The writings of |
 |
MacLeod's ability to silently observe other people, then put those observations on paper, has long been recognized both nationally and internationally with a number of important awards. MacLeod’s memories go back to battles of World War II and to virtually carefree days before. He relates each with detail and sensitivity. |
|
Excerpt from “Slot Action” |
||
On the night after the third “free” period the Grayson’s section slipped into the area where the barges had to cross between the two islands. Grayson was second in line of four ships (destroyers), and in the darkness of the night her radar screen began to fill up with little blips as the Japs moved through the channel. We closed slowly and silently. At 0240, under star shells, the division opened fire with sixteen five-inch guns and many 40-millimeter cannons and ceased firing only when there were no more blips on radar screens. It was grandiose, unopposed target practice. |
 |
|
By dawn’s early light we saw what we had done. We cruised gently into the action area and encountered shredded pieces of wooden barges mingling with the bodies of light brown people in light brown uniforms…in every direction you looked. They were torn and broken. Some floated face down and some face up…some with open eyes looking back at us. |
||
Excerpt from “From the Past” |
||
|
To this day I recall his ability to open a cast iron, peat-burning stove in the house. On several occasions I would try to toss blocks of peat into the firebox, but could not open the little door in front because it was too hot. My grandfather, however, would reach down and pull the door open with his bare hand…then smile broadly at me. I held his hands in mine one day to look closely at them. They were slightly and permanently curled and nearing the color of the brown earth outside the house. The soft pads most people have on their palms and fingers were heavily calloused, tough and unyielding. I felt every ridge and valley, and when I raised my head to look at him he was not smiling. Silently he reached for me and hugged me tightly. That silent hug is what I remember most about my grandfather. It is a good memory. |
|
From Naked Trees
COED Her hair is parted straight down the middle She wears small, round glasses with wire frames Her words are on geology She eats her greens and fills her jeans |
|||
|
APRICOTS The tendency in my age is to remember my youth So very young I trod the dust in unpaved alleys Whistling, carefree, plucking from nature Alone most often, and wanting to be… Seeing a crank sticking out in front, centered I experienced Tom Mix and the bad guys, the white I put a penny on the shiny streetcar rail And I walked streets, any avenue at night Every day little things are called to memory |
||
ENCOUNTER Petite He looks And they pass |
|||
Excerpt from “The Treasure” |
||||
Finally setting this story down on paper, I stop frequently to consider those times and compare them with the present…not favorably. What happened then no longer can happen, since no one feels the same way as we did. The “we” can never be so very close, for there is now such diversity of feeling within all people I cannot foresee any future time that will engender the kind of respect, admiration and trust…love if you will… that grew between men on ships in World War II. That was a time every man trusted every other man with his life. There has never been camaraderie to equal it. When I left the highway, just two opposing lanes of macadam that has since become a major four-lane artery, I drove onto a dusty dirt road toward the small Georgia village. I admit to a bit of trepidation. I’d never before thought of being in a community of black people we called Negroes back then. |
||||
Excerpt from “I Saw the Wind Today” |
||||
Then, from where I sat, I saw a rustle against the dry, tan corn stalks still left in the field closer to me. I counted it as being slower than it should be, for I could tell it was a light breeze as it moved ever nearer. It was gentle…and just enough to let you know it was there. With anticipation I looked forward to it brushing me, and I became eager as it continued its approach. I wondered if it was any cooler than the surrounding, stale heat. I braced myself a bit so I could feel all of it as we met. |
Excerpt from “How the Boat Got Black” |
|||
Carl is long retired. He used to be a stone cutter, measuring and smoothing limestone into dimensional blocks and shafts according to patterns so they could be made into monumental structures. Later he learned the fine art of stone carving, using his imagination and visualization to cut hard stone into amazing animal and human figures, symbols and nature’s varied shapes. He is an artist who still keeps his tools and cuts a pleasing figure…in limestone. |
||||
Contact John: jcm@cemridgeassocs.com
