The Governor and the Chicken Lady

A True Story Retold...

Christian Archibald Herter, who lived from 1898 to 1967, was Governor of the state of Massachusetts from 1953 to 1957.  This is a story he told on himself.

 I heard a version of it in a sermon in the 1980’s from a dear Anglican priest, Fr. David Schofield, who used it to illustrate how important it is for us to know who we are.   Although I remembered the story vividly, I wanted to be sure I had the Governor's name right.  When I checked it out on the internet I found the tale has been repeatedly used  to make many points, but I think it hardly needs any amplification to be of great value.  Here it is as I remember it.

~~~~~

Christian Herter, a graduate of Harvard and the governor of Massachusetts mid 1950’s was seeking re-election.  He was having one of those really hard days on the campaign trail.  He had spoken at a morning breakfast meeting where he had no more than a cup of coffee while his listeners ate.   He had then skipped lunch altogether to meet other duties,  consoling himself that his last scheduled event on the trail was at a church barbecue.  He arrived a bit late and was relieved to see food was still being served.  The Governor  was really hungry. The queue was quite long but he resisted the temptation to be recognized for special treatment and stood at the end of the line.  The day was coming to a close, he was tired, he was hungry and everything smelled so good.  As he moved down the serving line he held out his plate to the woman serving chicken.  She put a piece on his plate and turned to the next person in line.

“Excuse me,” Governor Herter said. “Do you mind if I have another piece of chicken?”

“Sorry,” the woman told him. “I’m supposed to give one piece of chicken to each person.”

“But I’m so hungry, I haven’t had a bite all day.” 

“I’m sorry,” the woman said again. “Only one piece to a customer.”

Governor Herter thought of himself as a modest and unassuming man but he suddenly decided to throw his weight around just a little bit. He pulled himself up to his full height and asked the woman behind the platter of barbecued chicken, “Excuse me, but do you know who I am?” 

“Why, yes, Governor, sir, I do.  Do you know who I am?”  she replied. 

Governor Herter had to confess that he didn’t have any idea who the lady was.

“Well, I’m the chicken lady, and it's one piece per person. Now please, sir, kindly move along.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fictive character spills on author: try it, it's a helpful exercise.

When you write stories you get to create characters, but what would one of  your characters have to say about you?  Here's Ruthie, circa a few years back, on Jeannette:

Hi, my name is Ruthie and I got picked to be the character that tells you about Jeannette. Amazing, she picked me. 

I wonder what she thinks I’ll tell? Not that I don’t like to talk, ask any of my friends, they’ll tell you, but I’m a good listener too. I like people. People are always welcome at my door. They come, I feed them, we talk. I could have been a psychiatrist or a hairdresser maybe that would have been just as good, but me, I stayed home on the ranch. But I’m getting off the subject; this is supposed to be about Jeannette. 

It’s a shame she doesn’t have a better memory, and she could be just a bit more industrious. All right, so she already has the stress from her job. I know what that’s like because my son, he’s a very important person, he has the professional stress. Anyway, so it takes it’s toll, but a persons just got to decide, what are you going do? So if she wants some advice from me I’ll give it to her with strudel and tea, “If you want to tell a story you got to get to it.” But maybe she’ll listen to you people better. Who knows what difference you make in a person’s life? In one ear and out the other they say, but with her I think some of it sticks. 

But as I was saying about her memory, just the folks she met at my table, oh the history it all spans, she should remember it all. Okay, I’m not really someone she knew…and yet I didn’t spring from thin air either. I suspect some of the stories she could tell just the way she heard them, but she’s got these notions about fiction being able to tell a truth in a special way and fiction needs characters and I don’t know about you but personally I’d rather have character than be one. But a character I am and what she’s going to ask of me next I don’t know. 

I know that I’m putting some pressure on her. Sometimes I'd feel like the ladies that inspired me were my Siamese twins, like we were joined back-to-back and trying to walk opposite directions. But I’m learning to just speak up and let her know, “That’s not what I’d say, I’m not as nice as those old friends of yours that you hold so fondly in your heart. I’d stand up to that challenge.” And sure enough, she lets me go. 

So while I got the chance, what was it you wanted to know about her? I never could understand her love affair with writing. Talking it out is what I love to do, but she sees something and down it goes into words on a page. One day she found a notebook that was the perfect size for the inner pocket of her purse and she bought five of them. No bells on her toes, she just has paper and pen wherever she goes. I think she actually does her best work in dark black pen on paper, but as you know, she’s using a computer. You got to watch her if she’s doing rewrites, a couple times she’s squeezed the juice right out of me. Oh, here she comes now, I gotta go. 

                             ********** 

 Ruthie, what have you cooked up now?  She’s stirring so many stories she gets them mixed up sometimes so you needn't quite believe everything she tells you, besides,  she almost always exaggerates about me.    Jeannette 

Story Quilt

Sometimes I have to make quite a mess to get the creative juices flowing.  Phoebe the cat wanted to be right in the middle of it all.  She is usually more help than not, except for when she wants to get right on top of projects to see if she really likes them. She thinks all little blankets must be for her, right?  Not this one, Phoebe.  So first I cut a pile of little squares, each centered on a picture.

I played around with various arrangements of the pictures I'd  cut out, and then I photographed them to use as a map for putting them together.

This is truly a scrap quilt, other people's scraps. I  bought the fabrics at a store that supports the local senior center by selling donated craft items.  You never know what or how much  you'll find. There were several times I wished I had just one more little piece of  this or that color or pattern but scraps force one to improvise.

One click makes these photos bigger then the back button returns you to the text.

Perhaps there is another name for this type of patchwork, but I call this a story quilt.  I hope the pictures of trees and whales and teddy bears, villages, churches, lighthouses and ducks, strawberries and polka dots inspire the imagination of the two little guys at the home where this quilt now flops around.  See the yellow squares that each depict a raccoon on either side of the watery blue?

I know that real raccoons aren't pink.  The same week in June that I  was stitching these fabric pictures together I met some real baby raccoons who were born in a box in a crawl space under my brother's house.  We were cleaning and packing for his upcoming move  when one of the boxes wiggled a bit... Hello! 

Patchwork top ready for the next step...that's when I slow down.

I think it might help me to dive into the messy process more often if I  keep a little log of the things I make.  I like the idea part of the process a lot.  I have fun pushing the elements into different patterns and then at a certain part of the actual construction I start to lose it.  It is a good thing babies are small and  that they aren't likely to complain that their blanket mixes pretend pinkish raccoons with giant strawberries and whales leaping in the waves.  

All freshened up and ready to mail...

I might have taken a better picture of it but I was just so happy it was now filled with 100 % cotton and machine quilted, stitched in the ditched style.  It was ready to go so I popped it in the mail.

My favorite picture of this quilt is actually the one I got back with a certain young fellow making use of it.

So that's the story of the little bears who one day visited the ocean but there's no need to stick to it.. we can make up a new one for nap time tomorrow.

Did you ever see that old 1948 movie "The Naked City"?  It ended with the line,  "There are eight million stories in the naked city, this has been one of them."  I suspect my little story quilt won't have quite that generative effect, but I do hope it will inspire some fun and wonder and maybe help me remember how much I enjoy ( most aspects of ) a sewing project.

Someone Finished It with a Little Help

A few of my readers asked me to post a follow up about the quilt top made by a woman that I wrote about  in She Was Looking for Someone to Finish It.    Perhaps those kind souls know something about  how much it helps to have others encouragement and others holding you accountable to your intentions.

And so I am happy to report that even though my dear Phoebe was "sew" helpful and also  sure that this cushy quilt must be for her ...

                       "Don't leave it lying around if you don't expect it to be appreciated..."

She is right of course...so I hung it up to freshen it in the air and mottled light 

                  and thought I would see how it does for a little nap...  yep, it works... it definitely is all done.

Story Time at Write Purpose

Tonight seemed  like a good time to post a playful story that I wrote back in 2000.    I posted it in two parts over on Write Purpose, my web log that has more words than pictures, but you'll find a few pictures there too.  Yes, it is a true story, but of course the police officer ... hmmm what is that phrasing "any resemblance to actual police officers is co-incidental and no actual police officer is being represented here." No, that's not it, but that should do.  Anyway if you are tired from the election, or the weather or the economy ( it is a story about making m-o-n-e-y) and you are feeling a little blue, hop on over to Write Purpose and take a little time off from your worries.

Hope to see you there....You can find Part One of the story  here.

She Was Looking for Someone to Finish It

A small handwritten sign caught my eye as I wound my car down a narrow pine lined street above the ocean.

Turning away from my direction home as if I had known where I was going all along I began to follow a trail of paper arrows toward a small driveway garage sale. I looked over at the commitment I'd already been privileged to make that day to a fresh salmon filet and some lovely fruits and vegetables, it all deserved speedy delivery to my refrigerator.  Now I am of two minds.   I remind myself that I shouldn't be so easily distracted but  then remember  sales where  I have found wonderful treasures like the old guitar. So I could at least peek from the car.

As I drew alongside the humble offerings that edged right up to the road, I saw a tired but soft face, a woman probably about my age. Standing amidst the belongings she'd drug out into a spot of sun in front of a small cottage, she met my eyes directly, brushed her wire blonde curls away from her face and smiled. Just junk or not, now I had to stop.

As soon as I was out of the car I'd confirmed that if the seller hadn't seen me, a drive by scan would have sufficed. There was nothing unusual being offered. I said hello before I halfheartedly peered into a cardboard box of worn paperbacks. "Are you cleaning up or moving? "  I asked.

"Moving, moving on I guess you'd  say. The rent is going up again and I don't know, my daughter says she'll never come back to Carmel."

"You moving closer to your daughter?"

"Oh no, she's in L.A.  She don't like Carmel and I don't like L.A.   I've been here nine years and  I guess I'm just ready for something else.  What're you looking for?"

"Oh, I never know, but it is fun to stop and look and meet people.  I've only worked here six years but we don't have any neighbors on the cliff where we live and work so it's nice to meet folks."

I wonder  if I'm going to get lonely traveling," she said.

"Traveling where?"

"Don't know, really, just aim for places I haven't seen for a long time. Maybe I'll catch up with myself somewhere along the way."  That smile of hers showed up again.  I nodded and she kept talking. " I use to move alot, before I landed here. I got a few more things to put out, let me show you something."

She came out with a patched quilt top in her hands and draped it over a table stacked with dishes." I want twenty dollars for this.  I never did finish, " she said, "and it's got a few spots now and maybe a hole or two, but I can tell you where I got every piece of the fabric.  See, this fabric here is from when I was in Colorado.  I liked Boulder, lots of creative people  there,  especially in the winter time.  And this  here

was a dress my little girl wore and this vintage cloth was from a store three old ladies ran up north, it's from the thirties. This flower print I bought on a vacation in Hawaii.  You ever been to Hawaii?"

"No, can't say that I have.  Are you sure you want to sell this?  You could finish it, even traveling you could take it along and finish it by hand."

"My daughter doesn't want it.  It's not her style.  I do kind of hate to get rid of it, but I'm getting rid of everything else, I might as well. "

I didn't know what to say.  I wasn't sure it was my style either, but in it's haphazard wonky way it did kind of hang together and it was kind of growing on me.   And then there was the woman.  I didn't want her piece by piece memory love project to suffer any more rejection.

She looked at me and said, " I just get the feeling that this might  stand a chance of getting finished if I get it to the right person."

I had a twenty dollar bill in the ashtray of my car.

            Here it is lain out to baste the cotton batting and back on to it.
                                                                  Whimsy abounds...

                                                     
                                                     And I am quilting it by machine.



 I hope that momma at least swings by L.A.  or maybe her girl will come find her...in the meantime I'll finish up this funny old quilt top...I'm not sure who it is for...but quilts do have a way of continuing stories on their own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~