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The Homecoming Tree — 20 years!
My mother and father married on July 27,1935 in the middle of the Great Depression. Most Americans have no idea how bad times were in 1935. My father wanted to be a farmer and by the time 1940 rolled around their family was almost starving. My mother laid down the law and my parents along with my brother and sister moved from the tiny watermelon capital of Louisiana, Saline to the big city of Shreveport. My father was fortunate to get a job at the post office thanks to his brother in law. My mother went to work at Sears & Roebuck downtown.
They leased a house of Buckner Street with plenty of room for the family. Then, in 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. My father was thirty days away from being deployed to Europe when he was told as an employee of the U. S. Post Office, he would keep his job.
Soon after, my uncles from Saline left for Europe or the Pacific. Their families, one by one, moved in with my parents. My father converted a back porch into two bedrooms. The Hennigan “boarding” house was in business.
One of my aunts worked as a taxi driver in Shreveport during the war and the stories my parents told about her antics showed she was far ahead of her time! I loved to sit just off my uncle’s living room in Saline while my parents and their brothers, sisters, and in laws shelled peas and shucked corn and told about life during the Depression and World War II.
In 1999 I had converted all of my parents’ photographs from the past century into an old fashion slide show. My brother, born in 1937, joined them and I turned on the video camera while they told me their life story. Slide by slide we covered their lives from 1914 until to the early 1950’s. In particular, I was interested in life in Shreveport and Bossier City during the war.
In 1992, I became the drama director at Brookwood Baptist Church. By 2005, I had written and directed over 100 long and short dramas and I was ready to move on from drama to dedicate my time to writing books. For my last production, I decided to write a play based on my parents’ stories from World War II for our holiday production in 2005.
“The Homecoming Tree” told the story of a family living in Shreveport from their Thanksgiving meal up through Christmas Eve 1941. It was a huge production covering the entire stage area of our new church campus and featured over fifteen actors and actresses. We had a snow machine for outside scenes. We turned the baptistery into a radio studio. My mother had passed away in 2004 but my father recorded a 1940’s song and along with songs from 1941 it played during the scene changes. I had a three camera setup to record the entire production. (Unfortunately, one of the main actors routinely got off track in the third act and we had to flail around a bit to get everyone back on task.) However, it was one of the best received productions at Brookwood Baptist Church.
A few years passed and I was not happy with one of the characters I had created. I imagined a different framing for the story and rewrote the play featuring a modern day business man about to ruin his family by running off with his secretary. In order to teach him the importance of family, he is sent back in time to 1941 with amnesia and has to learn the lessons of the Greatest Generation. To be honest, many churches asked for the script but because of the scope of the production, they were unable to produce the play.
I decided to write a novelization of the play. “The Homecoming Tree” novel premiered in 2018. Great reviews followed. One reviewer said it reminded him of his favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life” (which was totally intentional on my part) and that reviewer reads the book every Christmas to get into the spirit of the holidays.
This year marks the twentieth anniversary of “The Homecoming Tree” play and I want to encourage everyone to check out the book for this Christmas. Now, more than ever, we need to remember the sacrifices and devotion of the “Greatest Generation” as they fought and defeated evil throughout the world in order to bring about freedom and liberty.
You can find out more about the book at this link.
Grab a Girdle . . .
Okay, so this is totally off the beaten path. No medical angle. No talking about Dr. Jack Merchant. I have been watching “Leanne” on Netflix. If you haven’t discovered Leanne Morgan, go to Netflix or Youtube and watch some of her comedy specials BEFORE you watch the new series. And try, for now, to avoid the little baby girl overlays of her comedy. You’ll see what I mean. You must see Leanne’s facial expressions to get her comedy.
Then, go to Netflix and watch the new series. Bring a tissue. You’ll be crying with laughter. Leanne Morgan is from Tennessee and her southern accent is genuine and, for this southern boy, strangely comforting. It brings back many memories of growing up on a farm in Blanchard, Louisiana. She is my people!
You can also find many video posts on Youtube with Leanne interviewed by famous people such as Oprah about her series. But the best is with Amy Poehler. During that interview, Leanne talks about her battle with Spanx and girdles and after I got myself up off the floor, a memory from my childhood surfaced.
That’s my mother on the far right at Grand Canyon when I was ten. I’m the kid looking away from the camera. The other two kids are my nephews and my older sister, Gwen, is their mother. The guy in the middle is my father, of course.
My mother was larger than life. Literally. Her entire life, she fought the battle of the bulge. Once, and only once, successfully losing a hundred pounds. She had TOPS to thank. What is TOPS? Take Off Pounds Sensibly! Maybe a Weight Watchers precursor? Guess what? It still exists.
I tell the story of the time I bit into a salad mother made from a TOPS recipe only to find plastic netting in my mouth. Green plastic netting! The recipe said to substitute it for real lettuce to cut down on the calories. And to put fiber in your diet! I think I pooped a flower arrangement!
Tab was the drink of choice back then filled with that mouse bladder cancer agent saccharin. I drank it just like my Mom because I was a hefty, chunky little boy who had to wear “Husky” jeans. A nice word for fat boy breeches. And don’t get me started on Metrical. Those little dry, flaky biscuits could have been used for door stops. And stop me up they did! Anyway, I digress.
But, the battle of bulge reached critical proportions every Sunday morning. My father was a bivocational music director and he served in various small churches my entire life. This meant we were at the church every time the doors were open. Now, my mother drove a school bus. And her preferred clothing was double knit polyester pants and flowered blouses. She made both, by the way, from that lovely, indestructible polyester cloth that will be wrapped around indestructible styrofoam in a landfill. A thousand years from now someone will find that blouse and pair of pants and wear them with a Styrofoam cooler for a hat.
For a short period of time, she made me shirts to wear to junior high school. I tried to burn them in the trash, but as I said, they were indestructible!
On Sunday mornings, when I was young, between about 6 and 10, my mother would call me into her bedroom as she was getting dressed for Sunday morning. She agreed to wear a dress on Sunday morning instead of her slacks because, after all, she was the music director’s wife. She won a battle once to allow her to wear her pants on Sunday evening, but that is a story for another day.
My mother would be standing by the bed with her girdle halfway up her legs. My job was to climb up on the bed and grab the top of her girdle and pull with all my might. My father couldn’t do the job. His hands were too big to fit between the girdle’s lip and my mother’s, uh, skin.
I would heave an ho and pull and tug and grunt and sweat until finally, the girdle would slide up into place and my mother, red faced and short of breath would declare victory. I never thought about this odd request. Didn’t all boys help their mothers with their girdles? Of course they did.
Until I heard Leanne Morgan talk about her girdle and her struggle to get it up over her stomach “the size of a small purse”.
I laugh about this today. I never shared that girdle gridiron touchdown story with anyone until I got married. My wife never wore a girdle. In fact, the word girdle has all but disappeared from our vocabulary replaced with more acceptable euphemisms.
My mother passed away in 2004. And I miss her. But I must admit, I don’t miss the great girdle hitch me up!
Check out Leanne on Netflix and laugh. Now, when she mentions her girdle, you’l see why I found myself on the floor in tears!
More Flowers for Algernon
My thanks to Micah, my Hutchmoot Secret Santa for an awesome book. “The Science Fiction Hall of Fame” really took me back to my teenage years. Many of the stories I recall reading way back then in other anthologies as “classic science fiction”. It was a real treasure to read some of them again. My favorite so far, “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes. This story of a mentally challenged man who is given an operation that triples his I.Q. only to lose it again was one of the most moving and touching stories I ever read. I just read it again and it is as moving and timeless today as when it was published in 1959.
Charlie’s struggle with growing awareness of the world around him as his intelligence grew reminded me of my own growing awareness of the brokenness of the world around me as I aged. It is a story of the loss of innocence. Like Charlie, I cherished the laughter from other kids over my lack of co-ordination growing up. I even played to that clumsiness, capitalizing on it to gain recognition. When I was a junior in high school, I transformed this slapstick schtick into a dramatic role in a play. Because of the popularity of that role, I won the election for student council president for my senior year.
After I felt a call to be a doctor, I was alarmed when my own mother began telling others that she didn’t think I could be a doctor because I might “drop somebody’s brain during surgery. He trips over his own feet.” I realized, I had become what others saw in me. I had fulfilled my own worst nightmare. We become what people see in us. How many times have we said “I will never be like that!” when seeing traits in our parents that are undesirable only to find ourselves shaking an angry finger at our own children and wondering “How did I get my father’s finger?”
Charlie, in “Flowers of Algernon” has a moment when he sees a mentally challenged boy break dishes at a cafe. He watches in horror as people laugh and make fun of the boy and the boy smiles right back, unaware he is being ridiculed. For Charlie, the horror of that moment comes when he realizes he laughed, too!
In this time of year when we celebrate the birth of Jesus of Nazareth we see both good and bad discussions of the Nativity. The “war on Christmas” always arises and the arguments are strident and shrill. The inevitable atheist attacks on Christianity reach their highest point such as the billboard in Times Square that says “Dump the Myth” with a picture of the crucified Jesus. And yet, they say there is “no agenda”.
Every human being is born with an innate knowledge of God. Even science has discovered that the human brain is “hard wired” to believe in God. We have to teach our children to be atheists. Richard Dawkins has written an book in the last year aimed at children to tell them that belief in God is wrong and that believing in science and evolution is the elegant and beautiful thing to do. If there is no God, then why hasn’t He disappeared from our collective consciousness over the past two thousand years? We have tried and tried to remove God from our thinking; from our culture; from our world. And yet, God keeps resurfacing; showing up over and over in spite of our efforts to move to a more civilized, non superstitious, evolved level.
Could it be that like the mentally challenged Charlie, we are unaware of the effect God has on our lives until we see Him clearly? Like the boy breaking the dishes, we keep having these moments of clarity and paradigm shifting when we see through our human veil the divine. In that moment, instead of laughing, some of us are horrified; alarmed; afraid of the existence of God. What does that mean for our lives? What will we become if we accept that there is a God? We will no longer be free to be our own god; to form our own morality; to answer only to our own needs. Science answers the “how” but cannot answer the “why”. Science gave Charlie a huge increase in his intelligence but at the price of his innocence. Science might have made Charlie smart, but it was his experience with others that made Charlie wise. Ah, there is the rub. Science makes us smart. God makes us wise.
Charlie was not bitter when his mind returned once again to the state of shattered innocence. The one thing he recalled was true meaning of friendship and the significance of love. In order to spare his friends the pain of seeing him in his fallen state, his love for them drove him to leave his work and his friends and find a new life.
In my final installment of the teachings of Jesus it is fitting that his most memorable sermon should be mentioned:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
We are not blessed if we are simple minded like Charlie before his operation. We are blessed because we have seen God; we have come to know our fallen state. God’s presence in our lives has shown us the emptiness of selfishness; of arrogance; of pride. I have been God and I did not like it at all. My mother’s words about my incoordination were a cold wash of shame, but they served to remind me I am not perfect. And, only God can be perfect. I must look outside myself for God’s standard and His love to find meaning for my life. As long as I go along within my own strength, being my own god, I will stumble and fall and fail and laugh and be laughed at. But humility, meekness, mercy, peace are the gifts of living against the standard of God and not in its place.
This holiday season, see those around you. Do not laugh; do not ridicule; do not be arrogant and prideful and godlike. Rather, see your own weaknesses and revel in them; rely on God to supplant those weaknesses with new strengths that will give you an eternal perspective on the world around you.
And, then, put away the things of the past and place some flowers on the grave of Algernon. Move on in God’s strength and make the coming years and all the years after that truly Blessed!
Bruce Hennigan 
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