has another one to visit after yours class and he has to leave by 12:30. So when his time is up, please don't bug him to stay. On your way out the door sister Rosie added room 102 is next Herschel. It's just across the hall. the sixth grade regarded the poet I am here to make you childlike. He began blinking as he spoke as if his words gave off too much light. I am here to save you from growing up. His voice was deep in Wheezy in his Fallen was fixed. You see grown-ups aren't sensitive. They get covered over with a kind of crust. They don't feel. It is only through constant effort that I am able to maintain the Wonder The Joy the capacity for feeling that I had as a child. He quit blinking and inserted a hand under his suit coat to give his ribs a general and thoughtful scratching. Do you understand what I am saying? The class looked at Miss McGee she nodded and so did they? Good now here's a poem of mine called what I envied. It's an example of what I'm saying. He closed his eyes and spoke in an altered voice a chant. I envied as a child the clean mannequins in store Windows because their underwear fit their toes were buried in thick carpet. They're happy smiles immutable. Until my father driving us home past midnight after a day in the country passed a window full of mannequins, and then I knew the trouble that must be to smile all night. After a silent moment the poet opened his eyes signaling the end of the poem. Miss McGee had heard worse except for the reference to underwear. It came as close to poetry as most of the verse she had read lately and she set the class to nodding its approval. Herschel man crieff then shed his suit coat and revealed that his pants were held up by a knotted rope. It was not the white carefully braided rope of the franciscans who were Miss Maggie's teachers in college, but a dirty length of frazzled twine. Good said the poet laying a suit coat across Miss McGee's Walnut desk. You remember how heroic those mannequins used to seem when you were small and they were Larger than Life. You would see one in a store window and it was enough to make you salute. The pity is that you gradually lose your sense of wonder for things like that. Take toilets, for example. My poem so tall is about a toilet. He recited with his eyes shut Miss McGee shut hers as well. How tall I seem to be these days and how much I am missing? Things at ground level escaped. My notice wall plugs wastebaskets heat registers. What do I care for them now? I am so tall. I was once acquainted with a toilet when it and I were eye to eye it. Would Roar and swallow and scare me half to death. What do I care for that toilet now now I am so tall. There was the sound of a giggle stifled. You are surprised. I got a toilet into a poem. He was asking me Miss McGee who had not giggled. But poetry takes all of life for her domain the beautiful in the unbeautiful roses and toilets. Certain now that he had taken the measure of mr. McGee's tolerance for the unbeautiful color was rising in her face the poet announced his third selection. In mind end of town. In my end of town like a cathedral against the sky. Stands the city sewage plant. The direction of the wind is important to us. in my end of town man disposes He opened his eyes to study Miss Maggie's reaction, but the desk she had been sitting in was empty. She was at his side facing the class students. You will thank mr. Moncrieff. Thank you. Mr. Mann Creek. They spoke the way they prayed in unison and without enthusiasm. She handed the poet his coat and not wishing to touch his hairy arms. She steered him to the door as if by remote control there. She pointed is room 102. Nothing in his government-sponsored travels had prepared Herschel man key for the brush-off. Actually, he said blinking is he backed into the corridor? I hadn't finished. I regret we can spare, you know more time. We recite the Angeles at 12 looking more surprised than offended. He raised a hand as though to speak but then thought better of it and stepped across the corridor and knocked on the door of 102. It opened instantly and sister Judy put her head out. Mr. McGee afraid now that her treatment of the man had been too delicate said another thing. Mr. Moncrieff your poetry is She searched for the word the poet and sister Judy listen for it. Your poetry is undistinguished. Sister Judy rolled her eyes in the poet chuckled into his hand Miss McGee turned back to her class pulling the door shut behind her. Entirely undistinguished class you will rise now for the Angeles. Later entering the lunch room Miss McGee saw at the far end of The Faculty table Herschel, man, crieff and sister Judy ignoring their beans and tuna and laughing like ninnies. I thought he was to have been on his way by this time. She said we asked him to stay for lunch said sister Rosie. He has agreed to stay a while longer, isn't he super? He's horribly dated. She said he said groovy. I haven't heard anyone say groovy for at least three years. Oh miss McGee. He's super admitted. Past the relish if you please. Two hours later after putting her class to work on equilateral triangles Miss McGee opened her door for a change of air. From behind the closed door of 102. She heard raucous laughter alternating with the excited voice of Herschel man queef. The man evidently could not bring himself to leave st. Isidore. He's she stepped closer and listen through the door. Acquainted with a toilet said the poet the fourth grade laughed. It would Roar and swallow and scare me half to death. more laughter There now you've caught the spirit of the poem now repeated after me they did so briskly line by line. Now, let's try another one a poem. I wrote just the other day called be careful where you grab me. Fierce laughter Miss McGee hurried to the nearest fire alarm and with a trembling hand she broke the seal and set off an ear-splitting jangled of horns and bells that emptied the building in 45 seconds. Two ladder trucks pulled up to the front door and while the fire chief the former student of Miss Maggie's give the building a thorough inspection Herschel man crieff drove off in his rented car the fourth grade throwing him kisses from the curb. The False Alarm declared the fire chief emerging from the front door of the school in his yellow rubber coat someone set off the alarm your room. He said to miss McGee as she led her sixth grade up the steps and back into the building. Did you notice anything suspicious Miss McGee? Goths and Visigoths she said so that was Thomas McGee was born. I had made a start on Stager Ford. A year earlier than the year when I finally wrote it. The first time it stopped dead died an absolute Death Around paid 75 and I couldn't get it going again. And a year later when I tried again. I realized that it needed another element. And fortunately I thought of Miss McGee in the undistinguished poet which was in my filing cabinet. and I brought that out and put it in the novel and as I said She nearly stole the book before herself. She was that element. She was that foil for miles and the main story. She was something else for us to think about. As we went along that other plot line. I did not foresee. The favors he would do me regarding the Catholic Church. I suppose I don't know anybody who had a harder time with the changes following Vatican II than myself. and when I was writing Stager Ford those changes have been in effect for eight or ten years and I couldn't seem to get off dead center. I couldn't seem to move with the times. I wasn't sure I wanted to move with the times obviously. And then one Sunday morning and stagger Ford. I thought I better send Agatha Church, see how she behaved. At 7 a.m. Miss McGee walk to the church in the dark tilting her umbrella into the small cold rain. On Sundays. She was the first to arrive at seeing his adores so that she might pray without distraction. She switched on the light in the vestibule shook out her umbrella opened The Swinging Doors and walk down the middle aisle toward the small red flame burning in the sanctuary. At the altar of the Blessed Virgin she felt for a book of matches and lit the three candles. She dropped 30 cents into the metal box. And she said he'll marry for the restoration of Miles Pruett's faith. By the Light of the candles she found her accustomed Pew and sat down to unpack her purse She took out her Rosary her twelve hundred and seventy two page missile a leaflet containing the archbishop's new prayer for religious vocations and a Kleenex in case she sneezed. Then with her eyes on the red flame over the high altar. She went to her knees. At 7:30 when father Finn entered the church and turned on all the lights Miss McGee picked up her thick missile and opened it to prayers for the Dead with with which with the passing of time. It had to serve for more and more departed Souls. She prayed for her parents who at the time of their deaths were considerably younger than Miss McGee was today for her brother taken by the flu of 1919 and for assorted relatives teachers schoolmates colleagues friends and students who had passed from this life. May they rest in peace she murmured. She had a pretty good idea who was in heaven and who was in purgatory. But she prayed with equal fervor for all of them. She hoped though. She knew better particularly in the case of certain students that no one was in hell. She turned then to prayers for good health for peace for a happy death and for seasonable weather. By the time she finished these the church was filling with people their coats smelling of rain and she went back to her rosary and instrument that measured the advance of her prayers even when her mind wandered. Much to her surprise miles turns up at Mass this morning. On a whim but he's there nevertheless. What Miss McGee went up to the altar rail for communion miles flip through the pages of her missile. Half of its mass prayers were obsolete, but he knew she would rather be wrong half the time then give up these twelve hundred and seventy two double column pages of litanies vigils in droids collects with the Latin and English printed side by side. The Frozen Latin looking as archaic and attractive on the page as it used to sound on the lips of the priest when he would turn his back on the congregation and raised his hands and his voice and implore the bronze figure over the high altar to come down again from the cross. Didn't do that anymore. Now they face the congregation and celebrated Mass on what Miss McGee called the high picnic table. Well Agatha for me became well incidentally regarding that I should say that the long as I had her going to mass with that missile and everything that I was free. And I wasn't doing it anymore. I took care of that ghost. That was Haunting Me Through Agatha and she was happy to assume it assume that role. She does that so well. I wrote three or four more stories about her which appeared in McCall's and by the time I wrote the fourth one, which was rejected by McCall's. I was getting sort of tired of the formula. I was tired of Agatha solving every problem in life. I thought she was getting so smug. And what would Agatha do if she was brought up against a problem larger than she could handle? And so that way it really was The Germ of green Journey. I turned to love for that answer and had Agatha fall in love really for the first time in her life at the age of 68. Well, I don't know what more to say about Agatha accept it. She's not here tonight. I want to turn my attention. I'd be glad to entertain questions to but before I do that, I'd like to Say a few words about my latest book grand opening. And I want to read I want to begin by reading one paragraph in particular and for obvious reasons. It will become obvious. this family consisting of Hank and Katherine Foster And their 12 year old son Brendan. And Catherine's 80 year old father. have just moved from Minneapolis to the Tiny Town in southern Minnesota called Plum where they have invested their life savings in a run-down grocery store. And they are pinning their hopes on the eventual success of that store. I think that family and the reader to Has the opinion as the book opens? That their success or failure will depend on the business in that store. Well, we aren't along in the book too far before we realize it's going to work. But a larger problem arises. That they didn't see coming. And I'm not sure I saw it coming either as I began the book but it developed. And that is their adjustment to this very provincial. insular island in the cornfields Hank is pretty well occupied with the store. Brendan is pretty well occupied with school Catherine has an awful time. Who in this new town? Grandfather being the resourceful man. He is figures out how to get acquainted. He Take circulars from the store advertising sales and uses it as his entree into the houses of strangers. He likes to look around inside people's houses. He's walking down the street at this point and he's bearing in his pocket a circular advertising the Armistice Day sale. This would be Armistice Day of 1944. Making his way across town by the Ali's grandfather turned up the collar of his Long Black Coat and pulled his gray Fedora down tight to his ears. He wished you'd worn gloves the cold wind stung his fingers and made his eyes water. He patted his coat pocket making sure it contained the red white and blue circular intended for the Lutheran minister. He recalled he pinpoints his Target CC before he even leaves home. It's the Lutheran Minister. He wants to talk to him. He's been sitting in the pool hall for weeks talking about the weather. And he wants to talk about the verities. And he keeps asking these Farmers if they don't like to talk about the verities. and they don't and They asked him what he means by that and he said well, you know the verities life and death and railroads. He having been a railroad man. So he has an idea that if he can get into the Lutheran parsonage. The priest is too mystical to talk to he's tried him if he can get into the local Lutheran parsonage, she can find somebody who will talk to him about the verities and I don't wind all of that tonight here, but I just want to read this introductory paragraph. He recalled the original Armistice Day in 1918. It has been warmer than this. News of the Armistice had reached Minneapolis just as his train was pulling in from Chicago. Crowds poured out onto the streets and he had some difficulty making his way from the depot to the car line on Hennepin for along with his grip. He carried a large box containing a flowered picture a flowered pitcher and bowl for sades birthday. being his wife Who has been dead many years at this point in the book? At the point, he's having this memory. He boarded the Bryant Johnson Street car and looked down on the people moving deliriously along the street. It was stop and go for several blocks until they reached the Basilica of Saint Mary where the way was completely blocked. Caught up in the rejoicing everyone on the street car including the motormen and the conductor pushed his way out onto the street. Grandfather would have joined them had it not been for his grip and his box. Looking toward the Basilica. He saw Monsignor Murphy in his cassock and Beretta standing in the Portico and motioning with his arms for the people to come and thank God for peace. Grandfather leaned out the window and shouted go and thank God for peace to those Milling around below him. He repeated it several times pointing to the priest and soon the mass of people began moving out of the street and up the steps of the church. With the tracks more or less cleared grandfather sat down at the controls and confirmed what he had suspected after years of watching motormen at work that compared to a train driving A Streetcar was easy as pie. He moved it along as far as Hennepin and leak where he encountered. Not only another mob but also a confusing conjunction of tracks. This being only eight blocks from home. He picked up his grip and his box and he walked. It's based on a memory of my mother's. I think she was a freshman at the University of Minnesota that year and she was taking a streetcar home to South Minneapolis. and she tells how that mob of people out in the street finally stalled the streetcar right out here in front. And the Rector of the Basilica? And I don't know his name. I've forgotten what it is. I made up Murphy. But it was probably something like that. Was standing out there in the Portico in his cassock. Making these beckoning motions with his hands. And she said she remembers. That movement of the people up the steps and into this (00:41:53) church. (00:42:03) I have been asked what difference living in a small town all my life. As made in my writing, I mean what has it done to my writing? And I think the really the answer is that it's helped. narrow my vision of life I think when you write novels. You need that. You need that sort of denseness in your head, you know where you don't get things right away and you have to concentrate on them and look at them over and over. I think of growing up in small towns. Where you are forever thrown back on the same people and the same buildings in the same streets and you're looking at them and you're looking at them in the years are going by. And I realized that in cities there are communities, you know like small town sometimes. but in the city You have other places to go and in this small town, you have no other place to go. Your your attention is continually focused and refocused on things and I think that might have something to do with kind of books. I write. And how I like to take up a character and go back and back and see how much I can squeeze out of that personality. Well in conclusion, are there anything that you would like me to talk about are there questions? Yes, okay. I'll answer the second question first my what am I writing about for my next book? And I have a policy of never talking about it. and the first question is what was it? How much of my work is autobiographical in my answer? People think it's facetious, but I have arrived at it my careful thought 37 percent. It's I did that after Stager Ford. I wanted to know really how much a myself was in Miles Pruitt. and I came to the conclusion that Over a quarter over 1/3, not much more than a third. 37% and I think it's held true for my other books. Yes, I'm happy to announce that about a year from now. All of my work will be back in print it's never happened before. I mean there have been periods of time. When only one book was in print at a time? But the love Hunter will be coming out in that Ballantine series next April. And Jeremy and four miles to Pinecone the books for young adults will be brought out by faucet. In late 88 I'm told so that's good news to me. Yes. I wrote Sagar forward in a year. It was the fastest book I've written. I'm amazed at the speed. It was less that many really I began in the fall and finished it in the spring. My books generally take me. Two years grand opening has taken more than that. The first the book I learned on really was four miles to Pinecone which has a special place in my heart because it taught me how to write the novel. And I said, I'll purposely to write a children's book because I knew it had to be it could be short. And I wrote that once a year for five years until I got it, right. Yes. Yes. She's asking about Dodger Hicks a character in Grand Opening and did I know such a character? And I did in when we move to Plainview Minnesota. I was immediately befriended by Jerome Hayes. Otherwise known as Sach. And I was his closest friend for three days. Until I discovered that he was if I was going to get anywhere in that town. He was going to be a weight on my Rising fortunes. And I betrayed him. And I think it's part of the reason I had to write grand opening. I had to atone. You know, I've used that story with classes over the years and I have told we have read the story and then I have said to them. Is this familiar to any of you? And almost a hundred percent of the students raise their hands. about the sort of betrayal for social reasons I had no idea that I had struck such a universal chord with that. a couple more questions in the back my successes and failures Oh, it's a long story. It's it started with my writing short stories. And mailing them out and then getting them back. And I collected 85 rejection slips. through that process and now that I look at the stories, I see why I had. I mean they were had a lot to learn. I had never had a writing course. I was teaching myself to write. And I had a lot to learn. You mean how many novels have I written in solder? How many novels have been sold Nationwide? Not very many. I have made money on one book of The Seven I have written. The other books I have taken time off from teaching. To have the time to write and the royalties I've made on the books have been just about enough to make up the difference in the money. I lost for teaching. And that's because we do not have a literary population in the United States, I think. I mean the United States can support writers of spy Thrillers and romances, but I think serious fiction not And so it takes Hollywood to make money for writers. And since I sold one book to Hollywood the love Hunter that was the one book I made money on. So financially I can't see I can't speak of many successes. 85 rejection slips sounds depressing. It is depressing except a lot some of those rejection slips. we're sort of Chatty and the editor was taking time to write personal notes, you know, there are different kinds of rejection. There's the form letter, which is really depressing. And then there's the form letter with the personal note on the bottom. Usually one word. Sorry, but it's in long hand, you know, and it's been written by a real person and that's encouraging and then There is the serious editorial reaction. And I began to get those. So I knew I might be on the right track. The editors were beginning to take me seriously. One more. Yes. Yeah. I did. I know anyone with MS. In order to write the local Hunter when I began teaching in, Fosston, Minnesota 1956. One of my good friends. There was the typing teacher who after about a year-and-a-half contracted MS. And he moved he quit teaching after about two more years and moved home with his parents. He was unmarried. And his parents lived at quite a distance from where I ended up and so I saw him only once a year and every spring I would make it a point to drive to his house and spend the day with him. And you know how it is when you visit somebody at long intervals whose declining the decline is marked for you. As opposed to seeing the person everyday. And I can remember driving home from his house. Thinking what an interesting structure this would be for a novel someday. This was before I was a novelist. to have two men begin their careers Together and then have one of them go into decline. And have the other one continue on. And I put that in the back of my mind and then used it when the idea for the love Hunter came along. So my experience that was my experience with the love Hunter I sometimes amazed at how my guesses work out. Right? I mean I made up symptoms in that book in writing about Wallace flint and grand opening. I wrote about epilepsy and my writing was based on to Boyhood memories. and my imagination and people in there are using terms like fits. As they did then in the 40s. And the other day in the mail, I got an invitation to speak to the Epilepsy Foundation. I ran across an article about Vincent van Gogh who it's been determined was epileptic. And some doctor was commenting on other. characteristics of his personality and by some Mystical Force Wallace Flint in that book has a lot of those. But then there was something mystical going on with this book throughout. I named that family The Fosters long before I knew they were going to take in a foster child. And Wallace Flint. Was named Wallace Flint long before I knew he was going to start a fire. And the most amazing one of all I guess was the jacket which I don't have with me tonight. But when I was in New York a few years ago, I was at the Whitney Museum of American art and I was admiring the work of Edward Hopper. And I was particularly struck by his painting called early Sunday morning. which is line of storefronts know people sunlight coming in from the right. And the storefront in the middle of the picture looked about like I was imagining Hanks market and grand opening. So I bought a very large poster and brought it home. And as I was writing grand opening I had that poster over my desk. And when I finished grand opening I rolled it up and put it away. And then eight or nine months went by. And I got the book in the mail from my publisher. And the artist had chosen early Sunday morning for the cover art. So thank you very much.