Extemporaneous musings, occasionally poetic, about life in its richly varied dimensions, especially as relates to history, theology, law, literature, science, by one who is an attorney, ordained minister, historian, writer, and African American.
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
FORESTING WITH MR. FINKE
FORESTING WITH MR. FINKE
One summer our grade school was visited by a Mr. Finke of Germany.
We were in the 5th grade, when he came. What little we boys knew of Germany, amounted to Hitler's war.
But this sandy-haired white man smiled often and was very friendly.
As my primary duties at home, that summer, were to supervise my five younger siblings, and to look after things, while our parents worked, I was an infrequent attendee at the James Milton Turner Elementary School summer program, which Mr. Finke of Germany came to visit. But one activity in which I partook with the rest of the boys, was a field trip to Rockwoods Resevation that Mr. Finke led us on into the woods.
In a scene that had to be redolent of the hit movie, "Conrack," a mis-pronunciation of Conrad, by black boys like us on the Sea Islands off South Carolina/Georgia coasts, we must have been a sight to behold in 1962, upon disembarkation in situ.
We were to go on a hike trail, after enjoying a bag picnic lunch in the "forests primeval" of Longfellow's poetry lore that was Rockwoods Reservation in far western St. Louis County. As we filed into the forest, Mr. Finke leading, our noisy brattle was absorbed by nature. We felt an awesomely inspiring kinship within those woods, its flora, fauna, solicitous silences, that whispered .
As Mr. Finke pointed out this tree and that; this plant and that. We came upon a wooden structure that he could not account for. He pointed to it and asked in a heavy Germanic accent, "vat is that?" We smiled, bemused that he did not seem to know. Somebody blurted out "That is a shit house, Mr. Finke , a shit house!" As comprehension lit up his face, he pointed to it, saying "sheit-house! Sheit-house!" We laughed uproariously, registering our glee, our glory, for all to hear!
In his tear-filled send-off at the end of the summer, we fifth grade boys who had traipsed through those sacred woods with Mr. Finke sang out, "Sheit house, Mr. Finke, Sheit house!" We loved him. He loved us!