eventually took over as Library
Director after Madge Corbett retired about five years ago. Goodness
only knows how he found Newtonberg, but the people here sure are
glad that he did. Even if he doesn’t consider this as his hometown,
the townsfolk have completely accepted him as one of their own.
The other thing is that Mike is the nervous
type. He doesn't like speaking in public -- put him in front of
more than five people and he is downright terrified. Brother Jim
Campbell tells that once they tried to get him to give the prayer
in church before the offering, and he just stood there, mouth
moving, nothing coming out. Finally, he managed to whisper "Amen."
They never asked him again after that.
So all week before Founder's Day, people
would come up to him on the street, or come into the library, and
try to give him advice. "Now, don't you worry about it, dear," the
Widow Missus told him when she stopped by the library to pick up
the check for the library's newspaper subscription. "You know all
of us. There's no reason to be scared of speaking to friends."
"Just imagine everyone in their underwear,"
Mayor Al told him. "That's what they always taught us. Works most
of the time."
"Drink," was the advice of Cliff Magnuson,
who ran the local watering hole. "Not a lot, but keep a small glass
with you and sip from it occasionally. That'll calm your
nerves."
"What should I drink?" Mike asked him.
"Whiskey. But remember: little sips .
Don't drink it all in one go."
Walking around with all this advice in his
head, he plotted how he'd handle the day. He wasn't much of a
drinker, so that would be his last resort. He came up with a three
step plan:
1. Try it cold turkey, as the Widow Missus
suggested.
2. If that didn't work, he'd follow the
mayor's suggestion and imagine the crowd in their underwear.
3. If all else failed, he'd have the
whiskey.
He spent the week doing his research, writing
his speech, and trying to keep the actual act of giving the speech
out of his mind. It seemed to be going well. He covered the story
of the town as quickly as he could so he could get right into the
anecdotes, since that was what entertained the crowd the most. Cold
facts and dates were too much like being in school.
Founder's Day arrived and he joined everyone
else on the square. It was a hot day, one of the hottest of the
year. People were drinking the water and iced tea one after the
other.
There were vast tables of food. The women of
Newtonberg love to cook, and the men of Newtonberg love to eat.
It's a fair arrangement.
All morning people would stop and say to him,
"looking forward to the speech." He would smile and try to act
appreciative.
He was scheduled to give the speech about
11:30 a.m., after the Mayor gave his welcome. About 11:00, Cliff
Magnuson came up to him and handed him a cup containing a brown
liquid. It looked like watered-down ice tea. "Just in case," he
smiled.
"Thanks," Mike replied. "I hope I won't need
it."
At 11:20 he made his way to the bandstand.
The Mayor was there, making his preparations. Mike stepped over to
the podium and placed his speech under it, weighing it down with
the cup of whiskey.
He took his seat and waited. People were
piling into the pavilion, and he began to get nervous. You know
everyone here , he reminded himself. No reason to get nervous
around friends . He scanned the crowd, picking out familiar
faces, reassuring himself that he was among friends. There was the
Widow Missus, who'd been almost like a second mother to him when he
first came to town. Cliff Magnuson. Oliver and Orville Nelson.
Bubba Lowry. Cap Blakeney. Brother Jim. Father Louis. Reverend
Stanley. Janet Carmichael.
Janet Carmichael . Maybe he shouldn't
have done that. Janet Carmichael was the kindergarten teacher at
Newtonberg Primary School. Beautiful, sweet, and single. He'd had
his eye on her for years; a silly schoolboy-type crush. He couldn't
even bring himself to talk to her. Giving this speech would be
Director after Madge Corbett retired about five years ago. Goodness
only knows how he found Newtonberg, but the people here sure are
glad that he did. Even if he doesn’t consider this as his hometown,
the townsfolk have completely accepted him as one of their own.
The other thing is that Mike is the nervous
type. He doesn't like speaking in public -- put him in front of
more than five people and he is downright terrified. Brother Jim
Campbell tells that once they tried to get him to give the prayer
in church before the offering, and he just stood there, mouth
moving, nothing coming out. Finally, he managed to whisper "Amen."
They never asked him again after that.
So all week before Founder's Day, people
would come up to him on the street, or come into the library, and
try to give him advice. "Now, don't you worry about it, dear," the
Widow Missus told him when she stopped by the library to pick up
the check for the library's newspaper subscription. "You know all
of us. There's no reason to be scared of speaking to friends."
"Just imagine everyone in their underwear,"
Mayor Al told him. "That's what they always taught us. Works most
of the time."
"Drink," was the advice of Cliff Magnuson,
who ran the local watering hole. "Not a lot, but keep a small glass
with you and sip from it occasionally. That'll calm your
nerves."
"What should I drink?" Mike asked him.
"Whiskey. But remember: little sips .
Don't drink it all in one go."
Walking around with all this advice in his
head, he plotted how he'd handle the day. He wasn't much of a
drinker, so that would be his last resort. He came up with a three
step plan:
1. Try it cold turkey, as the Widow Missus
suggested.
2. If that didn't work, he'd follow the
mayor's suggestion and imagine the crowd in their underwear.
3. If all else failed, he'd have the
whiskey.
He spent the week doing his research, writing
his speech, and trying to keep the actual act of giving the speech
out of his mind. It seemed to be going well. He covered the story
of the town as quickly as he could so he could get right into the
anecdotes, since that was what entertained the crowd the most. Cold
facts and dates were too much like being in school.
Founder's Day arrived and he joined everyone
else on the square. It was a hot day, one of the hottest of the
year. People were drinking the water and iced tea one after the
other.
There were vast tables of food. The women of
Newtonberg love to cook, and the men of Newtonberg love to eat.
It's a fair arrangement.
All morning people would stop and say to him,
"looking forward to the speech." He would smile and try to act
appreciative.
He was scheduled to give the speech about
11:30 a.m., after the Mayor gave his welcome. About 11:00, Cliff
Magnuson came up to him and handed him a cup containing a brown
liquid. It looked like watered-down ice tea. "Just in case," he
smiled.
"Thanks," Mike replied. "I hope I won't need
it."
At 11:20 he made his way to the bandstand.
The Mayor was there, making his preparations. Mike stepped over to
the podium and placed his speech under it, weighing it down with
the cup of whiskey.
He took his seat and waited. People were
piling into the pavilion, and he began to get nervous. You know
everyone here , he reminded himself. No reason to get nervous
around friends . He scanned the crowd, picking out familiar
faces, reassuring himself that he was among friends. There was the
Widow Missus, who'd been almost like a second mother to him when he
first came to town. Cliff Magnuson. Oliver and Orville Nelson.
Bubba Lowry. Cap Blakeney. Brother Jim. Father Louis. Reverend
Stanley. Janet Carmichael.
Janet Carmichael . Maybe he shouldn't
have done that. Janet Carmichael was the kindergarten teacher at
Newtonberg Primary School. Beautiful, sweet, and single. He'd had
his eye on her for years; a silly schoolboy-type crush. He couldn't
even bring himself to talk to her. Giving this speech would be
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