Newsletter – June 13, 2025
It’s kind of incredible for me to imagine that this picture of my father was taken when he was younger than I am now. He was almost ninety when he died, so I still have a ways to go, but this picture of him is solidly placed in my memory as “Dad.”
Dad, whose work as a Professor of Chemistry took the family on two sabbaticals in Europe. Dad, who planned camping trips and canoe trips, who played tennis and squash, who liked listening to jazz, who had season tickets to Big Ten football games. Dad, who was quick to pull out a pen and write on a napkin when we had math or science questions at the dinner table.
Dad, the teller of stories!
Mom read us books as we travelled cross country and she was very much a part of the hiking, tennis, music, sports, and wanderlust, but when we found our campsite and built the campfire, Dad had a story to tell.
Dad and his brothers grew up in a small town outside of St. Louis, now part of the greater metropolis, and when he was a teenager he got a summer job with the Parks & Recreation Department that included, among other things, telling stories to the younger kids. I imagine them gathered beneath a shady elm tree to stay out of the sun in the hot, humid Missouri afternoons.
He couldn’t remember the content of those stories. Like improvisation, you’re only in the moment, following your imagination, following your impulses.
I later learned that this was my preferred approach to writing stories, the “pantser” approach (from “flying by the seat of my pants”). I think my improv training played into this approach, but with Dad it was instinctual.
He got ideas from people around him or the landscape or the animals. When my younger brother was avid about collecting rocks and we were traveling west, Dad invented a character who was nicknamed Rock Hound because he, too, had a huge interest in rocks, and his tracking skills were developed from that fascination.
Fast forward about twenty-five years to when I was teaching Theatre at Carthage College.
My wife and I still talk about the lecture Dad gave when he offered to tell the chemistry students about his latest research. There were about a dozen students and a couple faculty, so we sat in on the lecture, too.
Neither of us can remember the content of his talk, most of the science was over our heads, but we still recall that he was telling a story. He presented the question that the research team wanted to solve, told about the experiments they created to find the answers, described the hurdles they encountered along the way, and wrapped it all up with what they discovered.
Classic story structure! Short of ending it with “…and they all lived happily ever after.”
Thanks, Dad, for raising me with stories to show how it’s done.
Fast forward another twenty years.
Dad was in Memory Care when I was writing MAMLA and I would spend three days a week with him while Mom was getting dialysis all afternoon. He’d read the newspaper while I wrote the latest adventure of the Shafer Family. One time he asked me what I was writing so I read him the passage where Ryan and Maria were escaping the dire wolves and he said he it was very exciting.
That memory makes me smile. Approval from the teller of tales.
TTFN
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Eric Margerum 