Milo Review at themiloreview.com has a new issue with my essay “Trophies,” taken from a longer piece on childhood in North Syracuse, New York, ca. 1960.
My book reviews of two story collections are posted online in JMWW, River Talk by C. B. Anderson, and The Poison that Purifies You by Elizabeth Kadetsky. My review of Communion, essays by Curtis Smith, should appear in the same place soon, jmwwjournal.com.
Three short sketches of the Belmont neighborhood are in the current issue of Gravel, gravelmag.com. They are “The Livestock Market,” “The Night Roost” and “Flowering Trees.” Other sketches of Belmont have appeared, such as “Gibson’s Grocery” in Origami Journal, origamijournal.com and “Belmont Park” in Bangalore Review, bangalorereview.com. More are on the way.
Two of my stories just appeared in free online magazines. “The Man of Straw” is in StepAway Magazine (UK) at stepawaymagazine.com. “The Choir Director” is in Origami Journal (Toronto) at origamijournal.com. I wrote “The Choir Director” as the opening of a mystery novel, of which other pieces have been published. The novel features Louisa Abernethy Jones as a newspaper columnist who investigates the life and death of church organist and choir director Ralph Willis, in Hapsburg, Virginia.
“The Castle,” my story, is in the new issue of Short Fiction, published by Plymouth University, England. I have not seen the magazine yet–they say it’s in the mail. Leander Preddy, heir to a Gilded Age fortune, meets Heracles, a circus strongman. They form a “band of brothers” and move into a fairy-tale castle on the Blue Ridge. It’s a spoof on the Dooley family and Swananoa. If the Dooleys had a son, this might have happened.
Two verse translations of poems by Johann Ludwig Uhland are in the current issue of the literary magazine JMWW, website jmwwjournal.com. “The Good Comrade” and “The Innkeeper’s Daughter”
Walk along any street in this residential enclave, a low-rise affair of cottages and garden apartments. Admire the well-trimmed hedges, the mature oaks and beeches, the pervasive sense of quiet. The occasional car glides slowly past, rubber tires on smooth asphalt. The vehicle, likely as not, is electric-powered. It sneaks up on you and passes, faintly whirring.
Hear the birds chirp and warble. Hear the squirrel sigh from the telephone pole, like a miniature hermit atop his column, doing public penance for private sins. Hear the pressure ease from your head like air escaping from a balloon, as you pause on the brink of communion with nature. “When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,” as Shakespeare says in Sonnet 30.
A mysterious tinkle steals upon your ears; a jingle-jangle creeps into your mind. Like a wisp of incense, it carries the hint of a Chinese temple, a pagoda wreathed in mist in a mountain landscape. Like a clash of finger-cymbals, it suggests a dancing-girl, a spirit from the desert sand of Arabia. Or you think of a glockenspiel gone astray, or an unhinged music box. What in the world is that tuneless sound?
Look right and left and furtively behind. Glance up at the sky, as placid as a pond. Then from the very corner of your eye, catch a glimpse of movement, a gleam and a tremble, a silvery flash. From the front porch of a bungalow, suspended from the beam that spans the stubby obelisks—yes, there, over the potted geranium, the wind chime dangles and dribbles its song.
A puff of breeze sets it in motion; a breath of air breaks its fragile peace. Then a rattle of spoons, a merry crash as of breaking glass, another chime in a discordant key. Once you identify the source of pollution, you hear it from all quarters. The neighbor’s porch has a wind chime draped from the wooden gingerbread. And the house beyond has three in front, two on the side, and at least one more on the deck in back.
In this oasis of calm, this suburban paradise, what demon suggested that a wind chime was required? To what troubled soul did it seem like a good idea? Surely, he will have his reward. People purchased these unmusical instruments; they ordered them from catalogs and hung them from hooks; they received them as gifts and put them on display. With good intentions, they were like settlers transplanting an invasive species.
When Fred Schneider turned sixty, he wanted to mark the occasion. A tall, thin man with reddish blond hair, he describes the feeling as a delayed midlife crisis. But instead of buying a sports car or taking a mistress, he bought a digital movie projector, an Epson Movie Mate 60, which plays DVDs.
The projector formed part of a plan. That same year saw the first Backyard Film Festival, held during the summer of 2011. On ten Saturday nights, Schneider and his wife Irene Dorrier invited friends and neighbors to watch a movie in their backyard. They rented movies from Netflix, hung a roll-down screen from a pergola, provided citronella candles to ward off bugs, and had a few extra folding chairs on hand.
The event was enough of a success that they repeated it. The fourth annual Backyard Film Festival took place this summer on a compressed schedule, five weekends of films shown Friday and Saturday during August. This schedule allowed Schneider and Dorrier to make a road trip in June and July, from their home in Charlottesville, Virginia to Yellowstone National Park.
In addition to natural wonders, they took in Midwestern buildings by famous American architects Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright. Schneider is an architect by training, now active as a volunteer for the city electoral board as a voting machine technician. Dorrier is a former art teacher in elementary schools.
Each year, the Backyard Film Festival has a theme and a poster, designed and printed by Schneider. In 2012, the theme was “Southern Stories, Southern Secrets,” with films like Alabama Moon, Gone With the Wind and Fried Green Tomatoes. This year, the theme was “The Sixties,” with films selected from the 1960s. A Hard Day’s Night, featuring the Beatles, was the biggest draw. Also shown were Dr. No, Cat Ballou, The Graduate, and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. To quote from Schneider’s poster, “Has it been fifty years already since the greatest decade of our lives? Here are some movies that in many ways helped define the decade and influenced much that has come since.”
From an email list of about 80 names, anywhere from two to twenty show up, Schneider says. He gives a brief verbal introduction to each film, and he invites people to linger afterward for discussion. Optional donations go to a different charity each year. In 2011, it was Habitat for Humanity, which builds housing for low-income, first time buyers. This year, it was IMPACT, the Interfaith Movement Promoting Action by Congregations Together, a social justice group.
Rain has forced Schneider and Dorrier to move the show inside a few times. They hang the screen in an arch that opens to the dining room, and people fill the living room, sitting on the floor if necessary. Once, the projector quit a few minutes into the movie. Schneider was able to fix it by reading the owner’s manual. People bring snacks, and Dorrier has been known to serve ice cream.
Born in the Bronx and raised in Yonkers, New York, Schneider attended public schools, where “I was the geeky kid who operated the audio-visual equipment.” His first camera was a Kodak Instamatic, with which he took pictures of the 1964-1965 New York World’s Fair. After he graduated from college, in the summer of 1973, he and a friend drove through Europe, where Schneider took photos with a Nikon. Architecture school at the University of Virginia followed, with jobs in London and Charlottesville, where Schneider set up his own practice.
Photographing architecture has a good deal in common with shooting a film, Schneider says. Camera angle, lighting, and movement through space all contribute to a convincing image. So one of the things he looks for in choosing films is good photography. He is drawn to British films for their ensemble acting and for their sense of humor. Above all, he likes a good story. “I’m not much into horror films, psychological thrillers, car chases and explosions,” he says. For “The Sixties,” he gave Hitchcock’s classic film Psycho a pass for being “too violent.”
The Virginia Film Festival, now in its 27th year in Charlottesville, and sponsored by the University of Virginia, was an example, Schneider says. He enjoyed visits by the renowned critic Roger Ebert, especially Ebert’s detailed analysis of Blow-Up. Antonioni’s depiction of 1960s London and the Mod fashion scene made it to the backyard this year.
In fact, Schneider’s do-it-yourself festival grew out of a family ritual. During Sunday visits to his widowed father in Scottsville, Virginia, Schneider got in the habit of bringing a movie for them to watch together. When Bill Schneider, now age 96, moved to Our Lady of Peace in Charlottesville, a retirement home owned by the Catholic Diocese of Virginia, he and Fred invited other residents to the apartment. When Our Lady of Peace added a theater in 2013, they moved the Sunday screenings there.
Schneider and Dorrier intend to keep hosting the backyard series for the foreseeable future. This low-budget gift to the neighborhood is something anyone can pull off, they say. And yet, on a summer night under the stars, with crickets chirping along with the soundtrack, a hint of magic hangs in the air.
For those who wish to follow my freelance articles, stories and other writing, much of which is posted online and free, this blog will provide links and notices of new publications. It may also be a place to post short pieces about my neighborhood, Belmont, about Charlottesville and the surrounding area of Virginia, and about the people who live here.
Though technically challenged, I will also try to post photos and drawings. Just as I have written about the fictional town of Hapsburg, Virginia, in many stories, I have drawn maps and street elevations that have been exhibited and published under the heading of The Imaginary City. One is posted below.