Bad judgment must be called out

Playing on a tree on the other side of the fence was so inviting, but, it turned out, against the rules.

It happened when I was about nine. The public-school playground got a little boring, so a bunch of us found a maple tree just across the back fence of the schoolyard to climb, sit in and hang from. Word got around to the principal, Mr. Palmer Kilpatrick. If for no other reason than fear of liability, he announced that the tree was off limits.

That didn’t stop us. Next day, we headed back over the fence and scrambled back up the tree. Suddenly, it got quiet. All my fellow tree-climbers disappeared. I was alone. I looked down and there was Mr. Kilpatrick standing at the foot of the tree.

“Ted, come down,” he said sternly. “You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”

“Yes sir,” and I came down. Everybody else who’d climbed the tree with me that day had taken off. And I could have too. But something inside me said, “Fess up and face the consequences.” (more…)

So the story goes…

Alex Barris, my father, told stories as a career – via his typewriter or at a microphone.

He had a knack. Whenever he launched into an introduction, even if we were familiar with every word that followed, we knew we were in for a treat. My father, Alex Barris, had a unique talent for telling stories. And even if we knew it was a shaggy-dog story (one artificially stretched-out to build the suspense), we never tired of his telling it.

“Ever heard the story about the famous piano tuner?” he might begin. (more…)