Books | Howard Smead

Kak Drenner

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:13:25 -0500

My Name is Zed

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:13:04 -0500

"Some are tempted to think of life in cyberspace as insignificant,
as escape or meaningless diversion."
— Sherry Turkle

Everything that happens in society happens on the
Internet too.”
— Phil Agre

Prologue

Late one afternoon in early spring two visitors stood atop a gray limestone tower gazing across the sloped shoulders of South Mountain in Western Maryland. "This is the original Washington's Monument," the man was telling the young boy at his side. "It was built in a single day right here on the crest of the mountain way back in 1827."
     “One day,” the boy said, trying out the bold idea.
     Tousling the boy's hair, the man checked the stretch of Appalachian Trail running through the trees below to make sure they were still alone. Satisfied the unstaffed park was indeed empty, he grabbed the boy under the arms and hoisted him onto the ledge of the 100-foot monument. "Don't worry, I have your belt."
     The boy was wary at first. Once on the ledge, he steadied himself and marveled at the broad valley before him.
     "It fell apart over the years but some boys not so much older than yourself who worked for an organization called the CCC re-built it during the Great Depression. They submitted to proper adult counseling."
     The boy looked down at the rockslide scattered like marbles at the base of the monument. He thought: I wouldn't mind building things like this. No adults, just a bunch of us guys.
     "Call me Daddy-Whit now, like I said."
     "Can we go exploring down there?”
     “Say it.”
     “There's lots of neat places to check out. Maybe there's even a cave under the rocks?"
     The man didn’t acknowledge the question.
     “Let me give you a lesson from life. During the French and Indian War, a British general named Edward Braddock passed this way with an army of British regulars and colonials, and eight Indian guides to fight the French and Iroquois. He ended up getting himself and hundreds of his men killed. You know why?”
     The boy leaned forward and dropped a dab of spit down toward the rocks. He was sick of Daddy-Whit’s lessons.
     “Because he refused to heed the advice of his aide-de-camp George Washington. That’s what happens when you don’t listen to those who know more than you.”
     The boy spotted some Canadian Geese winging by overhead. They were so close he could practically reach out and grab them. Their shadows cast hexes on the hillside.
     Flapping his arms, he imagined soaring away with them. He closed his eyes and flew out over the valley. “I’m flying,” he cried.
     “Why won’t you do me this one favor?” Daddy-Whit said. “What’s my name?”
     Feeling weightless, the boy stretched his arms so wide his fingers tingled. “Fly away.” It echoed across the valley.
     “I’ll teach you to fly away, you little shit.”
     The boy looked back. The sunlight glinted off Daddy Whit’s bald head. His face was edgy with shadow. “Daddy-Whit,” the boy said to him. He tried to make it sound normal, like he called him that all the time. But it sounded more like a taunt. The boy broke into laughter.
     So did Daddy-Whit. “Time to go exploring,” he said. “Come on down now before you fall.”
     “Exploring! For real?”
     “Of course, for real.”
     Moments later, descending the dark stone steps through the monument’s dank interior, Daddy-Whit started whistling a sprightly version of Jimmy Crack Corn. The tune snaked between his teeth in a hiss, rising and falling with each breath. He was already thinking of Black City.

The Redneck Waltz

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:12:51 -0500

Chapter 1

It started out innocent enough. We were drinking beer, like old times, eyeballing each other across the end of a long narrow table in a bar we used to call the "Fist Fight Inn" back before we were old enough to get served there. It was on the sleepy side of noon and most of the chairs were still turned legs up on the table tops. The morning light cut through the dirty wondows, lighting up the dust on the floor and the covered pool table. The place was quiet. I was trying to make Jr. laugh like he used to four years ago. I was looking for some sign of life, anything at all. I wasn't picky.

"So what you been up to?"

"Not a whole heck of a lot."

"Same-o, same-o?"

"Yeah. Sorta."

"So where is everybody?"

"Around."

"Around where? Let's go check 'em out."

"Naaa, they're probably working."

"Then let's go cruise the dual."

"What, in the morning?"

"Yeah, I haven't been up and down that strip in a long time. We used to be up and down that baby twenty times a night. Remember? Come on, man."

Don't Trust Anyone Over Thirty

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:12:40 -0500

Blood Justice: The Lynching of Mack Charles Parker

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:12:21 -0500

Chapter 1

"Just Joe-Jacking Around"

The road from Poplarville to Lumberton wound through broad pine groves that covered the rolling hills of southern Mississippi with a thick green shroud. Interspersed among the miles of pines, tung trees thrived in the rich soil and helped make this section of the state one of the prettiest, and one of the more remote. Jimmy Walters, his wife, June, and their four-year-old daughter, Debbie Carol, were driving along an isolated stretch of Highway 11 toward their home in Petal outside of Hattiesburg on the evening of February 23, 1959. The night sky was dark; thick clouds obscurred the moon; and the sharp wind whistling through the pines down onto the lonely road threatened to bring rain. The Walters had spent the evening at the Bogalusa home of Jimmy's brother Eddie, visting Eddie's sick daughter. The evening ended sourly when Eddie refused to let Jimmy take his other daughter back to Hattiesburg to spend several days with her grandmother. Eddie protested he didn't feel like making the sixty-five mile drive to pick up her, which angered Jimmy, and the two brothers had almost begun fighting. Besides that, Jimmy, who had picked up his family after work and come directly to Bogalusa, was tired from the long day and knew he had to back at work early the next morning.