“A Reading in Unlove”

This poem is widely purported to have been written by a 15-year-old boy two years before he ended his life:

Once on a yellow paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it “chops” because that
was the name of his dog
and that’s what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an “A” and
a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to all his aunties
that was the year father tracy took
all the kids to the zoo and let them
sing on the bus
and that was the year his baby sister
was born with tiny toenails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent
him a valentine signed with a row of x’s
and his father always tucked him
in bed at night
and was always there to do it.

Once on a white paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it “autumn” because
that was the name of the season
and that’s what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an “A” and
told him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on
the kitchen door because it had just
been painted
and the other kids told him that
father tracy smoked cigars and left
the butts in the pews
and that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
at him when he went to see Santa Claus
at Macy’s
and the kids told him why his
mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in
bed at night and he got mad when
he got mad and cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it “question marked
innocense” because that was the name
of his girl
and his professor gave him an “A” and
a strange and steady look
and his mother never hung it on
the kitchen door because he never
showed it to her
that was the year father tracy died
and he forgot how the end of the
“apostles creed” went
and he caught his sister necking on
the back porch
and his mother and father never
kissed anymore or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup and made
him cough when he kissed her, but he
kissed her anyway
and at 3 a.m. he tucked himself in bed,
his father snoring soundly.

That’s why on the back of a pack of
matches he wrote another poem
and he called it “absolutely nothing”
because that’s what it was about
and he gave himself an “A”
and a slash on each damp wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because he couldn’t reach the kitchen.

The earliest publication I can find attributes it to a Cathy Curtis, a 12-year-old student at the Abbot Academy, a girls’ boarding school in Andover, Mass., whose literary magazine published the poem in June 1971. The school closed the following year. I haven’t been able to learn anything more about Curtis.

10/07/2025 UPDATE: Intrepid reader Adam Mellion has made a much, much deeper research effort than I did and found that the author appears to be Earl Reum (1931-2010), a teacher and motivational speaker who worked in the Denver, Colo., school system in the 1950s.

Adam’s sources include a blog post by Genel Hodges, executive director of the National Association of Workshop Directors, who knew Reum, and the transcript of an interview with Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and director of the film of the same name, in both of which the poem appears, and who managed to speak with Reum. Separately, writer Donald Gallo recounts his own effort to identify the poet in the article “A Different Kind Of Whodunit: The Search for a Poem’s Author,” which appeared in the April 2000 issue of Voice of Youth Advocates. He too concluded that Reum is the author:

Earl Reum says he wrote the first version in 1954 shortly after a student with whom he was very close attempted suicide during Reum’s first month of teaching at Merrill Junior High School in Denver, Colorado. ‘I was devastated,’ Reum says. ‘I never truly recovered from the experience.’

At that time, the Student Activities Office of the Denver Public Schools produced a series of booklets containing what Reum calls ‘Teacher-Advisor Stuff’ — without titles and without author credit. As a student council advisor, Reum submitted his poem. The ‘A PERSON/A PAPER/A PROMISE’ title was added when Reum became the Activities Coordinator for the Denver Schools in 1960, and approximately two thousand copies of those booklets were sent to activities directors throughout the nation, thus accounting for the poem’s widespread distribution.

Gallo adds, “The poem, Reum says, ‘has changed and changed … grown and gotten used, augmented and has had parts deleted.’ But he says this with joy rather than regret. He has never been bothered by the changes nor by other people claiming authorship. ‘The ultimate compliment,’ he says, ‘is when people take your stuff and sign their names. It makes the world a bit smaller and more intimate.'”

A million thanks to Adam for sorting all this out — there are now so many conflicting attributions, and so many versions of the poem, that it’s very hard to determine its origins. This seems pretty conclusive.

Five-Sided Story

pentagon

In a regular pentagon, all diagonals are drawn, as shown. Label each vertex of the pentagon and each intersection of the diagonals with the number 1. Now: In one step you can change the signs of all the numbers on a side or on a diagonal. Is it possible, by a sequence of such steps, to convert all the labels in the diagram to -1?

Click for Answer

Double or Nothing

Carrying two brown satchels, one filled with $777,000 in $100 bills and the other empty, an unidentified man, dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, walked into Binion’s Horseshoe Casino in Las Vegas last week. He exchanged his money for $500 chips, strode to the craps table and put all of the chips on the back line, which meant that he was betting against the woman who happened to be rolling the dice. She first threw a six, then a nine and finally a seven. Said the dealer: ‘Pay the back line.’ The man scooped up his chips, traded them at the casino cage for $1,554,000 in cash and shook hands with Jack Binion, the stunned president of the casino. Said Binion: ‘It was the biggest bet in a gambling house that I have ever heard of.’ As the man walked out of the casino with his two brown satchels, both now stuffed with $100 bills, and climbed into his car, he told Binion: ‘You know, this damned inflation was just eroding this money. I figured I might as well double it or lose it.’ With that, he drove off into the night, still unidentified.

Time, Oct. 6, 1980

(A few more details here.)

10/10/2025 UPDATE: The gambler was later identified. (Thanks, Patrick.)

A Grim Friday

Two affecting episodes from the Johnstown Flood of 1889, in which a dam failure sent almost 15 million cubic meters of water down the Little Conemaugh river of western Pennsylvania:

Six-year-old Gertrude Quinn Slattery was riding a wet, muddy mattress through the floodwaters when a man leapt from a passing roof and struggled across to her. “I put both arms around his neck and held on to him like grim death.” They approached a white building from which two men were extending poles from an upper window to rescue victims floating by.

I was too far out for the poles, so the men called:

‘Throw that baby over here to us.’

My hero said: ‘Do you think you can catch her?’

They said: ‘We can try.’

So Maxwell McAchren threw me across the water (some say twenty feet, others fifteen. I could never find out, so I leave it to your imagination. It was considered a great feat in the town, I know.)

Anna Fenn Maxwell’s husband was washed away from a neighbor’s house moments before the flood struck the Fenn home.

I had the baby in my arms and the other children climbed on the lounge and table. The water rose and floated us until our heads nearly touched the ceiling. I held the baby as long as I could and then had to let her drop into the water. George had grasped the curtain pole and was holding on. Something crashed against the house, broke a hole in the wall land a lot of bricks struck my boy on the head. The blood gushed from his face, he loosed his hold and sank out of sight. Oh it was too terrible!

My brave Bismark went next. Anna, her father’s pet, was near enough to kiss me before she slipped under the water. It was dark and the house was tossing every way. The air was stifling, and I could not tell just the moment the rest of the children had to give up and drown. My oldest boy, John Fulton, kept his head above the water as long as he was able. At last he said: ‘Mother, you always said Jesus would help. Will he help us now?’ What could I do but answer that Jesus would be with him, whether in this world or the brighter one beyond the skies? He thought we might get out into the open air. We could not force a way through the wall of the ceiling, and the poor boy ceased to struggle. What I suffered, with the bodies of my seven children floating around me in the gloom, can never be told.

She gave birth to a baby girl a few weeks later, but the child did not survive.

From the flood museum website and the National Park Service.

Reflections

http://www.sxc.hu/photo/698003

Aphorisms of German physicist Georg Lichtenberg (1742-1799):

  • “Passionate ambition and suspicion I have invariably found to go together.”
  • “It is in most cases more difficult to make intelligent people believe that you are what you are not, than really to become what you would appear to be.”
  • “True, unaffected distrust of human power in general is the surest sign of mental ability.”
  • “I am convinced that we not only love ourselves in others, but hate ourselves in others too.”
  • “Where moderation is a fault indifference is a crime.”
  • “I suppose there never was a man of any great mark who was not slandered; or hardly any blackguard who never directed a slander against some man of merit.”
  • “Mankind loves company, even if it is no more than that of a burning candle.”
  • “It is a fact that there are numbers of people who read merely that they need not think.”
  • “With most people unbelief in one thing is founded upon blind belief in another.”
  • “What is very rare seldom remains long unexplained. What is inexplicable is usually no longer rare, and has perhaps never been so.”
  • “The commonest opinions and the things that everybody takes for granted often the most deserve examination.”
  • “That in advancing years we should grow incapable of learning has some connection with age’s intolerance of being ordered about, and a very close connection, too.”
  • “I have looked through the list of illnesses, and did not find cares or sad thoughts mentioned among them. That is a mistake, surely.”
  • “Saints in stone have done more in the world than living ones.”

“Has anyone, I wonder, ever dreamt of odours, without an external cause to give rise to the impression? — dreamt, for instance, of the smell of roses, when there was no rose or rosewater in the vicinity. With music this is certainly the case, and with light too; but feelings of pain in a dream usually have some external cause. As regards odours I am uncertain.”

“Man and Bird”

A Man with a Shotgun said to a Bird:

‘It is all nonsense, you know, about shooting being a cruel sport. I put my skill against your cunning — that is all there is of it. It is a fair game.’

‘True,’ said the Bird, ‘but I don’t wish to play.’

‘Why not?’ inquired the Man with a Shotgun.

‘The game,’ the Bird replied, ‘is fair as you say; the chances are about even; but consider the stake. I am in it for you, but what is there in it for me?’

Not being prepared with an answer to the question, the Man with a Shotgun sagaciously removed the propounder.

— Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables, 1899

Betrothed Numbers

Two numbers are said to be betrothed if the sum of the proper divisors of each number is 1 more than the value of the other. For example:

The proper divisors of 48 are 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 12, 16, and 24. 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 6 + 8 + 12 + 16 + 24 = 76 = 75 + 1.

The proper divisors of 75 are 1, 3, 5, 15, and 25. 1 + 3 + 5 + 15 + 25 = 49 = 48 + 1.

Interestingly, in all such pairs discovered so far, one number is odd and the other even. Is this always the case? That’s an open question.

Constraint

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Animaux_sauvages_-_ll._de_Jean_Matet_-_btv1b10573583s_(11_of_12).jpg

Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame. If you draw a giraffe, you must draw him with a long neck. If, in your bold creative way, you hold yourself free to draw a giraffe with a short neck, you will really find that you are not free to draw a giraffe.

— G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, 1908