Journal #9 Chapters 28-31 from the perspective of Jem

I can't believe it. For the second time in my entire life, I got a chance to spot Boo Radley. And I still didn't get to see him. He was allegedly in our house. For the love of- in our own house! He was so close and yet I was unconscious. And because of who? Bob Ewell, that's who! That scumbag tried to kill me and Scout. I can't believe he wasn't persecuted for harassment or child abuse or something before he tried to get Scout and I. Alright, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself, I outta start at the beginning. So here are me and Scout, walkin' to the pageant. She's dressed up as a piece a' pork, and her costume was made outta chicken wire. Being the gentleman I am, I decided to carry it there for her. Aside from the occasional sharp jab of stray chicken wire, there wasn't any inconveniences along the way. Well, actually, there was one. It was getting dark, and fast. After a while the sun went down faster than you can say Boo Radley, and me and Scout were engulfed in darkness. We got close, and then that lil' guy, oh whats'isname-Cecil Jacobs, comes and jumps at Scout and I in the dark. My overall assessment of the situation was that while I wasn't scared that much, he still got a small jump outta me, so I consented to his braggin' about how he "got us good" n' all that. We then all walked to the pageant

Journal #6 Chapters 16-19 from the perspective of Judge Taylor

I woke with a loss of purpose. My eyes were dispelled of all emotion. I felt nothing, I surely must have been in a dream. I then walked like a ghost, with no recognizable gait, out of the bedroom where Victoria was laying her head, still sleeping. During these few minutes of bliss, where my mind was a complete blank slate.

Journal #4 Chapters 10-12 from the perspective of Heck Tate

It finally happened. It took long enough, and I had to deal with many contradictions, but it finally happened. That ol' dog of Harry's finally lost it. I don't know how many times I've said it, at the risk of sounding cantankerous: A dog that just moseys all over town by itself and unsupervised all day and eat whatever strange item it craves, will eventually go over the bend. I wish they would have understood. "No", they said. "That dog is smart. He knows what not to do and what not to gobble down." Well lookie here, Tim Johnson ain't lookin' so smart with a hole in the head now is he? Every day that poor animal was in peril of eating the wrong thing, or breathin' in some weird science chemicals or something. It was only a matter of time. Thank goodness when he lost it he couldn't manage a run. Apparently the dog was struggling jus' to limp slowly. Didn't even make a sound. I'm surprised they saw 'im. Tim Johnson was pretty inconspicuous. At the time I was just sittin' my rear in the sheriff's office and eatin' a small pack of crisps. Maycomb's pretty quiet so there wasn't any big activity. A person or two filing this and that. Then the phone starts to ring. I throw away the crisps and answer with a brisk, "This is the Sheriff speaking how may I help you?"
"Cut the jab and listen up. There's a mad dog loose Tate." I wasn't 100% sure but I believed it was Mr. Finch. "Atticus is that you? Tim Johnson I take it?". Atticus answered, "Yessir he's over at my home, you know the place?". I got up from my seat, "Be there in a jiff, I'll need your help, I'll meet you at your office." I hung up after Atticus agreed. There was a bead of sweat down the side of my head. I wasn't scared or nothin', I'd been anticipatin' this for a long while. It was time to gear up. I took my lumber jacket off the coat rack by the office door and put it on. I walked to and then opened up the weapons cabinet. I grabbed the rifle mounted on the left door then and shoved ten or so bullets into my belt, although I doubted I'd need half that much; that is, if Atticus was shooting. Being his contemporary, I knew about his superb marksmanship. I even used to call him Ol' One Shot like most of the kids in them days. He was a peaceful lad though, and he may not agree to it. That's why I didn't mention it on the phone. It took for all of ten seconds to get there in my Ford. I just rushed in, and floored it to Atticus' office. He was waiting outside for me. I opened the passenger side of the door and swerved in front of him. "Get in" Atticus hopped in and once again I floored it. We were at the Finch abode within the minute. I swerved once again, this time into their driveway. We jumped out and went over to where the Finch servant and kids were. Atticus went up to the servant, "Where is he, Cal?". She pointed at the street and then after some conferring and briefing we agreed to wait for Tim Johnson to show his snout. The waitin' was unbearable. That silent street, it was like one of those showdowns you see down at the West. 'Cept our opponent didn't have a gun, nor the ability to use one. And then I started to get a stuffy nose. Of all the times to get a stuffy nose, really. Out of boredom I blew my nose and then shifted the gun. I would wait 'till the last second to tell Atticus of my plan. Then the dog appeared. He was movin' slow, but he would come soon enough. I then expressed to Atticus what he had to do. "Take him, Mr. Finch" I told him, handing him the loaded rifle. As I expected he then told me to not waste time. "He won't wait ll day for you--" he told me. The rifle kept switching hands until I was ready to throw it at him. I then noticed that the mad dog had proceeded into position in front of the Radley house and then pointed this out to Atticus. I was now sweating on both sides of my face. If Atticus truly hadn't shot a gun in thirty years like he said, then he might not get Tim and miss. And if he missed, Tim would be on the alert and run. And if Tim ran, well, who knew who was waiting around the corner for him completely unaware. Suddenly Tim Johnson stopped. It was like an act of God. Within that one moment, Atticus pulled the trigger. I looked at the fallen dog. As I went closer to the now dead Tim, I knew my faith in One Shot wasn't misplaced. All in a day's work. I have a feeling it's going to get more busier down here.

Journal #3 Chapters 8-9 from the perspective of Jem

Things have been taken a turn for the worse in these parts. It started off at the beginning of winter, the day after Mrs. Radley passed on (Scout inquired about it to Atticus but all he would say was that she died of natural cause). Winter! We ain't never had a winter in lil' old Maycomb in years! It was even snowing. Boy, the entire family ain't seen it before. Scout was totally fanatical about it. She was screamin' her head off, "The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something!" I had to admit I was a little out of tune with the snow, I ain't never seen nothin' like it, but I had to turn around so I could stop laughing. Afterwards I asked Atticus if it would keep going. The guy hardly knew any more than I did. After some talkin' with Scout and Atticus, I was debating on what course of action would make today the funnest. Then Miss Maudie gave me a call. I took Scout and myself and we went over to Miss Maudie's. Despite her adjacent location we were both a little cold by the time we sauntered over. I then came up with a brilliant plan to make this day memorable, and not waste this rare blanket the heavens decided to bestow upon us. Not revealing anything of my plan to Scout, Miss Maudie was kind enough to entrust us with her snow upon my request. Well, more like give. She was no fan of the snow, complainin' about this and that, her azaleas and whatnot. She was happy for us to wheel it away, she even let us use her peach basket to take it. Once we brought the stuff over back to our yard, I told a slightly perplexed Scout what we were going to do. We were going to build a snowman. Never, would I have expected to be building a snowman in Maycomb, let alone there being snow in the first place! I could hardly contain my excitement as we dumped the snow out onto our yard. The rest of the afternoon was spent makin' our snowman, which, it turns out, started to look more and more like Mr. Avery. It had his rotund stomach, his stern expression, the whole package! I tell ya, that snowman looked like he was ready to have a conversation with you! Scout even said, "Looks almost like he'd talk to you." It really was a wonderful day. But sadly, this was merely the calm before the storm. Around four or so hours after I went to bed, I was woken up at one O' clock in the morning. I sit up bleary eyed and trying to digest what dad was saying. "-but her house is on fire and we need to get out of ours just in case. And don't try to talk to Maudie either, she won't be in the mood for any sort of comfort. " Once these words clicked in I worked faster. Still groggy, I grabbed my overcoat and followed Atticus into Scout's room where he was calmly attempting to get Scout out quickly. After handing her her bathrobe and coat and explaining the situation a little, he pulled me aside and instructed me, "Wait out in the yard, there should be a crowd forming soon, just stick with them" he told us. I did as he said and Scout and I hastily left the house. Once we were outside though. . . it was horrible. I saw the flames lickin' at her house. That missus didn't deserve this. I watched helplessly as the branches of heat tore away, scarring, wounding and tearing the poor old house apart. I couldn't believe this. I desperately hoped Mrs. Maudie was ok. It felt like my insides were also on fire. I searched the streets. Where in the world where those fire trucks? I found myself muttering under my breath, "Why don't they hurry, why don't hurry. . . ". I can't bring myself to describe what unfolded before our eyes. Only that the fire roared like a horrible beast that would send a pack of lions scampering; their tails between their legs. There's one more event that unfolded. More mysterious than malicious though. Jem was standing out there for a while, and when we met back up with Atticus, we realized the blanket on her shoulders wasn't ours. We reckon it was that Boo Radley. God. So close to seeing the mysterious and (if the rumors are true) malignant Arthur Boo Radley. He was feet behind Scout and she never noticed. Why, I oughta given her a slap up-top the head for that! But as if that wasn't enough, that case Pa took up with Tom Robinson have become a part of the daily gossip. Why, Scout was ready to wring that one boy's neck, Cecil Jacobs I think he's called, when he started to shout out that Atticus defended niggers. But at least she stopped herself there. Once Christmas came though, she got into another fight. Lord, I hate that we have to go through this, but when Atticus says this is a special case, the kind he can't pass with in honor in-tact, I believe him. So I suck it up. But Scout just never got the memo. Poor girl. I sympathize with her sometimes. But there's really not much I can do. Anyways, we went over to Finch Landing as usual. It wasn't the same though. I could hear my relatives and kin speaking in hushed tones, pointing at me when they thought I wasn't lookin'. I could have sworn I heard Uncle Jimmy tellin' Uncle Jack, "-that nigger lover's disgracin' us." I was on my way around the place and I didn't feel it was my right to eavesdrop despite the fact they were talking about Pa. Aunt Alexandra was really irritating me. My god, she was more stuck-up than a flag pole! Baggin' on Scout, how the hell can she say crud about how messed up Scouts feminine side was; she doesn't even have a single daughter! And that prat of hers, Francis, he ain't much better. I know he was askin' for it when she beat him up. But Scout still shouldn't have done it. The least she could've done is punch him quietly instead of yelling out, "whore-lady". A nice touch, eh? Seriously, that was just the icing on the cake. It took all of three seconds for Uncle Jack to get her off Francis, and I can't say he looked too happy. Scout ran off crying. I didn't follow. I just couldn't take it anymore. I decided to go lie down in my room for a little bit. The quiet time did me some good. Things have been so chaotic lately, I mean it's even following us to good ol' FL (Finch Landing). The case that is. I can't help but feel, in these quiet moments where it's just me and my mind, that this case was unnecessary. That doing this condemned us to an isolated childhood where idiots loved to exploit our "nigger-lovin' ". But I know dad did the right thing. I just know it. But I can't help but get that creeping feeling every now and then. "Sigh" I flopped my back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. "Jem Finch, get your head together. This ain't a time for you to be having an identity crisis. You'll be the man of the family soon enough."

*Authors Note: I should have made this clear in my writing but the last sentence is spoken my Jem to himself, in case any confusion was occuring to the reader.

Journal #2 Chapters 4-7 from the perspective of Miss Maudie

Well I must say this summer's been downright cumbersome. I'm sure the vote would be unanimous were the quiet folks in these here parts to think about it. It all started off with little Jean. Just about everybody calls her Scout, and I fancy both names, so I teeter between the two. Anyways, her and her two friends, Jem and Dill, got out of school. These kids love to explore, and I decided to make a deal with 'em. S'long as they don't go trampling my azaleas, I give them free reign over my yard. They're all great kids, but I reckon I'm closest to Scout. Boy, was she scared when she learned how much I hate nut grass. I'll tell ya, it's not even funny. God knows there ain't a single creature or thing to the Lord's name I have somethin' against, but once a single piece of nut grass comes up: it's tormenting time! I told little Scout too, "Why, one sprig of nut grass can ruin a whole yard."And then I showed those kids my cake skills. You can trust I keep quiet about it. My cakes are more well hidden than a gaggle of chameleons. And for good reason too. Dear lord that Jack wouldn't take "no" for answer the next time he asked for my hand in marriage if he knew how well I could whip up a cake. He'd barge right in and take me down to his home. Be baking cakes for the rest of my life. Well here I am getting off track. Anyways, once I gave these kids a taste, all it takes is one call of their names and they spring right up for a slice! Sometimes little Scout comes alone though. When she walks right on down like that, it sure is nice. Maycomb's a tightly-knit place, we all know each-other. Still, being a widow can get lonely. When Scout comes, half the time, there ain't no talking, no quibbling just a silence as we sit on the porch and watch the sunset. Those were the most peaceful days I've had in years, rest assured. They unfortunately didn't last long however. After a couple of weeks she starts talking to me about ol' Arthur Radley. Poor man, those kids just get so curious. And her brother Jem don't help neither! He keeps fillin' her head with lies about Arthur. Why, he told her that Arther died and they stuffed 'im up the chimney. I can't believe it. That Jem is going to end up like Jack Finch, just you wait and see. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jem's balderdash is only half of the pile! Turn's out that old gossip Crawford is giving her the "low down" on poor Arthur too. At least Jem isn't an adult! That old Crawford just spits out the most malignant things. She starts spreading it around that Arthur was lookin' at her in the night right outside her window. Then I tell her, "What did you do, Stephanie, move over in bed and make room for him?". Really, what does she gain from spreading that kind of stuff around? Goodness. And then things got worse. The night before that boy Dill left, the kids were hanging around his Aunt's house.

Journal #1 Chapters 1-3 from the perspective of Dill

This summer I made some good friends. I was exploring around while Aunt Rachel went to the rialto for a little while. I found some pretty flowers, I think they’re called collards. Anyways, I decided to come up close and take a whiff; boy they sure were colorful. Then these two kids done decided to pop their heads right up from behind the fence in front of me and the flowers. It was a boy and a little girl, she looked to be round my age. I recognized the boy as Jeremy Atticus Finch, but the kids here called him Jem. Aunt Rachel is indigenous to this quaint little town, so she knows most of the kids. They jus’ kept on staring and staring. Since I hear from Aunt Rachel he’s a good kid, and I didn't feel any intimidation, I started it off. I told them, “Hey”. Jem greeted me back, so I introduced myself to him. I told him I was Charles Baker Harris. Then he decided to be funny ‘bout it. “Your name’s longer’n you are”, he says to me. I don’t mind though, lotta kids are meaner to me ‘bout that sort of thing. I tell him to call me Dill and that I’m seven years old. He seemed ok, so I decided to impress him and the girl with him. “I can read” I says to him. Then he tells me the girl can read. What’s even worse is that she’s actually a year younger than me. Shucks! I never can seem to win with this kind of stuff. He introduces her as his sister, “Scout”; funny name, but Dill ain't that much better, if it even is. We talked about stuff. Apparently Jem likes the movie Dracula. Once I told him I’ve seen it, we started getting along better ‘n better. Scout didn’t go and say much. Quiet girl I guess. Anyways, after a while Scout goes and asks me ‘bout my pop. I don’t like talking bout him, considerin’ he gone and left us. I suppose she didn’t understand what with her being all young all. I tried not to become irked. Then Jem told her to shush. I was pretty happy ‘bout that. After that we became good friends, the three of us. They even called me eccentric. I don't know what that means but it's sounds like it means cool, so I'm happy about it. I came over to their house and we played and acted out scenes from thing's like Tarzan and Tom Swift. After a while they told me about this one house. They called it, "The Radley House". They told about "Boo" Radley, the son of the late Mr. Radley. They say they hear all sorts of things about the guy. Apparently he's chained down and downright malevolent (I read that from the newspaper, bet that Scout can't do that!). I was very curious to meet this fellow, considering he seemingly stabbed his father in the leg and hasn't been seen in years. I just watched the house, days on end. Couldn't help it, I felt so excited getting closer. One day, the three of us were walking by the house when I decide to dare Jem, seein' as he always brave about things. I says to him, "I'll swap you The Gray Ghost if you just go up and touch the house." Needless to say, he was back in a flash, runnin' like a madman, but he did it. I saw him slap that wall and run like the dickens. That was the funnest summer I've ever done have, and I can't wait to come back next year.

Immigrant Project Reflection

My literature circle book was What is the What by Dave Eggers. While I did enjoy the book it did feel tedious at some parts, as it is a very long book. I was actually in the literature circle group for the book ‘Tis initially, but due to high member count, I was switched to What is the What. When I originally switched, I wasn’t very much of a happy camper, mainly since ‘Tis was about half as long as What is the What. So at first glance I was unhappy about getting What is the What, but as I read on I got over it as I learned from and liked the book progressively through the course of the project.

The book taught me an extremely large amount on the life of refugees, especially ones in Africa. I now realize just how far refugees were pushed into their human limits. To coin a phrase, “they were given no breathing space”. I feel I’ve obtained a large amount of insight on the refugee lifestyle too. It granted me knowledge on life at the camps, and how hard it was to escape them. It dwells in my thoughts frequently now, how every meal I have is both frequent and bountiful compared to that of a runaway, struggling for survival daily.

I think that for the literature circle posts the instructions for number three should be a little more specific, as I feel the personal connection option was fairly unaddressed. Also, I think that the books should be little more consistent in length since I noticed there was some large differences in the amount of reading done for different groups.

In my opinion, the idea of blogging instead of talking and/or doing Dialectical Journals was at the very least a refreshing and new experience. I think it was good that the system was not to just post one-sidedly, but to also respond in a specific and well-thought out format. Thought, my own experiences with the blog were unfortunately, not very well. After the first blog I procrastinated until it was too late to make the deadline, and a snowball effects was pretty much immediate until my blog and response list was rather empty.

When deciding upon what my final product would be, I felt that it would be best if I either did a remake of the cover, or a recreation of a scene that spoke out to me, because they seemed the best for ascertaining my thoughts and views on the themes of the book. I decided that since my choices would be somewhat limited if I did a different cover, I would pick an important scene from the book to paint.

I felt that the scene I picked was a very easy way to correlate the main themes of the book into the painting. It depicted the main character being restrained by his traveling peers as one of their group is dragged away by a hungry lion. They watch helplessly because their only weapons are the small hands attached to their weak and malnourished bodies. When I look at the painting, I recall the main themes and the feelings that come with it. For instance, it featured the theme of death, and some of the feelings that came with death in the novel were frustration, helplessness, and sadness.

The actual end product though, did not really seem very aesthetically pleasing. There were some errors, such as the long grass. In my sketches, I drew it well, as long pencils strokes densely fit together but still somewhat discernible. For my painting, I couldn’t go in the middle. I either had to make the whole thing green, or make it more separated. I decided to make it separated. I feel that was the right decision, but only because it was, “the lesser of two evils”. The grass ended up looking like a couple dozen thick green strokes. If it were eye candy, that part of the painting would have been pretty sour. Overall, the painting was the best that could be done with my mediocre art skills and not so thin brush.

Speaking of brush, my painting may have actually turned out better it I had just gotten a smaller brush, as when it came to shaping the people, my brush felt “clod footed”, as I awkwardly attempted to navigate the canvas and maintain a good similarity to my pencil sketch. With a smaller brush, the whole thing would have been better since I could improve on the shapes and details, although it would have taken longer, and unfortunately time was not an abundance for me.

While we did do work, I feel the only area I grew in when making the painting was artistically. I did learn a lot about artist statements, and how to write them. But as a reflection to the book itself, and my thoughts on it, I believe there were better methods to put our thoughts out in the open.

The interviewing of my immigrant went very [enjoyably] smoothly. My immigrant was a family friend who had come to our house frequently, and vice-versa, so when asked for an interview they agreed and the interview was commenced fairly soon. The actual interviews they were also enjoyable and efficient. I was able to take excellent notes on my laptop during all three; being a court reporter for the Supreme Court Project was great practice. I was furthermore fond of the different methods of communication used to converse with the interviewee. It allowed for different experiences and made it all the more interesting. In fact, I figure it would have been found dull if it were just one big live interview.

The interviews taught me a lot about my person. Albeit her being a family friend, I still found out some things I never knew. I discovered that she had lived in Cleveland of Ohio originally. I also learned she was (and is) not a U.S. citizen yet, and she will become one this year. The most interesting thing however, was the story she told me about her son when he was young, how he went to a daycare and wouldn’t go to sleep during naptime. When they asked him, he said, “I’m afraid when I wake up I’ll be gone and I won’t be able to find you”. I found that to be a very interesting story and is one of the first things that comes to mind when I think of the immigration project.

All the information I learned from the interviews was turned into a documentary. I narrated and spoke about her story which I now knew and could back up with the immigration information I had learned in class. About a week after I finished, they invited my family over for dinner. Once we entered, I came up to my person and handed her the CD. She told me, “Thank you very much. It’s really not every day somebody decides to make a movie about your life.”