Post to the Host
GK responds to queries on topics from childbearing to potato salad, with a little bookstore fetish in between.

Send your own post to the host.
Here's your chance to ask GK your most pressing questions—about the writing life, the radio life, Lake Wobegon, Guy Noir, whatever you like. Also, feel free to send feedback about the show. Honest comments and criticism are always welcome!

Dear Garrison:
I am always amazed at how many people find something offensive on APHC, as well as other places. I find it disturbing at how thin-skinned a society we've become. It seems as though people nowadays feel they have to be offended by SOMETHING, otherwise they'll give the impression of being apathetic, uninvolved or uncommitted. It's gotten to the point of being ridiculous. My guess is that it's a symptom of our increasingly polarized political environment.

Personally, I can't remember the last time I was offended by anything. If something I dislike or disagree with bothers me, I just shrug it off and get on with my life. My message to anyone who is so easily offended: Lighten up, people! How do you see it, Garrison?

Peter M.
Charlottesville, VA

People who write in to complain are fans of the show and I take their complaints as a sign of loyalty. It shows that they have a sense of ownership. I, for example, am deeply offended by the destruction of historic and graceful old buildings in St. Paul, and Minneapolis, and before that, in my hometown of Anoka. I can still get hot under the collar if I talk about the old courthouse and the old Carnegie library in Anoka that got busted by vandals in suits and ties forty years ago, and the old fire barn and the old St. Stephen's church. But if you tell me about something similar in Charlottesville, I might shake my head but I don't feel the same outrage. So when people write angry letters to me, I take it as a compliment. And of course sometimes they're right.

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Post to the Host:
Sunday we had our annual baptism ceremony at Beaver Lake. It was a beautiful day. The trees overhead have grown together more since my own baptism there seven years ago. The plastic benches facing out on the water weren't enough to seat everyone, they never are. The little kids ran around and played in the water and got warned away from the poison ivy, just as they always do. But it was an especially nice ceremony. For one thing, we had three of our young men
among those who chose to become baptized. One of them, our pastor's eldest son, has been the subject of intensive prayer for years.

A couple of years ago our pastor and his wife stood in front of us at the membership meeting with tears streaming down their faces. They told us they didn't think they could go on being the spiritual heads of our church. Somewhere in one of Paul's Epistles it says that a pastor should be a paragon of virtue, and have charge of his family, and lead a godly life. They felt they had failed in this because of this one son, Sergei. Our church doesn't have anyone else who would volunteer for the kind of time it takes to be pastor. So we decided that an imperfect pastor is better than no pastor at all. Besides that, nearly every family among us has at least one Sergei in it, one young man who has left the fold. So we all felt sympathy for each other and had a good prayer, and that was that. Then last spring Sergei went to a youth revival with his brothers. One of the ministers said something that touched Sergei so much that he decided to repent. As you can imagine, our whole church was really excited about Sergei's baptism. A lot of other parents see it as a sign that maybe someday their Anatoli or Aleksandr or Venjamin will see the light.

We stood there in the cool shade, singing our hymns, listening to sermons and prayers from parents who were proud of their young people. Suddenly I could hear you saying "Roger Hedlund got up and told the whole church what he really thought of them." and I felt so ashamed. I looked around at these women in their brightly colored head scarves and long skirts, and the men with no tie and their shirts open one button at the neck, (so no one would confuse them with Communists) and I realized how much I love every one of them. I wished I could share it with you. That was something in itself, because you're the First Person among Americans that I've ever wanted to share my church with. I've always worried that Americans wouldn't understand, but possibly you would. Maybe you would look at our members and see your immigrant Norwegian relatives, some of them fixed in the Old Country ways, others integrating with America, and see the richness of their culture and their spirit.

Sometimes I envy the simple faith of these people. When I talk to our pastor it seems as if he sees a clearly defined road cut in the wilderness, something built of absolutes. He feels certain of every step that he takes on that road. It's not so simple for me. Take the parable about Jesus cursing the fig tree because it didn't give him fruit when he was hungry. From the context, it sounds like it wasn't the season for figs. Besides that, figs come in boy trees and girl trees, and if Jesus went around zapping all the boy trees, the girl trees couldn't make figs, could they? So it seems to me Jesus wasn't up on his botany. There is one story I really identify with, though. It's the one about the workers who come to the field at the eleventh hour and the boss pays them as much as those who have been there all day. I'm kind of like that myself. I grew up in the Methodist church, and didn't really get it, and went off to be a Unitarian when I was in college. But somehow the idea of knowing and being with God was always there. I was nearly 40 when I finally realized that I wasn't doing very well at ordering my life. I gave the job over to God, and He's been doing it a whole lot better ever since. When people in our church pray for their lost sons, I think to myself that it's still early yet, and these young men may come to God in their own eleventh hours, although maybe in different ways than what Ukrainian Pentecostal parents expect.

When I look at Sergei, I'm not sure that his conversion experience was that intense. Sergei might have had his "awakening" because he comes from one of the strongest families I've ever seen and it just got to him after a while, being the odd man out. That, and rumor has it that he's interested in one of the young women in our church, a young lady who was baptized 2-3 years ago. If he wants to get serious about her, he knows he has to be baptized before the congregation. He wouldn't be the First Person to get baptized for practical reasons. I wouldn't be surprised if Sergei will become a little like me as a member — seemingly in the loop, but always feeling a little distance, a little doubt. And maybe, like me, he'll silently give a small cheer for Anatoli, Aleksandr and Venjamin, who at least have the courage to follow their own stars.

It seems to me that approaching God is like coming in on the spokes of a wagon wheel. Most of us come in on the spoke we grew up with, but I don't think it matters to God which way we choose. Some of us may even come in cross-country or "as the crow flies." I think God has a whole lot more tolerance for religious, denominational and doctrinal differences than most of us do. The main thing is to find Him, the how and why are just details.

Sue Palmer
Syracuse, NY

Thank you, Sue, for your witness. That's what we called it back in the Sanctified Brethren, when someone out of fullness of heart stood up and spoke of something they had experienced directly. You leave us to conjecture how a Palmer landed among the baptist Russians in the Finger Lakes, which I imagine is quite a story. I guess it's in the phrase "I wasn't doing very well at ordering my life." Bless you for writing.

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People either loved my song about fatherhood and the sketch "Night of the Living Sperm" and laughed hard or else they despised them as vulgar and disgusting and turned off the radio. The audience at Ravinia seemed to get a big kick out of them, but they were in a festive mood and with the trees full of 17-year-cicadas singing to each other, there already was eroticism in the air.

Joan B. of Bothell, WA heard the show driving to church and laughed so hard she almost left the road. The song reminded her of "all the lovely pictures of my parents as young, vital, and obviously full of their biology." Rich L. of Alpena, AR was listening to the show with his family in the car on the way home from church. They were appalled and found the song uncouth and belittling of fathers and they turned off the radio. "Why are mothers honored but fathers are ridiculed as buffoons?" he asks.

A grandfather in Santa Cruz turned off the show, finding the song "mostly pointless, humorless and tasteless." Mr. McCoy in Kansas City thought it "cheapened the face of public radio as well as the beloved role of a father" and he will not be attending the show this week in Kansas City.

Karla M. of Salem, OR wrote in to thank us for making her laugh out loud. Steve S., Danbury, NC, considered the song "crass frat-boy humor" and turned off the show — "I was not 'honored,' amused or was I entertained, as a father of 3 boys on Fathers' Day, by being serenaded about sperm swimming up a vagina." Caroline H. of Worland, NY considered both pieces "offensive and disgusting, putting what is usually a classy show right down there in the gutter with little eight-year-olds who are just learning how to use dirty words." Richard L. of Hawley, PA thought the song wasn't funny, "like biology class with music. And the sketch was lifted from Woody Allen. Loved the rest of the show though, made sitting through those two worth it."

Jim W. of Napierville was at the show and felt that overall it had "a cynical take on fatherhood" and that the sperm song was in poor taste and spoiled the evening for him. Pete W. of Pendleton, OR wrote in to remind us that "to be a real father takes a lifetime of commitment, leadership, and love. For the lucky ones the father is the male biological parent. For those whose male biological parent is not present for any reason, the father can be an adopted father, grandfather, uncle, step father, surrogate father, etc. In any event, the true father is the one who supplies the most important example, leadership, and love that is more important than the mere sperm."

Anna S. ("Proud Mother of 2") writes: "I was tickled to tears by the song of Sperm on today's broadcast. WAY TO GO! Thank goodness someone (to whom many are listening) has the tenacity to teach sex ed to those who may have missed that class due to one reason, or another." Randy H. of Moweaqua, IL was "extremely disappointed" — he listened to the show in the van with his children (15, 3, 10) and turned off the show. "I expect this sort of stuff from morning shock jocks, not a family show," he writes. "I hope this is not an indication of your joining in the general coarsening of our society." Mary M. of Fairview Park, OH found the song hilarious and wants a copy to send to her grandsons and thinks the sketch about sperm should be made available "to every teacher of sex education classes. BRAVO!!" Worth H. of Pittsburgh found the song and sketch "gravely disappointing" and the sort of thing he'd expect of Howard Stern. "Why are you leaping over the edge with the rest of the entertainment industry?" he asks.

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Mr. Keillor:
Your monologue last week about your teacher reminded me of my ethics professor at Chico State. I caught him at the end of his career. Most people thought he was nuts, and to some degree he was. I enjoyed him so much! We would argue in class, then we'd argue out of class. He was bold, abrasive, unapologetic, and at times inspiring. I started helping him at his home on Sundays. He'd fix me lunch, and I'd help him in the garden. He always overpaid me, and sent me home with food, and much to think about. After college I didn't see him much, but we would write letters occasionally. My mother died suddenly four years ago. The week I was up there, helping with funeral stuff, when I had a moment, I went over to his home to tell him what had happened. Turns out he had also died... I miss him. I am going up to Chico tomorrow. Your story has motivated me to pay a visit to his wife, and bring her some flowers.

Thanks.

Michael N.
Colfax CA

You're welcome, Michael. I remember Chico from a couple years ago when I did a lecture there and stayed at a B&B in town. A graceful farming town and unpretentious university town, with modest woodframe houses, ranch-style, open floor plan, with breezeways and porches. A man came to my lecture and afterward invited me to breakfast the next morning with two writer heroes of mine, Gary Snyder and John McPhee. Snyder was teaching there at the time. We all sat around and had coffee and McPhee talked about the river delta he was researching for a book and it was very relaxed and comradely, which somehow you don't expect when you dine with giants.

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Dear Garrison,
Greetings from sunny Oslo. Your show became a highlight of the week for me the last two years while living on the Big Island of Hawaii with my wife. The morning of November 11. 2006 I spent running through the streets of Honolulu on my way to the Blaisdell center trying to get a last minute ticket to one of your shows there. But the line was too long. In the meantime I have convinced my beautiful wife to come back to Norway with me. I'm wondering if there will be a show for the general public when you are here in Oslo in July?

Tusen takk for et fantastisk show, still listening over the internet...

take care,

Lars
Oslo, Norway

The story of how a Norwegian lands on the island of Hawaii and then emigrates back to Oslo is the really fascinating part of your letter, Lars, and in classic Norsk fashion you have obscured yourself and focused on the trivial, the scheduling of a show. I don't think there will be a public performance of PHC in Oslo since I'll be there with my family and should entertain them, though of course accidents can happen, but the REAL question is: how are you? and what happened? My guess is that you had to flee Norway due to some terrible scandal — perhaps you failed to put your old newspapers into recycling — and you went to Hawaii and were redeemed by the love of a beautiful native woman, married her, and now you've returned to the North to teach your countrymen the art of living. A noble intention, and when you're defeated there, then you should come to Minnesota and try to teach us. Meanwhile, I hope it'll be sunny in Oslo when we arrive in mid-July. I was there once before, on
my birthday about seven years ago, and sat with my wife at an outdoor cafe near the harbor and life seemed utterly delicious.

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Post to the Host:
This letter is not in anyway made to reprimand PHC but i feel that so many entertainers these days take cheap shots at the current presidential administration. I believe in freedom of speech 100% but there is a time and a place for it. Whether in the spotlight or on the airwaves you all are a role model to people of all ages. If we as Americans cannot respect our own government how can we teach our children and people of other countries to do so as well?

Celina T.
Jesup, GA

Thank you, Ms. T., for your endorsement of free speech and I have to agree with your last sentence 100%. If we cannot respect our own government, then how can we teach our children to? Well put.

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Post to the Host:
This past Saturday's performance was the best in a long time. My family and I were heading out to dinner and I heard a voice on the Guy Noir episode and I told them, "I swear that is Martin Sheen." They kept telling me no it's not, but I kept persisting YES it is. So we pull up into the restaraunt and lo and behold the "Guy Noir" skit ended and you said his name. I was right.

Have a wonderful day,

Christopher J.
Dearborn Heights, MI

The audience at the Greek started to applaud, of course, as Mr. Sheen came out on stage, script in hand, to act in the Noir, and so that might've given it away. But he does have a distinctive voice. As I told him in rehearsal, I wrote the part of Johnny Patina, founder of Celebrity Bus Tours, so as to erase the memory of President Josiah Bartlett, and he thought that was pretty funny. Mr. Sheen is a good guy.

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Dear Mr. Keillor,
This week you shot a groundhog. Every week, it's the same darned thing. You think it's funny to have an animal die in some undignified way. I withdrew support from Hawaii Public Radio when I lived there because of your incessant humor about animal death and cruelty. Now I live in Montana.

I turn the show off as soon as the first animal dies in your monologue. You are a poor second to Jean Shepard if you cannot remedy your habit of killing animals with your humor. I heard you live when you visited Honolulu two or three years ago. I'm glad you refrained from animal jokes then. My wife and I were prepared to go ballistic in the audience.

Jerald C.
Eureka, MT

I have never shot an animal in my life, Mr. C., unlike most of your neighbors there in Montana. People in Lake Wobegon (and Montana) do sometimes shoot animals they consider pests, and that is what the pastor's wife did in the story I told on the show. It wasn't a joke; it was a detail in a story, same as the thunderclouds in the sky and the geese flying overhead honking. If you think that a storyteller should eliminate all violence and cruelty from stories, then you should perhaps address Stephen King or Cormac McCarthy. I do wonder about people who would "go ballistic" in an audience — and it makes me wonder if maybe the days of live radio aren't numbered.

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Dear Mr. Keillor,
A classmate from medical school and I were at the Saturday afternoon Rhubarb Festival show in Lanesboro last weekend. We both agree that it was one of the best days of our lives. There is one problem though, this week we have our microbiology and pharmacology final which is notoriously difficult. Between the rain, being excited for the show, and looking for rhubarb pie in Lanesboro, we didn't get in much studying on Saturday. Do you have any suggestions for last minute study techniques? If something goes awry, do you think you could talk with our professor, please?

Lauren G.
Rochester, MN

Sit down and read what you need to read in the time that you have and then sleep. Sleep is good before you take a big test. You know more than you think you do, as Dr. Spock used to say. It's all up in your head. The Lanesboro show was plagued by power outage, satellite malfunction, rain and distant lightning, but it was all fun, especially when I got to come out and stand in the rain and sing. (Why didn't I do "Singin In The Rain" and go splashing around in that mud puddle near the stage? My daughter's favorite musical, and she was there at the show. Dang it.) Anxiety is counter-productive. Some focused reading, a good walk, a good night's sleep.

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Greetings Mr. Keillor,
My Son Andrew is doing a report on you for his 6th grade Minnesota History Class. Do you have any comments or interesting facts that he could include?

Kim L.
Elk River, Minnesota

I shudder to think of what the verdict a 6th grader might hand down on my checkered career, Kim, but I shudder even more to think of what a 12th grader might say — so let me offer up a few observations. First of all, I am a very lucky man who made the most of a few small skills, and nobody knows this better than I. Neediness has worked well for me: a sort of boyish haplessness won the sympathy of various people over the years who became my colleagues and enablers and supporters, and this made up for an almost complete lack of social skills. I am a bumbler, surrounded by a small army of the competent. But I am persistent, for some unknown reason. The simple fact of my long career is that today, May 31, 2007, as soon as I am done writing this to you, I will turn to writing the show for Saturday, June 2, with even more enthusiasm and delight than I remember feeling in July, 1974, when all of this started. This strikes me as magical. There's no burn-out factor in this job. I was an old man at 32 and now I'm 64 and feel rather buoyant and jazzy. Pure luck. Of course there is also the voice to consider: I am probably the greatest living crooner on live radio today, the heir to Crosby and Sinatra. Me, an English major from Anoka! To have a staggering talent like that is an inspiration to a man. I sang "Til There Was You" to my wife in the shower this morning and when she got out, she had tears in her eyes. I rest my case.

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