Allan Mardon’s New Book: THE NARRATIVE ART OF ALLAN MARDON
Over fifty of Allan’s greatest paintings in one of three beautiful editions, available now! Allan’s paintings have hung in the State Department and some of the finest museums in North America. Now is your chance to have a large format collection in your home too! Each piece graces a full page, so you can enjoy the rich detail of Allan’s legends, stories and animals.
Filed under Books to Read
3 New York Premieres, all showcased in our intimate Dorothy Strelsin Theatre!
October 29 — November 21
The Nanjing Race
by Reggie Cheong-Leen
directed by Brian T. O’Connor
New York Premiere Philip, a Japanese-American businessman, comes to Nanjing China in 1988. Yu Ahn, a hotel “floor-boy” befriends Philip in the hope of being sponsored to go to America. But it is Bao, another floor-boy, who intrigues Philip. Trapped in their social and racial identities, the three men struggle to come to terms with their desires and prejudices. Funny, dramatic and deeply moving, The Nanjing Race depicts an intimate culture-clash at an intriguing moment in recent Chinese history.
January 21 — February 13
How I Fell in Love
by Joel Fields
directed by Jules Ochoa
New York Premiere In this delightful romantic comedy, winner of the 2009 Christopher Brian Wolk Award, two lost souls haplessly seek romance as they stumble into adulthood. When they accidentally find their way into each other’s lives, they discover that their individual stories may be more intertwined than they could have ever imagined… and they start to question the meaning of fate, friendship, and true love.
March 25 — April 17
Summer in Sanctuary
by Al Letson
directed by Rob Urbinati
New York Premiere Told through monologue, song, poetry, and multimedia, this autobiographical piece by performance poet/playwright Al Letson challenges perceptions about race and class, as he recounts his struggles to connect with the disadvantaged children of the Sanctuary. Funny, poignant, and ultimately inspiring, Summer in Sanctuary will take you into the heart of a community, and leave you with a better understanding of the world.
INCREDIBLE DEAL: 3 PLAYS FOR ONLY $60!
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Filed under Performances
Karl Hoffman Filmmaker- ARIVACA 4TH OF JULY 2010
In the middle of the border and immigration debacle a small town 10 miles from the American/Mexican border displays it’s multicultural camaraderie with a display of refreshing patriotism.
Filed under Performances
Released and running. Enjoying his freedom George didn’t dare look back. Now he knew he wouldn’t be stripped of his dignity. Or raped by a movie queen. A friend of Clark Gable, loved by Greer Garson but not Richard Burton. That world, however, was now behind him. George, a man who felt that he could no longer show his face in Dallas, kept his head down. Wide-awake he watched the lightning from his window.
This boyish, innocent-looking fellow, with a round, honest face and a nervous laugh, wore an unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt over a Ray Charles T-shirt bought at a concert. He didn’t look as if he had just spent two days on the bus. In the rack above his head was stowed an old, tattered suitcase that contained the rest of his clothing.
About suppertime the bus neared Lordsburg, breaking the speed limit during a downpour. It was so slippery and dangerous in fact that there was hardly any traffic; and because of the spray and the grime it was difficult to see out the windows.
Near the rear of the bus George had been sitting next to the same gentleman since Dallas. His neighbor was slim and tall, with dark, curly hair and dressed in a long-sleeved, sequined, cowboy shirt that looked as if he had slept in it.
“Headache?”
“No.” There were many theories about George, and now one of them was that he had a headache. Theories about him came from all over the place, from emergency rooms and penthouses, from real people and true celebrities, and many of them came from him. For instance both of his parents unexpectedly died. And before she died his mother told him, “I don’t want you to be sad.” “I had a brain tumor,” he said lying. “My father worked with Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind,” he added truthfully. ” My mother owned a boutique on McKinney Street.”
“Sure.”
“The summers in Arizona can’t be too bad. I remember, as a kid growing up in Dallas, that the summers there were toxic. It never worked out for me. And what about you?”
There had rarely been a mile that went by without them saying something to each other. Occasionally one of them had to stretch or take a leak, but by and large the chatter had been almost continuous. In fact, except for when low-grade explosions went off in his head George sat there confident that he could controlled the exchange: “fast cars,” “mother’s MG,” ” poontang,” “hating snooty bitches,” Gone With the Wind (being carried on the set), “singing lizards” (his father once own a night club that catered to the carriage trade), and “Mss M.” Really?
As the hours raced by the scenery was largely ignored. Texas mostly.
“New Mexico. And not a tree in sight. Out here they’ll hang you if you look at someone wong.” George looked for rope burns, as his friend spoke with authority. Anecdotal evidence that his friend knew what he was talking about came from an ugly scar in the center of his forehead. “A tire iron,” he explained. “I’m lucky to be here.”
They ‘d both been lucky in that way. Static bugged George more than low-grade explosions. Lightning flashes, God! Sometimes the least little noise made him jump.
“Jumpy?”
”No!” An exclamation that carried to the front of the bus and clear to Lordsburg.
“In Gone With the Wind, imagine that! And I’m Richard Burton.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t question what people tell me. By now you know more about me than I generally let people in on. I don’t understand that. And I can’t stop. Well, my old man and old woman expected more from me than they ever got from me. Was on the dole, rode the rails, and survived divorce. For some people college sticks. For others it don’t,” explained the drifter.
“They locked me up and wouldn’t let me out.” George explained how his folks among their friends had a hard time explaining how a son of theirs ended up in Terrell. Now they could afford better than that and later sprung for Oak Lawn. “The holes in my brain come from LSD. LSD, you know. Do I have to spell it out?”
“Oh. Well, I’ve been shot at.”
”Bragging?”
“No.”
“My diagnosis is bogus. Without getting into the gory details they say I’m…”
And then George explained the reason he had to ride Greyhound was due to the greedy bastard who controlled his inheritance. They both had the travel bug, and George told his friend more than his friend needed to know. Every detail hurt. ”No safe place exists this side of Paradise. Don’t let the bedbugs there bite.” His friend tried but failed to turn him off. “A few good friends remain convinced that I’m worth something.”
“New Mexico.”
“So you recommend Tucson?”
“Yeah. The first thing that I’d recommend is that you go to the Methodist church on Veterans. They’re good people. And will help you.” While he talked the dark-haired man looked passed George.
”I’ll try Tucson.”
”You do that, George. As for me I’m kind of good at disappointin’ people and good at hurtin’ ‘em. So you better watch out. Why, that’s why it’s good that I’m always on the go.”
“My mother was an aristocrat in her own way,” said George.
“A rich kid slumming!”
“Who said anything about being rich?”
“Not me.”
By then George had a throbbing headache and regretted that he had talked about himself so much. .
Whacked!
Maybe.
Scared.
Oh, yes.
“You always have to check for bedbugs.” Containing infestation, at times, had been an obsession. “No nits. One dog. No cats. Yes, lice. Lice zapped in a microwave. (George often focused on microwaves. Not short waves, but microwaves.) Half-power will do it. Zap them! Give them their marching orders. And from what I understand about lice is that they march in single file.”
“Well, here’s Lordsburg.”
They were, in fact, pulling into the station. Although George said he was hungry he didn’t want to get off the bus. That huge step frightened him. But his companion insisted, persisted, and badgered him out of his seat.
“Okay, okay!” cried George. “I could use something for my stomach, as long as it’s wrapped.”
As the noisy bunch got back on the bus the friendly driver reminded them that the next stop was Tucson.
By then George finally had run out of something to say, and with over a hundred miles to go he had plenty to time to think. His mood fit the stormy weather. Then it came down to how was he going to make a name for himself. He wasn’t a violent person, so he didn’t pack a gun. He’d wait until he arrived in Tucson before he decided whether he needed one or not.
Randy Ford
Filed under A Prince
And Pharaoh said I know not the Lord, neither will I let Israel go.
‘tis a pity.
Musically: Building a great city hod people heavily burden toil in the summer heat. On the backs of workers let rise the great pyramids. Yes, before all this has time to end this golden age will be wracked with a vengeance. Pharaoh will become dirigible. Israel will be rejuvenated. But for now, each man and woman carries the weight of the world on his or her shoulder. For now though they stumble they have to work even harder. Sing We Raise de Wheat, Dey Gib Us de Corn in the tempo of a dirge.
This is as human a story as can be carried in any newspaper.
Not on the front page. It wouldn’t make headlines, unless it turned into something very tragic. We also know from what we have perused from the pages of Newsweek.
Esra, the cat, overheard the foremen get the order from management that the workers from now on wouldn’t be given straw to make brick, as before, but will have to go and gather straw for themselves.
We’re being accused of being idle.
And scattered from here to Eternity. We’ve fought for this country. Now this!
We can not smile, because there is no more straw. Yet they say production has to continue at the same pace. The same as before without let up. More bricks, more bricks, no breaks!
I am a worker, a mason, and anxious to please. I have to please, or else they’d give me the boot. You can bet on it. So I eat sand, but who am I to complain? Can’t afford to complain ‘cause I’ve got a living to make. I am also an immigrant, to some, an alien, who ran, walked, stumbled, scratched to get where I am. I brought my wife with two children a boy a girl and me. But it’s gotten so that I can’t breathe without the foreman writing me up. There is getting to be too many leaks in the thatch. And it need not be lost sight of that we have certain God-given rights, concerning life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. While the bosses pick their teeth we’re pushed to work even harder. Why, o why, o why, have they cut off the straw? If we weren’t already bowed and solid and letdown and over-loaded with work I’d say hang the king.
Dear Lord, do you expect us to simply say so be it? O the petty rogue! We have mouths to feed. Don’t give us a fork to eat gravy. Give us the tools to be productive.
Musically: God takes charge. A voice from the mountain top billows. And it isn’t just the thunder and lightning. And the weather is that mean too. There’s no place to hide, so drop in your tracks. Hold him here, and may God strengthen you! Sing A mighty fortress is our God….
Randy Ford
Filed under Randy's Poems
SONG OF SCARABAEUS
by Sara Creasy
Eos Publishing (Harper Collins)
“A powerful debut… gripping characterization, non-stop action, fascinating biological speculation, and a dash of romance. Don’t miss it!”- Linnea Sinclair, RITA award winning author
“A new writer to watch…a novel to read and enjoy. Creasy’s imaginatively constructed universe draws the reader in, to follow Edie and Finn’s quest for freedom.”- Vonda N. McIntyre, Hugo and Nebula Award winning author
“The tension never lets up, both in the action and between the characters, from the first page to the last.”- Trudi Canavan, New York Times bestselling author
Filed under Books to Read
SOUTHERN ARIZONA AUTHORS
OUR DESIRES ARE WITHOUR REMEDY: STORIES AND ESSAYS by Bruce Petronio (XLibris, $19.99, paper; $29.99, cloth).
A colection of 13 short fiction and travel pieces
DEFINING GRAY by Denise Bjornson (Soaring Turtle Press, $15.95)
Sisters struggle with the disappearance of their mother
MOISTURE OF THE EARTH, MARY ROBINSON, CIVIL RIGHTS & TEXTILE UNION ACTIVIST: AN ORAL HISTORY, compiled and edited by Fran Leeper Buss (University of Michigan Press, $22.95)
An account of an extraordinary woman
BLOOD ON BARE ROCK by Ned Lord (Sneakaboard Press, $14.95).
A ghost story
THE SAVING OF ARIS by NovaMelia (Outskirts Press, $16.95)
Everyone hallucinates in this complex story
THE AMERICAN PUBLISHER: PAYING THE COST OF CORPORATISM AND CENSORSHIP FOR WRITING THE TRUTH ABOUT CUBA, RUSSIA AND THE WAR ON TERROR by Jay Fraser (Affiliated Writers of American $28).
Author “has a great time jousting with corporations and governments to keep his small press alive.”
PATCHES ON MY BRITCHES: MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN THE DUST BOWL by James Alfred Davidson (1st Books Library, $10)
Author grew up in the Texas Panhandle in the 1920′s, 30′s, and ’40′s where he was one of 13 children.
EUROPEAN INTRIGUE: A SPY NOVEL by Robert O. McCartan (Wheatmark, $16.95)
A mix of romance and spying
THINKING OF MILLER PLACE: A MEMOIR OF SUMMER COMFORT, by Ethel Lee-Miller (iUniverse Inc, $15.95)
Set on the North Shore of Long Island
MY QUEST FOR CREATION: A UNIQUE MEMOIR OF A SIGHTLESS RUNNER AND HIS INTERACTIONS WITH THE SUPERNATURALNESS by K. C. Roleck (Xlibris, $19.99, paper; 29,99, hardcover)
About spiritualism, reincarnation, and associated fields
If you are an author and live in Southern Arizona and would like your book to be included in J. C. Martin’s column, please send a cop to J. C. Martin, P.O. Box 65388, Tucson 85728-5388. State the price and give the name of someone who can be reached in case additional information is needed. After the titles appear in the column, they go to the Pima Community College West Campus library.
Filed under Books to Read
