Tales from Edwardsburg - The Autograph Book

Grandma Belle and Grandpa Roy lived next door in an old white house with a big mulberry tree next to it. Grandma Belle always made me a mulberry pie if I would pick the berries for her. Oh that was delicious. Grandpa Roy was the official umpire of our kickball games over at the Grover's. They were much loved in our neighborhood.

Behind their old white house was a big red barn with vines and moss attaching themselves to its sturdy wood, as if holding on for dear life. To go into that old barn was to step back in time. There were stacks of old newspapers telling of the bombing of Hiroshima and the assassination of JFK. An old black top hat rested on a stack of newsprint and found itself on the head of every kid who sneaked in for a visit. There were boxes of clothes and old household items. And amongst the heaps and mounds, a velvet covered autograph book with real autographs inside. This treasure I kept.

Each night I would carefully open the old book and touch the pages, each with the fancy signature of a person unknown to me. The writing style was of the old days when people took pride in their penmanship, and it was clear they were written with quill or cartridge pens. I wondered about each person, who they were, where they lived. Were they famous or just a friend? Questions that would never have answers.

I have always been an autograph hound, not a serious one, but I have acquired my share of famous signatures. The first autograph I got was from Bart Starr, quarterback of the Green Bay Packers in the 1960s. I wrote him a letter and asked for a picture and sure enough one came in the mail, signed by the famous quarterback himself. Next, I wrote to the Monkees and soon an autographed picture was in the mailbox with all four signatures from the famous primates.

On a roll, I sent a Christmas card to President and Lady Bird Johnson. They sent one back.

In the early 1980s, I went to the Wizard of Oz Convention and found myself staring at three, not one, but three living, breathing Munchkins! It took me an hour to collect myself in order to go speak to them. They were REAL! I mean, one of them was the Coroner for God's sake, the one who examined the Wicked Witch of the West and found she was really most sincerely dead! I had watched the Munchkins every year since the day I was born and, well, it was like seeing the real Santa Claus. I left the Wizard of Oz Convention that day with three Munchkin autographs.

My next autograph extravaganza occurred on a leather guitar strap that I carried with me to gigs where I shared the stage with other performers. I would ask my fellow musicians to sign that strap and I am pleased to say it is full of signatures from most of my favorite folk musicians. What great memories that strap holds.

I did send away for...OK paid for an autograph from Xena Warrior Princess (Lucy Lawless). I couldn't help myself.  I was going through my Xena phase.

I bought this book once that told which movie stars would respond to autograph requests. So when my Grandma was still suffering the blues from losing my Grandpa, I decided to cheer her up by writing to her favorite TV character (next to Xena and Zoro), Walker Texas Ranger, played by Chuck Norris. He was one of the actors the book said would write back. I told him how Grandma was one of his biggest fans, and that she was still sad about losing Grandpa. I asked if he might send her an autographed picture to cheer her up.

About six months later, Grandma got her picture. A personalized autograph to Phyliss Barton from Chuck Norris, aka Walker Texas Ranger. I was so excited! He really did respond. I was sure she would feel better.

She chuckled a suspicious chuckle, a kind of "huh huh" thing,  and proclaimed, "That's not real, I am sure his secretary signed it."

When Grandma died, I stuck Chuck's picture in her casket along with her and Grandpa's well-worn deck of cards and scorecard (he owed her), and some Yahtzee dice. I was sure that the autograph verifier in heaven would confirm to Grandma that this was indeed a real autograph.

My last autograph came from President Barack Obama, a hand-written postcard addressed to me and delivered Priority Mail. In it, he told me that, although sometimes slowly, American marches toward equality and freedom. He responded to an email I had sent months earlier, thanking him for supporting civil rights for gays and lesbians. I can only hope my letter had a tiny bit of influence in his support of same-sex marriage.

But these autographs aren't the ones that mean the most to me. I treasure the autographs nestled in the signed cards or letters from those I love. These are the priceless pages I hold dear, written without prompting or payment. Professions of love.