Biographies “oak grove library events - Hattiesburg American” plus 3 more

oak grove library events - Hattiesburg American
Review: Sachmo, warts and all, in ‘Pops’ - Grand Forks Herald
Community says 'good-bye' to local icon - Dunn County News
Cleveland's Doris O'Donnell was a femme fatale with a reporter's ... - Cleveland Plain Dealer

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oak grove library events - Hattiesburg American

Posted: 27 Dec 2009 03:59 AM PST

December 27, 2009

Library Closings
The library will be closed Dec. 31, Jan. 1-2 and Jan. 18.
Family story times
Family Story Times resume with Mary and Judy at the helm at 10:30 a.m. Wednesdays and Thursdays in January.
Thursday is a replay of Wednesday.
Food group
The Food Group meets at 6 p.m. Jan. 11. The theme is soups. Bring a dish and the recipe.
Book clubs
Mystery Book Club with Mary meets at 2 p.m. Jan. 14. Cozy mysteries is the theme.
Daytime Book Club with Judy meets at 3 p.m. Jan. 19. "April 1865" by Jay Winik is the book being discussed.
Sunday Book Club meets at 12:30 p.m. Jan. 24. The club will discuss biographies over lunch or snack.
Scrabble club
Scrabble Club resumes at 5:45 p.m. Jan. 28. Bring a snack and be ready for a good time.

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Review: Sachmo, warts and all, in ‘Pops’ - Grand Forks Herald

Posted: 27 Dec 2009 06:00 AM PST

By "Pops: A Life of Louis Armstrong," by Terry Teachout, Houghton, Mifflin, Harcourt, 512 pages.

With his fun-loving stage persona and his mastery of music, he was beloved by people as varied as Johnny Cash, Jackson Pollock and Orson Wells. But there was more to Louis Armstrong than his artistic talent.

Armstrong's life crossed many eras, as he moved from the harsh segregated South of his New Orleans childhood, which he called "Disgustingly Segregated and Prejudiced."

He went from entertaining mainly black audiences to entertaining mostly white ones. He became the idol of countless musicians, where he commanded a "place of honor." He was also denigrated by civil-rights activists who were embarrassed by his mugging and who saw him as selling out to gain white acceptance.

Armstrong was one of the few musicians to knock the Beatles off the top of the charts, but musical ability was only part of his talent. He wrote two autobiographies — and there was none of that "as told to stuff"; he did it on his own.

He was also an artist who created collages that were compared to the art of Romare Bearden, called "one of America's pre-eminent artists" and "the nation's foremost collagist" by The New York Times.

Armstrong understood the drama of his life — both professionally and personally — and did a lot to document it. Besides his biographies, he was a great letter writer and was eager to use a tape recorder.

Terry Teachout, the Wall Street Journal's drama critic and arts columnist, has put that wealth of material — including hundreds of private recordings of backstage and after-hours conversations — to good use in "Pops: A Life of Louis Armstrong."

Using Armstrong's own words throughout the book, Teachout draws a picture of an exuberant musician; an ambitious artist; and a complex man who had an explosive temper, lifelong love of marijuana and battled everyone from racists to the mob.

Armstrong — who called himself Louis not Louie — had surprisingly few illusions about himself.

He loved his music above everything: "When I pick up that horn, that's all. The world's behind me, and I don't concentrate on nothin' but it. ... That my livin' and my life."

Teachout not only tells the familiar story of Armstrong's poverty-plagued youth in New Orleans, he also covers the last decades of the musician's life. He shows the grind of endlessly performing that Armstrong embraced, including the numerous television and movie appearances.

It was a life of magnificent adventure and accomplishment — and painful racial snubs and accusations. But just before he died in 1971, Armstrong wrote that "my whole life has been happiness."

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Community says 'good-bye' to local icon - Dunn County News

Posted: 27 Dec 2009 05:03 AM PST

Community says 'good-bye' to local icon

No comments posted.

By THE NEWS
Sunday, December 27, 2009 7:06 AM CST

By all accounts, there were nearly 400 people who attended Marian Strand's funeral last Tuesday at Peace Lutheran Church in Menomonie. It seems only fitting, considering there was hardly a funeral or other event in town where Marian couldn't be found during many of her 85 years.

Energetic and outgoing, Marian seemed to know everybody. And if she didn't, she made it a point to introduce herself.

Published by the Dunn County Historical Society, "Dunn County History, 1984" featured biographies written by county citizens. About herself and husband, Vernon, Marian's voice can clearly be heard in her entry: "On June 24, 1948, which was a beautiful day, Vernon Strand and Marian Frank were united in marriage by Rev. John M. Woerth at Peace Lutheran Church, where they continue to be faithful members."

About her parents and growing up on a rural Menomonie farm, Marian wrote: "George and Tena [Frank] farmed all their lives. George also hauled cream and milk to Hudson Road Creamery. In early years, he used horses with wagon or sled, later used a truck. At that time, it was thought the cream and milk "must go through to the creamery." There were many long days."

Marian attributed her desire to become a teacher "because of the enthusiasm of her own teacher."

Among her students was Dunn County News' Variety Section Editor Deb Anderson, who relates her favorite story about one of her favorite teachers:

"Teachers do make a difference. And one such teacher was Marian Strand. Although she was a classmate of my mother's, it was my fourth grade year at East School in Menomonie, where I first met the woman who had a knack for teaching and made such an impact on me.

"It was in her class that I honed my multiplication and long-division skills, learned the Gettysburg Address and began to write stories. Mrs. Strand encouraged the use of the spelling list to gather ideas for telling a tale, and she taught us all how to write business letters and thank-you notes. Words became very important to me.

"All came in handy that year as I sent away for as many travel brochures as I could and wrote thank-you notes after my birthday party — a birthday lunch I had invited my classmates and Mrs. Strand to attend. I still have the photo scrapbook album she gave me. It is filled with black-and-white pictures taken with my Brownie Starflash. Remembering names, like she did, became important to me. And later, taking pictures to remember the moments became important, too.

"Mrs. Strand didn't know it then, but my writing and photography were fostered in her class. But I was able to tell her several years ago, when she was kind enough to let me write a story about her. And I was also able to tell her what a good teacher she was.

"By the same token, she never missed an opportunity to tell me (or write me a note) about what a fine job she thought I was doing. Her sincere sentiments always meant a lot.

"Mrs. Strand supported many things in the community by her presence and participation, but most important were her 'kids.' And she kept track of us all."

Anyone who knew Marian Strand will agree that not only is she catching up with hundreds and hundreds of old friends in her new "home," she's most certainly making dozens of new ones as well.

Cleveland's Doris O'Donnell was a femme fatale with a reporter's ... - Cleveland Plain Dealer

Posted: 27 Dec 2009 05:25 AM PST

By Brent Larkin

December 27, 2009, 8:26AM

Tony Tomsic, Cleveland Press via clevelandmemory.org Former Plain Dealer reporter Doris O'Donnell, left, and Cleveland Press reporter Bus Bergen in July 1965.At a book signing for her autobiography, "Front- Page Girl," Doris O'Donnell noticed a paper cutout of a dinosaur in the children's book section.

"Look," the 88-year-old told the crowd. "That's me."

Hardly.

Dinosaurs don't win a local Emmy, as O'Donnell's public television program, "Doris O'Donnell's Cleveland," did this year. And they don't turn out engaging biographies that should be required reading for anyone interested in the days when three daily newspapers engaged in fierce circulation wars.

"All that competition made the town better," she said recently over lunch. "The trouble newspapers are experiencing today is heartbreaking."

O'Donnell was Cleveland's first female superstar reporter. Her career in print journalism spanned more than a half-century, beginning at the Cleveland News in 1944, then at The Plain Dealer, the Lake County News-Herald, the Tribune-Review in Greensburg, Pa., and back at The Plain Dealer.

She made her mark covering cops, courts, organized crime and a bit of local politics. Along the way, she won more local and state journalism awards -- by far -- than any woman before or since. No journalist in town had more sources. And none could be as tough, resourceful, even ruthless.

"Sure, I was ruthless," she acknowledges. "But I was a nice ruthless."

Until O'Donnell made her mark -- and a bit later Betty Klaric at the Cleveland Press -- talented female reporters were relegated to fashion, society and features assignments.

"When I first got to the Press, one of the first things women were asked was if they owned a pair of white gloves," recalled retired Plain Dealer and Press columnist Dick Feagler. "Doris may have had the white gloves, but she was brass-knuckled in her reporting. Doris was a femme fatale."

Added former Plain Dealer City Editor Mike Roberts, "She was one of the town's premier reporters -- and the first who didn't do just women's stories. She wasn't a great writer, but she had great contacts and could find stuff out. If there was a big story and you were an editor, you wanted Doris on that story."

Male reporters who worked with or against O'Donnell in the 1950s and '60s all mention her toughness -- and her beauty. The late Press reporter Howard "Bus" Bergen said when he first met her in 1946, he "was struck by what an absolutely beautiful woman she was." Her good friend, retired Plain Dealer police reporter Don Bean, has said O'Donnell "was not above using her abundant beauty to get a story."

O'Donnell doesn't deny those suggestions, but thinks her family connections were just as helpful. She grew up in Cleveland's Old Brooklyn neighborhood. Her father was a fireman, her mother a Democratic ward leader and her uncle the county sheriff.

And while crime and corruption stories in Cleveland brought O'Donnell her fame, her resume also includes covering the Kremlin, the Indians, and the assassinations of John and Robert Kennedy and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

But without question, O'Donnell is most identified with one story -- a story that has been part of her life for 55 years one that earns, deservedly, an entire chapter in her book.

Most of those who covered the brutal, July 4, 1954, murder of Marilyn Sheppard in the bedroom of the Bay Village home she shared with her husband, Dr. Sam Sheppard, have died off. But Doris O'Donnell is still around, willing to talk for as long as it takes to convince people Sam Sheppard killed his wife.

O'Donnell speaks with some authority. She knew the Sheppard family. She covered both murder trials. She was the first to interview Sheppard's mistress, Susan Hayes. And she has kept voluminous police files -- and over the years shared many of them with me -- that argue her case convincingly.

Why the passion?

"I get tired of hearing people saying he was innocent."

O'Donnell lives in suburban Cleveland. Her late husband, former Cleveland News City Editor Howard Beaufait, died in 1976. Although slowed a bit by a recent double hip replacement, she meets regularly with old friends, remains a passionate news junkie, serves on a charitable foundation board, spins dog hair and has taken up weaving.

Slowing down isn't an option because, "I've had a great life, but I don't have that much of it left. I want to do as much as I can."

As if she hasn't already done enough.

Five Filters featured article: Chilcot Inquiry. Available tools: PDF Newspaper, Full Text RSS, Term Extraction.

Biographies

Sunday, December 27, 2009