Dust in the Wind
by
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This need to raise oneself at another's expense, I suspect, is almost universal. But the sad part of that time of my life is that while I felt put upon at being called names for being poor, dirty, a share-cropper, and a Catholic, I didn't hesitate at calling other people names because they carried onions in their lunch bags and ate them as we did apples. Any difference that we could use to raise ourselves, we did. I guess it's partially learned from adults, as I'd heard my father and others say disparaging things about the German or Russian immigrants, but more important, I believe, is the inner sense of being incomplete or unfulfilled. That self-doubt is quite difficult to resolve as it doesn't go away. One way to hide it, however, is to point a finger at somebody else and say, "He's worse than I am. Look at him!" This deflects the spotlight and momentarily saves us. Yet, it's a salvation bought by debasing the human spirit. Then I thought about Isaiah Jacobs lying in his coffin. Surely the dust would filter in there, too; death could hardly be dust-proof any more than our lives were. They would keep him covered as long as possible, naturally, but at the wake they would open up the coffin. How could they clean the dust off him? Or would they want to? Why even bother? "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust" is what reminds us of where we begin and end up. Maybe this was some joke that I couldn't understand, mixing the dust in with the body and burying the whole mess. Is this what our lives were to come to finally, just a little snicker of relief, dust in the wind? After I started college I read "Hamlet" and learned that I wasn't the only one who thought of such things. Hamlet himself was aware that there was something more going on that went beyond the skull he held up which had once been his friend and servant, Yorick. But when I was twelve, there was no relief for such questions. Ma and Pa would have had no patience for them, even if I could have asked them, and there was no one I felt at ease enough to ask. Miss Lehrer might know, but I'd have been mortified to open myself up to her that much.
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About the Book
Dust in the Wind was written during the summer of 1988 when my wife, my son, and I were living in Ziegelhausen, Germany. I was a guest professor at Ruprecht Karls Universitaet (the University of Heidelberg) for the academic year. I had conceived the central idea of the book years earlier when I was in college, but I didn’t have a form for the story. Then when I happened onto Donald Worster’s Dust Bowl in the English Department Library at the University, I was struck by the stark world evoked by the illustrations Worster had chosen. Immediately, I sensed that the story of the rabbit drive should be connected to the dust bowl experience. After that, it was relatively easy for me to use my experiences on a farm in Rush County, Kansas during the 1950’s to provide a sense of the time I was writing about from the perspective of Ben, my counterpart. Ben is older than I, but I think we share many experiences, especially the awareness of poverty and the omnipresence of dirt in our lives. To this day, I still do not like getting my hands dirty.
About the Author
Don Richardson is a member of the English Department at Phoenix College in Arizona where he teaches English Composition, British Literature, and Introduction to Shakespeare. For more than a decade he also taught Children’s Literature, which led him to explore many fine writers and works. His favorite books are those written for young adult readers as they challenge readers to discover positive solutions for their life challenges. Although he has written several manuscripts, this is his first to be published. His hobbies are singing, reading, cooking, gardening, and woodworking. He also does volunteer work in the community.