Catching Up With Harry Burrus

My guest is Harry Burrus. A few decades ago, Harry went to graduate school at Iowa and was the Head Pro at Racquet Club West in Des Moines. For several years, I covered many of the tennis tournaments he played in and won, among them the Iowa Open. I am pleased to be doing this interview. So, welcome Harry.

Thanks, Ron. This is a real treat. While Iowa was in some respects a lifetime ago, it was a wonderful experience on many levels. It is all vividly there, up-front, on my memory screen. I recall a caption of yours at the Iowa Open after one of my matches: “The Bearded Man with the Booming Serve.” I presently do have a beard, but I am rather certain the serve is no longer “booming.”

First off, I’d like to hear about your poetry since you have a new book called Layers: New & Selected Poems. Maybe, too, touch upon travel and photography since I’ve noticed you utilize both in your writing.

I confess I feel strange talking about my writing. I’m a terrible promoter of my own work—I lack that used-car-salesman gene. However, I’ll try to break out of that mold.

Good. Maybe readers of this blog will buy your book. I think they very well might. Do you have any idea how many copies make a best seller in poetry?

I’m not really sure. I think around 2,000 copies. Maybe a few more.

That just might happen.

That would be incredible. I could use the help. I’m pleased that Karl Orend of Alyscamps Press Paris brought out the collection.

How can one order the book?

From one’s bookstore or directly from Amazon, which would be the easiest and quickest way. Go here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0615630456/ref=rdr_ext_tmb

When did your writing begin?

In elementary school I wrote some short fiction pieces, usually two to five pages, mostly about the pioneers moving west, finding and setting up a homestead, and dealing with the hardships of making a go of it.

I started writing poetry my sophomore year in high school, although I didn’t particularly think of it as poetry. I was making observations and recording thoughts and experiences. In the classroom, I was introduced to Shakespeare, Chaucer, Emerson, and Longfellow, the usual suspects and, really, I was disenchanted with them, largely because their work didn’t touch me. I can’t say I was moved by any of it. I would have liked something more contemporary, using conversational language rather than archaic English. That didn’t happen until later. I think if high school students were first introduced to contemporary poets, they would have a more favorable disposition towards poetry.

LAYERS: New & Selected Poems covers poems from high school through this decade. Poems are from seven previous collections and poems that appeared in European publications, plus new poems.

I recognized early on that images convey meaning and action. If presented well, readers will respond emotionally and intellectually. I prefer using images to symbols. Images are open-ended. They can inflate, exfoliate, and be in motion—symbols tend to be static and fixed.

Layers presents a range of subject matter and a variety of styles. Here are three poems for a taste:

Lyrics Chiseled by a Florentine

I guide my gondola

under Rialto bridge,

singing unrequited love songs.

Shutters are thrown open,

merchants abandon their shops,

leaving customers who want prosciutto.

Fish, learned in such matters,

swim on each side of me,

casting cold stares.

But my voice grows stronger;

my lyrics give hope to those hospitalized

and mesmerize chestnut vendors

who burn their hands and fruit.

The bells of the Campanile

ring out, greeting me.

I pass the Gritti Palace

while a mariachi band plays

“O Solo Mio.”

It was like this in Cairo,

where on a clear, starless night,

I sang to the Sphinx

and answered all of its questions,

permitting it to lick my hand.

Camels from all over Egypt

left their masters

and came to the pyramids

to hear my song,

seeking a cure for their thirst.

One Way to Say Good-bye

It was seven-thirty on a Sunday morning

in June, my father’s second life

beginning, my mother’s too,

though she didn’t want to admit it.

My sister and her husband, still in bed,

heard Mom pleading in the family room.

“Can’t we talk about this? Please . . .

whatever it is, we can work it out.

You can’t just leave. I beg you.”

“There’s nothing to work out.

I’m sorry. I’ve made up my mind.

I’m going.”

“Talk to me at least. Please.

Don’t go. We can do something.

Tell me, what it is, what’s wrong?

Don’t throw thirty-one years away.

If it’s something with me . . . talk

about it, tell me, I’m willing

to change. Anything.”

“You’ll need to go in and sign

the papers. There’s nothing more

to say or discuss.

I don’t love you. I’m leaving.”

The night before, they’d fixed popcorn

and looked at family slides:

Mom on the swivel bar stool

next to Dad,

Lei Lane and Gene on the hardwood floor,

looking up at the portable memory

screen—

laughing at the changes,

mostly, each at his own,

discussing, recalling the trips,

like the one to the petrified forest,

which was a major disappointment,

seeing rocks two to four inches high,

hardly a tall forest frozen in time.

Many events were almost forgotten—

fading as the blue Ektachromes

flashing before them.

No one had noticed or thought

anything of the neat little stacks

Dad was making, separating the pictures,

placing some in a different box

from the others.

The morning sun burned strong

and hot when he drove away,

like the fire he’d left

sizzling inside 501 Hillside Drive.

The brown Plymouth Scamp pulled

a small U-Haul,

packed with a few clothes . . .

the racket stringing machine,

and a small box of Ektachromes.

And on a lighter note:

Agreement

I don’t want

from you

what others

have had

or what you

have given them.

I offer you

my visions,

my humor, and

a willingness

to always go

for ice cream.

What has been the reaction to the collection? How have the reviews been?

I’m pleased to say the reviews have been very favorable. Extremely positive. I particularly liked one because it was from someone who doesn’t normally read poetry and he said he never in his life had read a poetry book from cover to cover. A first for him. His last two sentences were comforting—he got it: “Bottom line: You don't have to be a poetry jock to enjoy this book. There is something here for everyone.”

Where do you get your ideas for poems? Plays, too. Really, for any of your writing. How do ideas come to you?

I find that ideas emerge from the completed poem or play, or screenplay, not the other way around. I may have an image in mind that I want to explore. Sometimes it’s a locale that I want to incorporate into something. Maybe I’ll create some kind of situation and take it from there. The important thing is to begin. To start. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know where I’m going. Actually, I like that. The essential thing is I am looking for something and the quest becomes more of an adventure. When you are curious you make discoveries. With curiosity, you become involved.

I may begin with a line from a snippet of conversation. Or, a descriptive phrase or I might just make a statement. The piece builds largely by associations and aggregation. I periodically read through old notebooks and extract material from there. When traveling, I keep a journal and entries often serve as a foundation for a poem or another piece of writing. However, merely because I begin with something doesn’t mean I keep it. I may not. Nevertheless, it serves a purpose. It got the juices going.

Another thing I’ve always done is observe others. When I was actively engaged with tennis and saw a neat move or a nifty combination of shots made by a player, I’d figure out a way to incorporate the move or shots into my game, utilizing what I have. Making it my own. I do the same thing with photography, writing, and film. I’m particularly drawn to how time is handled and the various ways I can deal with it. Jean-Luc Godard, the French filmmaker, once stated that a film has a beginning, a middle, and an end, but not necessarily in that order.

Travel has been beneficial because I get a portal into how other cultures live. It strikes me it’s difficult, perhaps impossible, to have any sense of universality unless one engages other countries, particularly non-occidental ones.

Dougga, Tunisia

I sometimes use photographs as springboards—to get me going. I get curious and wonder what words might evolve. I’ll look at the image and begin to write. Here is a poem that evolved from a photograph I took in Chiapas:

Gypsy Girl

(Across from the Plaza of La Caridad Church

San Cristóbal de las Casas)

She wears a rose-colored dress

covered by a lime green apron.

She leans against the brown and white

sun-bleached wall of Tres Estrellas restaurant,

eating an ear of grilled corn sprinkled with paprika

and chili powder.

Her bare feet are hard, dry, and cracked.

She uses a turquoise rebozo wrapped around

her head for a turban.

Multiple eye-of-the-tiger spheres dangle

from her earlobes.

She looks as though she’s from one of the caves

of the Sierra Nevada foothills near Granada,

but this ten year old Indian lives in Zinacatán,

a village in the Chiapan highlands, and speaks

Tzotzil with Spanish as a second language.

Near the curb, a few feet away, her mother and four

sisters sit in the back of a canvas-covered truck

eating their elote on a stick.

When she finishes the treat,

this gypsy will return with her mother and sisters

to her village and make more pulseras to sell

in San Cristóbal without ever thinking of Spain.

Tell us a little about your early years and where you grew up.

My first couple of years found me in Texas: Lubbock, San Antonio, and Fort Worth. My sister, parents, and grandparents were all born in Texas. For three years, we lived in New York while my father was working on his doctorate at Columbia and playing pro football. He’d been drafted by the Chicago Bears but declined because he wanted to pursue an advanced degree. When he finished Columbia, we moved to St. Louis (Webster Groves) where my father was a professor at Washington University. I was five.

In addition to tennis what other sports were you involved in?

Ping-pong and swimming were my first. My sister’s too. Ping-pong was a good way to learn the various spins that would be applicable in tennis. I remember my father putting two quarters down and saying that my sister and I could each have a quarter if we swam the width of the Washington U pool. You should have seen my sister’s flutter kick. The next challenge was swimming the length of the pool underwater. For several summers, I swam on the Webster Groves swimming team. Lei Lane (my sister) did too and she was never without her box of sugar cubes. My best event was the breaststroke.

Lei Lane and Harry

Forehand Photo Shoot

Cub Scout softball was next. I was into it. I was the pitcher. After that, I played one season on a baseball team sponsored by Yorkshire Hardware. Also played a little corkball. I encountered basketball in seventh grade and really worked at it. My father put a basket, regulation height, on the overhang of our backyard door and enlarged the patio. I practiced shooting for hours. We had a good ninth grade team coached by Al Burr. Towards the end of the season, Dale Dierberg and I were moved up to the varsity which was cool. Dale and I had a standard agreement: if I had the ball and couldn’t get a shot off, I’d pass it to Dale, and vice versa. So, the last game of the season, I passed it to Dale and he sank it from just inside the head of the key. Dale was our playmaker the next three years and I was the leading scorer of the Parkway Colts my junior and senior years.

Two other sports I enjoyed and played a lot when I was in Fairfield the fall before I started Iowa were volleyball and badminton. Played a lot of badminton, an amazingly fast sport. We had a squash court in Racquet Club West and I played several times. For a couple of years, in the late 70s, I was a serious dart shooter and entered a number of money tournaments.

When did you first come to Iowa or become aware of Iowa?

I clearly recall the moment I was introduced to Iowa. I was playing in a 15 & Under tournament in Forest Park, later the site of the Dwight Davis Tennis Center. Several of us were waiting for our matches and I was in a conversation with Tom Maxiener. He casually mentioned playing a tournament in Iowa and that a Richard Friedman was doing particularly well. A tournament in Iowa—geez, Iowa sounded so mysterious and intriguing to 13-year-old me, conjuring up Indian names like Keokuk, Ioway, and Ottumwa. Ironically, a short time later, I played doubles with Richard Friedman of Des Moines and my last year in the juniors I played with Bob Stock of Grundy Center. We were number ten in the country that year. I learned about a tournament in southeast Iowa and every September, all through high school and some years after, I’d drive the 210 miles up Highway 61, snaking along the Mississippi, passing through Mark Twain country, and play the Burlington event.

You know talking about times past is rather bizarre to me. When I was a young teen, reading about writers and artists who would regularly meet in a bistro and discuss events that happened 40 and 50 years ago, I thought it was amazing they could do that—so much time had passed for them and they had these stories they could share. Well, we can easily do that now. When Megan (my wife) and I are traveling and having a good time, she’ll ask about the time we have left on the trip and usually I say we have more in front of us than behind us. Which is good. Reviewing all of this, I have reached the point in life where there is more time behind me than I have in front of me—at least as far as years are concerned. Yikes! I’d better get busy. So much to accomplish. Luis Buñuel, the great Spanish filmmaker said, “Memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all.”

Another foreshadowing event for Iowa was the 1964 Missouri Valley Doubles Championships. I was playing with Bill Heinbecker, a St. Louisian who had played for Notre Dame, and in the semis we played Steve Wilkinson, who played number one for Iowa, and Lance Lumsden who was Jamaica’s top player and the number one at SIU Carbondale. Steve and I talked a little about Iowa. In the finals, Bill and I defeated Gene Land and Bob McKenna. At that time, little did I know I’d be going to grad school at Iowa, living in Des Moines, and playing a variety of Iowa tournaments.

Thinking about Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. . . that was another tournament I played as a teen—about a two-hour drive south. Dick Lefevre was the tennis coach from 1955-1993 and had been a classmate of my father’s at Columbia, the only classmate of my dad’s I ever met. Dick had a real knack for recruiting foreign players. The Sprengelmeyers of Dubuque had an outstanding record there. I always got a kick at tournaments seeing the four Sprengelmeyer brothers pulling themselves out of a VW ready to play.

In the mid-sixties, Washington University played Iowa and I got to see my friend Arden Stokstad whom I’d met years earlier at the Burlington tournament. Arden and I had won our respective state high school singles the same year. I think playing on the fast, slick, wooden boards of the WU Field House proved too much for the Iowa team.

The summer of 1966 my parents moved to Fairfield where they taught at Parsons College. My father had turned 45 and was eagerly looking forward to playing senior division events. I visited often and enjoyed Fairfield’s small town ambiance. It didn’t take long to walk the square and visit the various shops.

After Washington University, I taught English at a Prep School in Cheshire, CT for a year and played a number of New England tournaments which was a different scene from Missouri Valley tournaments. For three summers, 1966-68, I taught tennis at the New England Tennis Camp which used the Cheshire Academy facilities. After Cheshire, my plan was to attend Pasadena Playhouse and pursue acting. I had been accepted but, to my surprise, the school suddenly closed in 1969, which actually turned out to be a good thing for me.

I applied to grad school at Iowa and began classes in early 1970. I knew Don Klotz, the Iowa coach from '48 to '68, from previous tournaments and Mike Schrier, who had a terrific smile and played on the Iowa team, had told me about John Winnie, who had followed Klotz as coach. Mike knew I was interested in cinema and mentioned Winnie’s special area was documentary film. Mike was getting ready to go to Spain and was going to take his car over. I haven’t seen Mike since. I need to track him down. I also had encountered Sam Becker and his son at tournaments. Sam was the chair of the Speech and Dramatic Arts department. Klotz, Winnie, and Becker, each very different, were fine gentlemen. It was a pleasure knowing them.

July of 1970, I’d had one semester at Iowa and my father and I played the Ottumwa Open tournament. It was incredibly windy and abnormally chilly. I won the men’s singles defeating Bill Rompf and won the doubles with Paul Peschel who played number one for Parsons. My father won the veterans, which in this case was the 35s, defeating Dick Judisch of Bettendorf and the two of them won the 35 doubles. The Ottumwa Courier had a nice piece on us with the title A Family Affair.

Talking about doubles, at what point did you and your father start playing national Father & Son tournaments?

I had suggested to my father that we try some national tournaments and for several years he resisted. I pointed out, trying to appeal to his competitive nature, that we had done well playing doubles in the Men’s division in the St. Louis District and had been the top Father & Son team in the Missouri Valley section. We needed to move up and challenge ourselves.

Finally, he relented and we journeyed to Philadelphia and played the grass at the Germantown Cricket Club—Bill Tilden’s early base. This was our first time on grass. We always relied on our speed to chase down lobs and the first lob that went over our heads I casually said I had it, thinking I had plenty of time, and ran back to get it. Well, I hadn’t counted on the ball bouncing just a few inches and I didn’t get to it in time. From then on, we made a point of taking the lobs in the air, hitting an overhead or running back a lot faster.

We had a good first national tournament, reaching the semis. In the quarters, we played Bobby Riggs and his son Larry. We won the first set 6-0. At the net Bobby whispered, “You shouldn’t beat people 6-0.” Riggs, always the hustler. I recalled Jack Kramer, three years younger than Riggs, writing that in their teens Riggs always tried to beat him love and love. We won the second set 6-1.

Our first big win was in Rhode Island at the Agawam Hunt Club. We defeated the number one team in the country: Chauncey & Chum Steele. This was on grass and these courts were really soft and the ball didn’t bounce high at all. We also did well at Longwood Cricket Club in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, which was also on grass. In a big match in the quarters, I was serving, and it was add out and my father, who never poached, moved to his left, cutting off the cross court return, and executed a beautiful backhand volley winner down the middle. After that move, we ran out the set and the match.

We were fortunate and tended to always reach the semis or finals. Other tournaments where we did well were the clays in Cincinnati and the clays at the Homestead Club in Hot Springs, Virginia. Our highest ranking was number 2 in the country. My dad always played well and, if I had raised my game in some key matches, we would have had a good shot at being number one.

THE LAST FATHER & SON TOURNAMENT

Do you think that being at Iowa helped your game?

Absolutely. Working with the Iowa tennis team nearly every day for two years really sharpened and elevated my play. It was intense, consistent practice, with a variety of good players.

An example is the 1971 Midwest Indoors in Chicago held at Alan Swartz’s Midtown Tennis Club. Huge draw. 128. A lot of strong players. I was fifth or sixth seed. I played Steve Wilkinsen in the finals and I didn’t drop a set the entire tournament. That tournament was song driven. By that I mean when I first walked into the club, Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” was playing. I looked at the 64 draw on the table and didn’t see my name. Hmm. I asked to see the other half and the woman slid over the second half of the draw. When I went to lunch, dinner, or breakfast at different places, over several days, that song was playing. I took it as an omen—I knew I was going to win the tournament.

Another example of how playing with the Iowa team helped my game was the Fairfield Memorial Day Open. Several Iowa players were in it as well as Jim Watson. I played Trey Waltke of St. Louis and Los Angeles in the finals. Trey has wins over Stan Smith, McEnroe, and Conners. We are in the third set. I’m up 6-3 in the seven-point tiebreak. I have three match points. All I had to do is win one point. I have three chances to win one point. Well, Trey wins 3 straight points to even the score at 6 all. We go back and forth and he finally wins two points in row. Ugh!

One day I was hitting with Ian Phillips and a nice-looking brunette came over to my side of the court and asked if I’d be willing to hit with Galway Kinnell. Kinnell was a visiting poet. I was aware of Kinnell’s poetry. I was curious about him and his tennis, so I was agreeable. We set up a time. Galway liked to hit the ball hard. After we hit, we discussed his poem “The Bear.”

Who were some of the players on the Iowa team then?

Jim Esser, Craig Sandvig, Bruce Nagel, Lee Wright, Steve Houghton, Rod Kubat, Ian Phillips, and Rob Griswold. They were a great group of guys and it was enjoyable being with them.

How did you do with them?

I never lost a set.

Have you had any contact or interaction with any of the team members?

I saw Bruce Nagel frequently when he was teaching in Des Moines during the mid 70s. We played several tournaments together. Currently, he’s Director of Tennis at a club in Hawaii. I saw Ian Phillips a number of times in Houston in the late 70s and early 80s. I’ve communicated with Rob Griswold who was the history chair at OU for 16 years. I believe he’s focusing on teaching and research now. I’ve exchanged e-mails with Craig Sandvig who is involved with a tennis club in St. Louis. A while back, I learned that Lee Wright was at a club in Houston and I called him.

You must have numerous trophy cases, perhaps a trophy room.

Nope. They just take up space and attract dust. I donated the trophies, bowls, and cups to friends who were running tournaments. The silver trays I gave to a neighbor who was starting a café. Unfortunately, he wasn’t successful. I have no idea where those trays are now. I kept the first trophy I won. The Webster Groves Jaycee Boys Winner.

What is the story behind you being the pro at Racquet Club West in Des Moines? How did that come about?

I was teaching film and creative writing in Galesburg, Illinois and Jim Burns, originally of St. Joseph, a friend from Missouri tournaments contacted me. Jim was pursuing his doctorate in history and also teaching tennis at a club. He suggested I would probably do better financially teaching tennis than being in academics. Serendipitously, a short time later, I was contacted by several Missouri Valley clubs who were looking for a head pro. These search committees knew me from Iowa and Missouri Valley tennis.

I checked a few of the clubs out. I knew some of the people in Des Moines, liked their attitude, and decided to accept their offer. Jim Watson, another player I knew from tournaments, was the pro at Racquet Club South which was the sister club of the new Racquet Club West. Jim and I won the Nebraska Open and we’d played a tournament in San Luis Potosí, Mexico. When Watson left I was pleased to see Jim Burns become the pro at South. Jim’s a fine player and teacher and presently teaches at a club in Phoenix. He’s also an excellent bird photographer. In the finals of the National Public Parks doubles, we were in the third set, playing the seven-point tiebreak, I was serving at match point and double faulted. Jim nonchalantly turned and gave me an expressionless look.

On several occasions, I played some fun mixed doubles against Governor Ray. I also won the Iowa Kodel Cup Mixed Doubles twice. Sue Oertel was one of my partners. Sue had a good-looking game. I suspect she still does.

I had a wonderful four years in Des Moines and had the pleasure of knowing some great people. Some names readily surface: Ruth & Paul, Harriet, Scotty, Jack Ver Steeg, Florence & Glenn, Arden & Robyn, Linda, Jim, PE, Howdy, Roger, Roberta, the Knapps, Murphys, Swartzes, and the Hulls. I am now older than those people were when I knew them—holy smokes!

Let’s shift gears and move into your other pursuits. I’d like to broach each of them, which are many, and maybe take one or two at a time.

Okay.

I really enjoy hearing about how you go about creating a specific form. Were there periods where you were writing poetry more than anything else? You know, if you want, just roll from one area into another. I want to hear about all of it.

Okay, I can do that. The 80s through the 90s were an intense, fertile poetic and photographic period. Travel, too, was an ongoing exploration. For me, a different environment provokes and serves as a stimulus, igniting the writing. Although, usually it isn’t about the present, that comes later. What’s strange is that the foreign locale acts as a distiller of objectivity, but the looking glass reveals something from the past.

Early on, I usually took several camera bodies with different lenses and different film stocks (color and black & white). Wearing three cameras through the narrow souks of a medina sometimes was a little touchy. Eventually, I became more minimalistic, taking only one Nikon (versus 3) and a small camera as backup. However, the truth is one will do just fine. Many trips I used one camera. Certainly when it comes to weight and mobility and climbing over ruins and sand dunes, less is more.

Pacific Coast, Mexico

Market day in Sololá, Guatemala

I’m big on clippings from brochures, maps, restaurant menus, hotel and theatre receipts, napkins, matches, newspapers, ticket stubs, etc. I often go into hotels, ask about their prices and pick up stationery. Saves money, plus, I didn’t have to pack any. All fodder for writing and art projects.

Festival of the Sahara

                                            Megan and the Gargoyles

In the early 90s, I became immersed in a number of areas: visual poetry, painting, fiction, mail art, screenplays, rubber stamps, and collage. I had never encountered visual poetry in college or graduate school. Had not heard of the term “vispo.” I first saw some visual poetry in the Italian publication Offerta Speciale. I was familiar with Apollinaire’s Calligrammes and Mallarmé’s positioning of words on a page where their placement underscored a specific meaning. Essentially, visual poetry needs to be seen, it can’t just be read to you. It may utilize numbers, math equations, letters, words, colors, images, or just have the words and letters arranged in a specific way. I have five visual poetry poems in Layers. Here is an example:

About the same time that I became aware of visual poetry, I discovered the mail art network. Many artists were disenchanted with the gallery-juried system and were tired of what they viewed as an elitist structure. With mail art, artists shared their work—be it drawings, collage, photographs, or painting with one another—through the mail. Artists in various countries would announce an exhibition, sometimes called a “congress,” and invite artists to submit their work. Usually the work was exhibited in a gallery, rental space, a bar, on a wall, in a museum, or even in someone’s home. I participated in a number of these events.

After thinking about it for several years, I decided to do a literary—art publication featuring visual poetry, poetry, collage, drawings, and photography. I called it O!!Zone. I wanted to see how quickly I could make it an international publication. Many people in the mail art network became contributors. Within three years, it came to be considered one of the best and most influential international publications for visual poetry and the literary arts. I loved going to my mailbox and finding work from Russia, Cuba, Europe, and South American. It was wonderful stuff. My correspondence was huge.

2001 O!!Zone cover by Russian artist Dmitry Babenko

I really jumped into making collages. I used photographs, markers, and rubber stamps. I painted using acrylics and watercolors. I drew and applied choice clippings from various print sources. I liked that it could be a continuous, unending activity. I used the envelopes from O!!Zone contributors as my canvas / backdrop for a series called Oaxaca Stelae. Pátzcuaro Glyphs is a series using postcards as the canvas. Another series is called Tanganyika Petals.

The spring of 1994, Megan and I, my sister and her husband, and my father’s brother journeyed to Winter Haven, Florida to visit my father. Lei Lane and Gene (her husband) had arrived first. My sister placed a rubber stamp of a deep sea diver she had picked up in St. Augustine under my motel room pillow. I had no idea that she was using rubber stamps in collages and that she, too, was learning about the Maya and reading about how to decipher glyphs. We were both pleasantly surprised. Strange coincidence. We each continued acquiring and using rubber stamps. Lei’s work appeared on two covers of RUBBERSTAMPMADNESS: The Magazine For Stamp Artists and Collectors.

A few of my rubber stamps

 Oaxaca Stelae #82

 

 Pátzcuaro Glyphs #8

                                             Tanganyika Petals #22

When I was doing darkroom work, I often had to do two or three trial prints before I was satisfied with a final print. I had all of these test prints and wondered what I could do with them. I decided to use them as a canvas and painted on them, primarily using acrylics. Sometimes, I would incorporate the black and white image into the new piece; other times, I might use just a small part of the image in the new work. And sometimes, I didn’t use the photographic image at all and painted all over it.

                             Fanning Thought    (Acrylic on Black & White Print)
                               

Primordial Question (Acrylic and Paper on B & W Print)

            
                                    Parade of the Crazies (Watercolor)

In early '92, I did a 1,000-page first draft of The Hummingbird Wizard. That summer while we were in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Megan proofed the novel. I let it sit for a long time and then began tweaking it. I put it away again. I am now going to alter the structure, supplement the story, focusing on additional characters, and do some pruning. I’m glad now that I didn’t send it out as originally written. Although, I did write a few queries, looking to generate interest.

In 1992 I wrote my first screenplay, The Immortal. Over the next 14 years I wrote 12 more. During the height of Julia Roberts’ popularity, I sent her company my script The Housewife. Amazingly, I heard back from them and they needed me to sign a release. I did. They said they would get back to me in a few weeks. I wondered. Well, I received a phone call and when I heard her assistant’s words that Julia really liked the script and saw herself in the part, I was soaring. Then the proverbial shoe fell and my moment of exhilaration came spiraling down. Unfortunately, Julia “must decline,” I was told. She had played a housewife who had a serious problem with her husband in Sleeping with the Enemy. Even though the scripts were very different, she didn’t want to play another housewife with a husband who is trying to kill her. Bummer!

A few years later, I wrote, produced, and directed the feature Marrakech. Megan was executive producer. It was a wonderful and rewarding experience. I’d like to do another film. I certainly have enough material, but films are bloody expensive and take huge time bites out of your life. Raising money is not a pleasant task. I’d like to work with John Darbonne again. He shot and edited Marrakech. John is a consummate filmmaker—he can do it all. Maybe, I should write a no-cost feature. I will continue to send out queries to production companies and studios. However, getting something accepted is such a long shot, in part, because they have their own coterie of writers. I also don’t have an agent and most companies insist a recognized agent submit the script. Maybe I will get lucky.

One afternoon in 2007, I found myself sitting on our rooftop terrace and I began writing a play. That play was Aztec Daughter which was performed in California, Pennsylvania. More plays rapidly followed. Prom King & the Fiancée and The Letter have had readings. Presently, I’m working on Wade Cooper: Action Cowboy Star. I am considering directing three of the one-acts as a triptych. I am submitting plays to theatres. Unfortunately, many of them insist on agent submissions or a known theatre person endorsing me.

That has to be frustrating.

It is. And it gets old. Still, you go after it. There is a Octavio Paz quote that I believe is applicable to me: “Beyond myself, somewhere, I wait for my arrival.”

I’m curious; I’m guessing that in addition to your ongoing projects you have some new pursuits. Do you?

Yes. A couple of things. I’ve become very keen on reading about Route 66. For many years, primarily at Christmas, our family would make the journey from St. Louis to Lubbock to visit my paternal grandparents. I eagerly looked forward to the trip. My grandparents owned a neighborhood food store—Burrus Grocery. Early on, the drive utilized Route 66 to Amarillo. We’d then head south on 87 to Lubbock. 87 is now 27. I’ve been recalling the little towns we passed through and places we stopped to eat and where we’d spend the night. I’ve strained to rewind and see them in my mind’s eye. One book I particularly like has photos of how places originally looked 60 or more years ago and what they look like now. Most places that were once vibrant are now either a ruin or an empty space. One thing I found annoying is when I would be reading about these small towns and I’d go to look them up on a current AAA or Rand McNally map only to discover most are no longer listed. Primarily because the interstate passed them by decades ago and those cities are barely there or just ghost towns. So, I began looking on eBay. I needed a vintage map, one that reflected the Route 66 landscape. For a while nothing was listed. I then saw a 1949 Rand McNally. Perfect. I pounced. It is a little worn and has some loose pages and the staples are rusted, but . . . the towns are all there! The simple pleasures.

What I find striking is while the interstate clearly is more direct and saves time, visually and culturally, it’s lacking. Gone are the motels, gas stations, diners, and curio shops with character, instead, replaced with more homogenization—a sameness that engulfs us—Pablum.

I’ve always had an appreciation for the moment—I wish I’d known more of the backstory of what brought me to that moment. I am much more aware now of how certain places, relationships, and situations have a limited shelf life, much of it being inevitable. There was a time this never crossed my mind. Not once when we made the trek to Lubbock did I consider Burrus Grocery would not be around. In '82, '84, and '87, Megan and I went to Lubbock to spend time with my grandmother. In 1982 the closed store was still standing and “Burrus” could be made out on the upper front wall. Shortly thereafter, the area became apartments.

While I think of myself as one who is curious about a number of things, I regret that I did not ask my parents about their early years as preteens and what their lives were like as teenagers and even about those early years when Lei Lane and I arrived. Nor did I ask my parents about their relationships with their parents. Later, when I was more aware, I still didn’t pose these questions, in part, because I thought I had plenty of time to do so. But sometimes the sand in the hourglass falls at an accelerated rate and puff, time is up, and the opportunity is lost. Gone forever. Game over. What I’ve learned is if there are people you are truly curious about and would like to know more about them, don’t put off asking questions . . . their shelf life might expire sooner than you think. Be a cobra and strike now.

Many of the people that I knew in Iowa have died. A little while ago, I was curious about certain ones and I tried to look them up. I found several by searching their names in conjunction with obits. Reading about them I wish I’d known them better. One example is Dick Judisch, my father’s Iowa doubles partner. During World War II, he served in the North African campaign under Patton. I’m sure he had plenty of interesting stories.

The other thing that has happened to my life is Molly. A Golden Retriever we adopted from a rescue organization in 2004. To say she has enriched our lives is an understatement. What is remarkable is we were not dog people. A little over two years ago, Megan read an article in the local paper about a dog named Donald who was at the local animal shelter. Megan suggested we start volunteering to walk dogs at the shelter one time a week for an hour. I said there was no way I could commit to an hour a week—I had too many projects I wanted to complete. Well, straightaway, we were hooked. We walk dogs three hours a day, 7 days a week. I take photos and videos of Megan with the dogs for the shelter’s website. We write articles for the paper. We are now on the shelter’s board and are heavily involved in running the operation. And, the big kicker is, I never anticipated I’d be so smitten with these animals, so emotionally tethered to them. They are so cool. I realize the big picture is getting them adopted; however, I have a real problem with dealing with seeing them go. I miss them.

What is the best way for people to keep up with what you are doing?

Go to my website. It has information about all of my work: synopses of plays and screenplays, examples of collages and photographs, as well as a clip from Marrakech. There is also contact information.

https://sites.google.com/site/hburrus/

And if someone wants to order Layers?

Go to http://www.amazon.com/dp/0615630456/ref=rdr_ext_tmb

Molly and Harry

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RON MALY'S COMMENTS: I headlined this column Catching Up With Harry Burrus. Why?     Because catching up with the newest adventure of this man of many talents is sometimes a challenge. It was a pleasure to have this prolific writer and artist take the time to give me and my readers an update on his always-exciting life. Among professional writers in the state of Iowa, I have become known as the man who has perhaps traveled to more exotic places in the world than any other.  Sometimes it's mind-boggling when I think of all the places I have been. And I'm always on the lookout for more far-away travels.  And Harry Burrus? Well, he's certainly right up there with the biggest boys of world travel.  He's been there and he's done that. As Burrus mentioned, he and I first crossed paths many years ago during my newspaper days.  I was always the guy who was assigned to write about the tennis tournaments and the people who played in them. I liked every minute of it. Well, almost every minute. Competitive tennis--at least the type in which Harry Burrus participated-- is a very difficult game to play, and it is a sport made up of some very intelligent, complex men and women. I enjoyed finding out what made them tick. I regarded Harry Burrus as certainly one of the most interesting of all those players. Perhaps the most interesting. I had forgotten that I once referred to him as The Bearded Man With the Booming Serve, but I'm glad he reminded me I did.  If anyone--beards and booming serves included--who played in the tennis tournaments throughout the state of Iowa has as many diverse talents as Harry Burrus,  I don't know who it is.  Burrus has been sending me his well-written books for years, and I have thoroughly enjoyed all of them. But I had no concept until now of the many things he has accomplished in his professional career. You name it, Harry Burrus has done it, or can do it,  And he does it all exceedingly well. Again, thanks very much, Harry, for taking the time to inform us about yourself.  I wish you continued success in the future with all of your endeavors.