Poem November 2025

POEM

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November 2025

Why I Bought the Economy Size

Because she was not pretty,

her overbite designed to rip prey,

canines sharp as javelins, slight

lisp. Because she could stand

to lose a few pounds, and wore

a flowing flora, and a gray cardigan

strained across her chest. Because

she smiled when she talked, her voice

soft as a mother soothing a fussy child;

because she suggested the best bargain

but did not insist, just gently opened

the jar, offered it like a sacrament,

invited me to dip my finger into the cool

face cream, gently imploring, try it;

because I needed moisturizer, and she

needed that job, I bought the large size,

thanked her for the free gift, samples

wrapped in tissue paper and tucked

inside a pink pouch, the color of her dress.

— Pat Riviere-Seel

Focus on Food

FOCUS ON FOOD

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Thanksgiving to Scale

Cornish game hens for two

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

Far be it for me to suggest you have anything but turkey for Thanksgiving. Tradition is tradition. But for practical purposes, those big ol’ birds may not be the perfect solution for every household across the land — especially those who celebrate in a more intimate setting or by their lonesome.

Take my family, for instance: There’s Mom, Dad, and a 7-year-old picky eater. If just the three of us opted to celebrate at home, even the smallest gobbler would produce days’ and days’ worth of leftovers. And, quite frankly, we don’t love turkey enough to have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner for an entire week.

Case in point: In 2024 my mom came to visit from Germany, where this very American holiday isn’t celebrated. To give her the complete experience of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, we bagged the smallest turkey we could find and roasted it in the oven, along with all the usual fixings. The meal was spectacular but in the days that followed, we grew increasingly tired of coming up with ideas on how to use up the leftovers.

Passing on turkey does not mean you have to be content with ordinary, everyday fare on the last Thursday in November. Quite the opposite. While turkey is special, so are Cornish game hens — for the novelty of having a whole miniature bird on your plate, if nothing else. One bird makes about one portion of meat. Cornish game hens are extraordinarily tender and, contrary to their name, not “gamey” at all.

I’m in good company on Thanksgiving since my husband is as pragmatic about large stuffed birds as I am — as long as the substitute isn’t nut loaf.

Autumn Spiced Cornish Game Hens with Roasted Pears

Ingredients

2 Cornish game hens, fully thawed

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

2 pears

Maple syrup, for drizzling

Balsamic vinegar, for drizzling

(For autumn spice rub)

2 tablespoons smoked paprika

1 tablespoon onion granules

1/2 tablespoon garlic granules

1/2 tablespoon ground coriander

1 teaspoons sea salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Directions

Begin by making the spice rub. Combine all the spices in a small bowl and mix with a fork. Set the Cornish game hens in a roasting pan and remove giblets, if your birds have any inside. Brush a little olive oil on the hens, then massage the spice rub into the skin and all over the birds. Tuck the wings and tie the drums together using butcher’s twine. Bake in the oven on a lower rack at 425F for 50-60 minutes, or until the thickest part of the breast reads 165F. Cooking time will vary depending on the size of your hens. Wash, dry and halve the pears, scoop out cores and drizzle pears with a little maple syrup and balsamic vinegar. Arrange them next to the hens in the roasting pan for the final 20 minutes of cooking. Serve roasted Cornish game hens and pears with roasted potatoes and/or vegetable or any of your favorite side dishes. 

Stage Door

STAGE DOOR

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Love Letters Redux

Duffy and Purl star at BPAC

By Jim Moriarty

When Linda Purl and her real life partner, Patrick Duffy, take to the stage to perform Love Letters, they can be forgiven if there is an occasional, if faint, sense of déjà vu, sharing in their own way both the distance and intimacy of the characters they portray.

Judson Theatre’s production of Love Letters, a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Drama written by A. R. Gurney, takes the main stage at the Bradshaw Performing Arts Center’s Owens Auditorium on Friday Nov. 14, at 7 p.m., with additional shows on Saturday Nov. 15, at 2 p.m. (with a “talkback” session with the actors following), and on Sunday, Nov. 16, at 3 p.m.

The play, first performed in 1988 and debuting both off Broadway and on the following year, is told in the epistolary form. The play’s sole characters, Melissa Gardner and Andrew Makepeace Ladd III, are side by side, seated at tables or standing, reading the notes and letters they have exchanged over five decades living their separate lives. In those intimate communications they tell each other about their dreams and ambitions, their hopes and disappointments. Coincidentally, Love Letters was Judson Theatre’s inaugural play in 2012, starring Tab Hunter and Joyce DeWitt.

Purl and Duffy became a couple via Zoom during the COVID pandemic, mimicking in their own way a shorter, more hi-tech version of Gurney’s characters though, as Purl says, “We’re so different from the characters we play. We first met when we were in our late 20s. We did a reading together. Literally 20 years later we bumped into each other again. And 20 years after that. We had these momentary, ‘Oh, hi. How are you doing? Nice to see you. Great. Great.’ And 20 years would pass and we’d have the same conversation.”

The lockdown changed all that. No one was working, the theater world was closed. Their relationship began in a group text and elevated to a standing date every evening. They even dined together a thousand miles apart until one day Duffy got in his car and drove from Oregon to Colorado. They’ve rarely been apart since.

Love Letters is a bit player in that. They’ve performed it multiple times in a half a dozen or more locations including London, Belfast, Florence and now Pinehurst. This will be the third time Purl — best known for her roles in The Office, Happy Days and Matlock — performs in a Judson Theatre production, having appeared in Joan Didion’s emotional one-woman play The Year of Magical Thinking, and in Jeffrey Hatcher’s comedy Mrs. Mannerly, both in BPAC’s black box McPherson Theater. “It’s become a very special place for me because of the guys who run it, Morgan (Sills) and Dan (Haley),” says Purl.

Each time Duffy and Purl do Love Letters together, it reveals more nuance for them. “It’s really the mark of such a good play,” says Purl. “You think, oh, this time it’s not going to get me, it’s not going to zap me in the heart or stomach, but it does. It seems like a simple play, and it is — and it isn’t.”

Duffy, well-known for his roles as Bobby Ewing in the nighttime soap Dallas and as Frank Lambert in Step by Step, has the same reaction. “The beauty of it is that it takes place over 55-60 years of these peoples’ lives,” he says. “You discover things from when they were 12 that you might not have thought about in rehearsal or the first three or four times you did it. Every time there’s a nice little treat, I would say, in doing the show. It never gets old.”

Does their own experience inform their work in Love Letters? On the margin, perhaps. “When you’re out there, you use everything you can,” says Purl.

“In my mind there’s no specific correlation as I’m doing it,” says Duffy, “but we confess this all the time — every once in a while on stage I’ll look at Linda and she’ll give me one of those looks that cemented the deal over Zoom.”

A Creative Corner

A CREATIVE CORNER

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A Creative Corner

The refurbishing of Lamont Cottage

By Deborah Salomon 
Photographs by John Gessner

A house doesn’t have to be a home. It can evolve into an office, a store, a B&B, a museum. In can even be a serene hideaway for Writers in Residence at the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities.

Lamont Cottage, tucked behind the Boyd homestead and shielded by overgrowth, answers to this role. After decades as a rental property, it has been remodeled, adapted, refurbished and furnished in mid-20th century mode plus AC, Wi-Fi, washer/dryer and a patio.

So where’s the giant wall-mounted, stream-fed TV? Nowhere to be found.

Writers are there to write, not watch the Game of the Week. After days of solitary work, midnight confabs with other writers occupying the four bedrooms (two adapted for mobility issues) carries forth a tradition practiced by James Boyd, when Thomas Wolfe, Sherwood Anderson, F. Scott Fitzgerald and other literary giants of the 1920s Jazz Age stayed for a spell at Weymouth, the sprawling Boyd estate. According to legend, Wolfe arrived in Southern Pines by train late one summer night, walked up the hill to Weymouth, got in through an open window and crashed on a sofa. Whatever the actual details of his visit, Fitzgerald later felt compelled to send Boyd a letter of apology.

Katharine Lamont, barely out of her teens and from an equally wealthy/sporty clan, fell in love with James and built the cottage (originally called The Gatehouse because of its location) for herself, living there until their marriage in 1917. The couple occupied the cottage again in 1922 during the construction of the current Boyd house, and Katharine served as her husband’s secretary/acolyte while he wrote Drums, a hefty volume published in 1925 and touted in its day as the best historical novel of the Revolutionary War. Katharine lived in the cottage one more time, moving back after James’ death, at 50, in 1944.

The literary coterie that flourished in and around Weymouth added glitter to Moore County’s reputation for mild winters, golf and horses. Its artistic dimension was greatly enhanced in 1979 when Sam Ragan, N.C. poet laureate, editor and publisher of The Pilot, and Weymouth board president, instituted the Writers in Residence program. Published North Carolina authors were invited to stay in the house for one or two weeks to work on their projects. Writers had to reside in N.C. or have strong ties to the state.

As vast and charming as the Boyd house is, navigating its stairways presented an accessibility problem. A solution came from the writers themselves, says Glenda Kirby, current board chairman. Why not renovate Lamont Cottage? The possibility was discussed but derailed by COVID.

Tabled but not forgotten. When the subject was broached again in 2024 the entire board agreed. “It was part of our mission,” says Kirby. Funds came from donations and other sources, and the project came in under budget.

The ground floor now has three bedrooms, one accessibility-friendly, with a ramp at the front entrance. Adjustments were made without harming handsome woodwork, heavy paneled doors, moldings, baseboards, mantelpiece and native knotty pine floors that were newly refinished.

Each of the four bedrooms bears the name of a female N.C. Literary Hall of Fame author. A terrace and several porches invite socializing on cool evenings.

Except for the pale yellow kitchen, walls throughout share a soft, calming green. “I selected it to create a sense of serenity,” says Kathryn Talton, one of the muses responsible for planning the cottage renovation, along with Kirby, Katrina Denza, Pat Riviere-Seel and a committee of dedicated volunteers.

Furnishing the house was a challenge, even for a muse. Word got round and donations trickled in, some from the recent renovation of the Carolina hotel lobby do-over. Volunteers scavenged through used furniture outlets in search of hidden gems. Wing chairs were reupholstered. A butter-soft leather settee speaks to a quality lifestyle, as does an enormous sleigh bed and side table/nightstands, some dainty, one with a thick, dark marble top. Quilts are made from flat, small-print fabric, nothing puffy. Donated lamps cop the blue ribbon, especially a classic “trumpet” and a stocky part-porcelain Chinese specimen, one of several nods to Asian décor. The art is spectacular, from landscapes to prints and portraits. Writing niches, some looking out over treetops, have office-friendly tables to accommodate a laptop and source materials.

In Katharine Boyd’s time, kitchens leaned utilitarian. Here, the muses part ways, opting for black appliances (including a dishwasher and oversized fridge), a smooth-top electric stove and a pantry divided into four so each guest can stash his or her coffee and cereal. Pots, dishes, cutlery, of course, for DIY meals. Chatelaines of Katharine Lamont Boyd’s echelon didn’t use sporks and paper plates.

The word “cottage” underestimates this 2,000-plus-square-foot showplace, especially when it comes to its tall, multipaned windows in the sitting room, the shimmering sunlight revealing wavy original glass. No ghosts have as yet been spotted, but writers might watch for a slender lady with big round eyeglasses peering through the wavy panes watching over authors plying their craft.

“Sometimes you can feel Katharine’s presence here,” Riviere-Seel says. “She’s a good spirit.”

Sporting Life

SPORTING LIFE

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Moonstruck

Kicking back at Mattamuskeet

By Tom Bryant

It was as if the good Lord heard we were going to get together for a weekend and decided to make it easy on a pair of outdoor geezers who sometimes, at the ripe old age they’re enduring, bite off a little more than they can chew. It was a duck hunting trip for early migrating teal that drew old friends together for the first time in a while.

We booked a hunt at our favorite waterfowl hunting spot, Mattamuskeet, where when the weather is right and the fall flight is at its peak, the blue wing teal will knock your hat off if you aren’t careful and are leaning just right.

We go back a ways, Bubba and me. We started hunting — duck hunting, that is — when we were still frisky and would climb over any obstacle rather than walk around it just to prove something. Neither of us can remember what we were trying to prove, and besides, who would even care? Experience and age educate, but sometimes they’re harsh teachers.

As usual, I got to the lodge first. Just as I was finishing up hauling groceries to the kitchen, my cellphone began its annoying chirping. It took me a bit to find it, as I had stored the blame thing in a bag between the crunchy bread and tonic water.

“Hey Bubba, where are you?”

“I’m just leaving Little Washington. Should be there a little past dark, if I can keep this thing on the road. I’ve got good news and bad news. Whatcha wanna hear first?”

“Give me whatever first. Most of the time your good news is bad news anyway.”

“I threw my back out this morning hauling a blasted flooded canoe out of the pond. I had to take three or four Advil just so I could drive. There ain’t no way I’m gonna be able to hunt tomorrow. You need to call Willard and tell him. You can hunt. There’s nothing wrong with your back.”

Willard and his father had long been guides on the Pamlico, and we’ve been hunting and fishing with him for years.

“No, man. I’m not gonna hunt without you. Who would listen to my wonderful stories?”

“Yeah, I know. Last time Willard threatened to leave us in the blind after hearing your stories for the 97th time.”

“I’ll call him. You need to come on. I picked up some Rose Bay oysters. I’m gonna start steaming them as soon as I take care of Willard.”

“Hey, now, don’t you eat all of ’em. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Willard was his usual gracious self and said that he would just move our deposit to a later date in the season and not charge us extra. He wanted to go fishing anyway. The blues were running, and if there’s anything Willard likes better than duck hunting, it’s fishing.

We were supposed to have a full moon that evening. “Not good for duck hunting,” Willard would say. “The ducks will move and feed with the light of the moon. You might as well stay home.”

I finished unloading all the groceries and decided to fire up the grill to be ready when Bubba arrived. There’s a swing on the deck under the living area. That’s where the grill is located so everything’s handy. I turned on my battery-powered lantern, lit a couple of candles and put them on the table beside the grill. Then I got the oysters ready to steam when Bubba arrived.

The moon was just beginning to rise from the Pamlico. As usual, it was a spectacular sight. I turned off the lantern, blew out the candles and kicked back in the swing. I’ve never seen two moon rises exactly the same. Each one seems to have its own character. For whatever reason, the most memorable I’ve had the great good fortune to witness have occurred over water.

There was an evening nightfall show I witnessed on Hyco Lake after a day duck hunting. Paddle, my little yellow Lab, and I were in my minuscule duck skiff skimming across the lake at full throttle. We were in a hurry, hoping to get back to the landing before black dark. As I skittered out of the small opening where we had been hunting and turned west, I was staring right into a dazzling sunset. But even more breathtaking was a sensational full moon rising in the east right behind us. Paddle and I were caught between sunset and moonrise, a sight I’ve only witnessed once and may never see again.

I’ve noticed in all my travels across this great country of ours that the moon seems to be different in certain regions. On our first big camping trip, we pulled our compact 19-foot Airstream from Southern Pines to Fairbanks, Alaska. We were gone a little over two months and drove 11,000 miles taking in the scenery, and sunrises and moonrises, along the way. Since we were in Alaska during June and July, when it hardly even gets dark, the moon we saw was just a sliver of a waning moon a time or two, and that was it.

Just the opposite in Montana. They call it the Big Sky Country for a reason. Camped at a little parking lot of a campground right outside Shelby, preparing to enter Canada the next morning, we witnessed a brilliant golden, luminescent moonrise over the horizon. It was so big and seemed so close to the ground, it was as if it we could touch it. I had the strangest feeling that I was witnessing one of God’s great undertakings that was put there just for Linda and me.

I could see the headlights of Bubba’s truck as he wheeled in off the main road and headed down the long drive to the cabin. When he pulled up right behind the lodge, I walked out to help him unload. He was slow getting out of his truck.

“Hey Bubba, how you moving?”

“Slow, son. Mighty slow. My back is giving me a fit. But I plan on fixing it with a good slug of Scotch and some of those oysters you’ve got laid out on that table. Some moon, huh?”

“Yep, a real harvest moon. Come on, I’ll help you unload and we’ll have some libation.”

In no time, we stowed all of Bubba’s gear in the second bedroom, fixed ourselves drinks, and steamed a bunch of oysters, saving some for the second night. Bubba had brought along a couple of deer tenderloin steaks but, full of oysters, we were in no hurry to cook.

We relaxed on the deck under the cabin, Bubba in the swing and me kicked back in a cushioned Adirondack chair. As usual, when we get together, stories and remember-whens dominate the conversation. This night was no different.

“That mule deer hunt we had in Utah featured a moon about like this one, don’t you think?” Bubba pointed up to our bright rising moon that was well into the sky.

“You know, Tom,” he continued softly as if the bright moon discouraged loud noises, “sort of like when we’re duck hunting — you and I have really had some adventures.”

I paused in answering, looking up at the moon.

“Yeah Bubba, that’s the truth, for sure, and I hope we have a few more ahead of us.”

He laughed and said, “Let’s start by grilling those steaks.”

Birdwatch

BIRDWATCH

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The Powerful Fox Sparrow

Large, handsome and hard to spot

Sparrows are a common sight throughout central North Carolina in winter. Historically, eight different species could be found in a day across the Sandhills and Piedmont. The gregarious, prolific and very adaptable house sparrow was added to the mix in the 1800s by early settlers who yearned for a familiar bird from the Western Hemisphere — as well as a means to control insect pests associated with human habitation.

At this time of year, the largest and most handsome of the sparrows is inarguably the fox sparrow. It’s also one of the hardest species to find. Perhaps because of its size and brighter coloration, it is frequently hidden in the vegetation. The fox sparrow is typically over 8 inches in length and very stocky, with bold rufous streaking on its underparts. From the head down the back to the tip of the tail it is a “foxier” reddish in color. Several races of the fox sparrow exist in the U.S. and Canada, with those found farther west being browner all over.

The fox sparrows that we see in winter breed from northern Ontario east to Newfoundland and south into parts of Nova Scotia. They move south in fall and start to appear in North Carolina in October. They seem to flock loosely with other sparrows and finches during the colder months. They prefer habitat that is immediately adjacent to water. Although they eat mainly insects during the summer, in winter seeds and berries tend to make up much of their diet.

More often than not, fox sparrows can be found in expanses of bottomland forest, kicking vegetation and debris for food, though there are lucky backyard birdwatchers who regularly observe them taking advantage of millet and other small seeds under their feeders. During very cold and wet weather, they may move farther into drier areas in search of a meal. I don’t usually see them where I live unless it snows — our predominantly grassy yard is too open to appeal to them. However, we have wet woods with dense tangles of evergreen vegetation not too far away.

Because of their size, fox sparrows are quite strong and capable of uncovering food that is buried deep in the forest floor. They will actually use both feet together to scratch and dig beyond the reach of other small birds. If you are out in wet habitat — or if you check under your feeders after a mid-winter snowfall — you may be treated to a glimpse of one of these handsome and powerful birds.

Sandhills Photo Club

SANDHILLS PHOTO CLUB

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M is for . . .

The Sandhills Photography Club was started in 1983 to provide a means of improving members’ photographic skills and technical knowledge, for the exchange of information, and, by club activity, to develop membership potential and public interest in the art of photography. For meetings and information visit www.sandhillsphotoclub.org.

Tier 3 Winners

Tier 3, 1st Place: Mucho Motivacion by Pat Anderson

Tier 3, 2nd Place:

Marriott Marquis by Donna Ford

Tier 3, 3rd Place:

M is for Murder by Dave Powers

Tier 2 Winners

Tier 2, 1st Place:

The Mane Event by Pam Jensen

Tier 2, 2nd Place:

Multnomah Falls by Donna Sassano

Tier 2, 3rd Place:

M is for Magic Wand by Joshua Simpson

Tier 1 Winners

Tier 1, 1st Place: Maniac on a Motorcycle by Jameson Everett

Tier 1, 2nd Place:
The Measure of our Hands in E Minor by Hilary Koch

Tier 1, 3rd Place:

Mailboxes by Donna Arnold

Tier 1, Honorable Mention:

Mom Making Music by Mary Bonsall

Magical History Tour

MAGICAL HISTORY TOUR

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Magical History Tour

Scavenger Hunt

Photographs by John Gessner & Ted Fitzgerald

How to Play

1. If this scavenger hunt does nothing more than encourage an exploration of the fascinating history of the Sandhills, we’ll consider it a success. You’ll find yourself trekking across the county, though probably not in need of a survival kit — maybe a full tank of gas. Not many of the destinations are one-offs, so may we suggest a bit of pre-planning to avoid a lot of to-ing and fro-ing? It’s the age of GPS, so you’re going to have to work awfully hard to get lost.

2. Note to selfie. We’ll not require you to pose in front of anything specific at these locales. Use your best judgment. Don’t do anything dangerous or illegal. (That’s our official disclaimer.) All we ask is that we can identify you and the place in question. It’s perfectly all right if you want to have your trusty companion take the picture for you. After you’ve documented each stop on the tour upload your photo to our gallery at www.pinestrawmag.com/scavenger. The last chance to submit is midnight Oct. 31.

3. Hail to the victors! If you visit all 14 we’ll salute your accomplishment in PineStraw. Your name will be added to an honor roll that will, undoubtedly, be passed down from generation to generation. Bonfires will be built. Poems will be written. Songs will be sung. There might even be swag. And if you don’t manage them all — or even any of them — but enjoy exploring and learning a little bit along the way, you’ll be a winner in our book.

Thanks for playing!

Bethesda Cemetery

The Old Bethesda Presbyterian Church on Bethesda Road in Aberdeen was founded in 1788 by Highland Scots. The Gothic Revival building, used today mostly for weddings and other special events, was built in 1860 and dedicated in 1862. The congregation, having outgrown Old Bethesda long ago, still meets there once a year in a “homecoming” service on the last Sunday in September. During the Civil War, Sherman’s army camped on the church grounds during its march through North Carolina. The building was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1979. Adjacent to the church is the Bethesda Cemetery, in continual use since the early 1700s. Some of the important historical figures buried there include Aberdeen’s founder, Allison Francis Page (1824-1899), known as the Lumber King, who established the town after buying 14,000 acres of Moore County timberland. The cemetery also contains the tomb of Walter Hines Page (1855-1918), whose journalism career included staff positions at the New York Evening Post and the Atlantic Monthly. He became a partner in Doubleday, Page & Co. publishing a long list of world-class authors, including Rudyard Kipling. During World War I Page was appointed U.S. ambassador to Great Britain by President Woodrow Wilson. Pay your respects.

Our Donald

You can drape your arm around the shoulders of the most prolific golf course architect of the game’s “Golden Age” and grab a sandwich at the same time in the middle of the village of Pinehurst. Raise your hand if you’ve heard all this before: Donald Ross was born in Dornoch, Scotland, in 1872. Encouraged by Harvard astronomy professor Robert W. Willson, he took a job at Oakley Country Club in Massachusetts. In 1900 he was hired by James Walker Tufts to be Pinehurst’s golf professional, where he began his architecture career. Ross is credited with designing over 400 courses. A fine player, he finished eighth in the 1910 British Open and competed in the U.S. Open seven times. His brother Alexander, “Alex,” won the U.S. Open in 1907 at the Philadelphia Cricket Club. The life-sized version of the Ross statue, sculpted by Gretta Bader, is behind the 18th green of his world-renowned No. 2 course, the site of four U.S. Opens with more to come.

Pine Knoll

The majestic Pine Needles Golf Hotel, five stories high with its distinctive Jacobean-Tudor architecture, opened in 1928 and, for an all too brief time, was the “in” place to stay in the Sandhills. The hotel rises behind what was originally the first hole (now the second) of the Donald Ross-designed golf course. The stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing Great Depression forced it to close. Beginning in early 1942, the Army Air Force Technical Training Command was headquartered there. After World War II the hotel was sold to the Catholic Diocese of North Carolina and reopened in 1948 as the St. Joseph of the Pines Hospital. In 1953 Warren and Peggy Kirk Bell, along with their partners Julius Boros and Frank and Masie Cosgrove, bought the golf course. The old hotel now has 86 independent living apartments owned by St. Joseph of the Pines.

SCC Gardens

There’s something in bloom every month of the year at the Horticultural Gardens at Sandhills Community College. Regardless of the season, the grounds are a cornucopia of statuary art among its flowering trees and plants. Kim, created by Gary Price, is a statue of a boy holding a bird. He also did Circle of Peace, pictured below. Sleep is an imposing head of carved stone in the Japanese Garden. Sara is a girl with a watering can in the Hackley Garden, also by Gary Price. Ciao Bella, by Mike Roig, depicts a Japanese maple. The Dog Ate My Homework, created by Randolph Rose, is a bronze of a girl and a dog on a bench in the Hoad Children’s Garden. Eric Bruton’s Red Oak is in the Conifer Garden. Karen, another piece by Gary Price, is a statue of a girl stepping toward a creek outside the Succulent Garden. And Dragon Tail is a stainless steel tail rising out of the ground with a mobile of the moon and stars dangling from it, on display in the Conifer Garden.

Tufts Archives

The Tufts Archives, housed in the back room of the Given Memorial Library on the Village Green, is at its core Pinehurst’s history museum. The archives has a complete and unparalleled collection of artifacts, documents and images from the time when the village was nothing more than barren land, through its extraordinary rise to become one of America’s premier golf destinations. On display are items from the Tufts silverplate collection and the American Soda Fountain Company, the source of founder James Walker Tufts’ wealth. You can view china that was in use at the Holly Inn in 1895; holiday menus from the Carolina Hotel; hand-colored postcards, posters and other ephemera; a playing card shot-through by Annie Oakley; dozens of the more than 150,000 historic images (many taken by John G. Hemmer); hundreds of original golf course drawings created by Donald Ross himself in addition to pin flags from many of the courses Ross designed; and thousands of cataloged historic documents. The archives holds the world’s largest collection of Ross memorabilia.

Center of Pinehurst

Hidden on a brick path in a garden area adjacent to the Village Green in Pinehurst is a plaque affixed to a large rock near a bronze sculpture of two children on a bench reading. The plaque commemorates the spot where, in June 1895, James Walker Tufts drove a stake into the ground to mark the center of the new community he was going to build on the 5,800 acres of land he was accumulating in parcels at the cost of roughly $1 per acre. Letters from Tufts written just a few weeks later mention the plans for the village drawn from topographical maps by the New York firm of Olmsted, Olmsted & Eliot, so it seems likely that in marking the spot he was following the design of the famed landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, whose vision would be executed by Warren H. Manning, an employee of the firm. Manning would later consult on projects for the Rockefeller family in Westchester, New York, and Newport, Rhode Island. He was a driving force in the formation of the American Society for Landscape Architecture.

Poplar Street Entrance

Near the intersection of Fourth and Poplar streets in Aberdeen, a cement gateway of terra-cotta tile and cement marks the entrance that never was. The “Spanish” structures are all that remain of Montevideo Park, the development envisioned and designed by Harry A. Lewis, J.J. Stroud and W.D. Shannon in the 1920s and ultimately doomed by the stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing Great Depression. The 530-acre project, written about extensively in a 1927 February edition of The Pilot, was to have a four-story Spanish Colonial-style hotel with a tiled roof and 227 guest rooms, a dining room that could seat 1,000, a sunken garden, tennis and croquet courts, a grill room in the basement that included an artificial ice rink that could double as a dance floor (what could go wrong?), riding stables, a golf course designed by Donald Ross’ right-hand man, Frank Maples, 12 miles of streets, private dwellings, a boat club with access to Aberdeen Lake, and gondolas on Aberdeen Creek.

Aberdeen and Rockfish

Aberdeen is your basic two-caboose town. Both are artifacts of the Aberdeen and Rockfish Railroad. Caboose No. 309 is outside the old Aberdeen train station that houses a museum, while caboose No. 303, for display only, is adjacent to the present day Aberdeen and Rockfish offices, a short line railroad that continues to run freight to Fayetteville. The railroad was built in 1892 by John Blue to get timber and turpentine products to market. In the next 10 years a number of lines were extended and/or abandoned as need be. Passenger service ended in 1949. The Union Station Railroad Museum, open by appointment only, contains artifacts and memorabilia. Built around 1900, the station — listed on the National Register of Historic Places — was designed by T.B. Creel and features Victorian architecture. Caboose No. 309 is renovated and sits on the tracks nearby.

Shaw House

Be honest, you drive by it all the time. Well, it’s time to stop in. The Shaw House is located on its original foundation at the intersection of Morganton Road and what was Pee Dee Road on the edge of Southern Pines. The Pee Dee Road was an ancient Indian trail running south to Cheraw, South Carolina, while Morganton Road provided access to the market town of Fayetteville and the Cape Fear River. Charles C. Shaw, a first-generation Scottish settler, acquired 2,500 acres and built the house around 1820. The date of 1842 on the chimney is thought to have been the year that the front porch and the two attached guest rooms were added. A kitchen was built sometime in the 1920s. One of Charles Shaw’s 12 children, Charles Washington Shaw, inherited the property and became the first mayor of Southern Pines in 1887. The house remained in the Shaw family until it was acquired in 1946 by the newly formed Moore County Historical Association in an effort to ensure its preservation. The house is far more modest than seacoast plantations, its simplicity characteristic of the Scottish families who settled the area. The interior features simple pine furniture, a pair of hand-carved fireplace mantels and early examples of Moore County pottery.

Bellview School

According to a National Park Service registration form dated 1997, the Bellview School, a one-room schoolhouse on the grounds of the Moore County Schools Central Office in Carthage, was in all likelihood one of the 15 Rosenwald schoolhouses built in Moore County between 1918 and 1924. Rosenwald schools, named for the philanthropist Julius Rosenwald, helped fund schools for Black children in the Jim Crow South. Roughly 5,000 Rosenwald schools were built throughout the South in the early 20th century, benefiting over 600,000 students. According to the Park Service form, while the building lacks a number of architectural characteristics common to Rosenwald schools, it is believed  to have been the Tory Hill School, a one-teacher schoolhouse built in 1920 east of Robbins. The building was restored and moved to the Moore County Schools Administration grounds in 1974.

Buggy Mural

Painted by Chapel Hill artist Scott Nurkin, the mural in downtown Carthage celebrates the Tyson & Jones Buggy Company. The business, founded in 1850 as a wheelwright shop, was purchased in 1856 by Thomas B. Tyson and Alexander Kelly, the county sheriff. William T. Jones, a freed man, was a talented buggy painter who joined the company in 1857 and quickly became a partner. Born into slavery, Jones was the son of an enslaved woman and her white owner. With the beginning of the Civil War in 1861 the buggy company ceased operation, and Jones was among the many who enlisted in the Confederate Army. He was captured and imprisoned. Using food scraps, Jones began making moonshine for his Union guards. At the end of the war he returned to Carthage substantially wealthier than when he left it. Jones used the money to reinvigorate the buggy company, eventually buying out Kelly. At its height the company employed 100 people and was turning out 3,000 buggies a year. Tyson died in 1893 and Jones in 1910. Tyson’s grandson, Thomas B. Tyson II, ran the business until his death in 1924. Legend has it that Henry Ford visited Carthage, proposing that they use their assembly line to install engines in his new vehicles. The company took a pass. The last buggy was delivered in 1929.

The House in the Horseshoe

Built in 1772 by Philip Alston, the House in the Horseshoe in Glendon was the site of the 1781 battle between British loyalists under the command of David Fanning and patriot militia, called Whigs, headed by Alston. The revolutionaries, camped at the home, were attacked by Fanning’s Tories in retaliation for  the grisly murder of Kenneth Black. During the skirmish, Fanning’s forces attempted to set the house on fire by rolling a cart filled with burning straw against it. Alston’s wife, Temperance, emerged with a flag of truce, and her husband was taken prisoner. There was a darker side to Alston. In December 1785 testimony was presented to the state assembly that Alston had murdered one Thomas Taylor. As Taylor had been a Tory and Alston was commanding a corps of militia in the service of the state at the time of Taylor’s death, the committee thought he should not be tried and instead was pardoned by Gov. Richard Caswell. Later, a deep-seated enmity would develop between Alston and George Glascock, a first cousin of George Washington. In 1787 Glascock was murdered, and evidence suggested Alston had ordered an enslaved person, Dave, to commit the crime. Alston was imprisoned for his part in the murder. In 1798, the home was sold to Benjamin Williams, who would become governor of North Carolina from 1799 to 1802 and again in 1807–1808.

Dewberry Cafe

Once you’re ruled the dewberry universe, what worlds remain to be conquered? The dewberry, as we’ve come to learn, is a somewhat larger and sweeter kissin’ cousin of the blackberry. For reasons unknown to us, it seems to thrive in our sandy soil. The Lucretia dewberry was introduced to Moore County in 1892, and by the early 1900s farmers were bringing crates of them into Cameron for auction and then transport north to Philadelphia or New York and west to Chicago or St. Louis. From 1910-20 somewhere in the ballpark of 60,000 to 90,000 crates of dewberries were shipped annually from Cameron, earning it the designation of “Dewberry Capital of the World” — with all the rights and privileges attached thereunto. One of the privileges is using the name on a little café housed in the downstairs of the Old Hardware Vintage Depot on Carthage Street. You’ll find an old-fashioned soda fountain with stools and a vintage (please don’t touch) jukebox loaded with 45s.

Astronaut Mural

Robbins native Capt. Charles E. Brady Jr., M.D. (1951-2006), flew aboard the shuttle Columbia in 1996 on a 16-day science mission. During that flight, he was one of the first operators of the Shuttle Amateur Radio Experiment allowing astronauts to talk with ham radio operators around the world. While with NASA, Brady was chief of space station astronaut training before leaving to return to Navy duty. A graduate of UNC-Chapel Hill and the Duke University medical school, Brady was a sports medicine specialist before joining the Navy in 1986 and becoming a flight surgeon. His assignments as a medical officer included duty aboard the aircraft carrier Ranger and serving as flight surgeon for the Blue Angels. In 1998, he had an asteroid named in his honor, officially called Minor Planet (7691) Brady. The mural in Robbins was painted by Elizabethtown’s Hunt Cole and restored in 2016 by Scott Nurkin.

Marooned by the NFL

MAROONED BY THE NFL

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Marooned by the NFL

The Champions from Coal Country

by Ron Johnson

In the sweltering late summer of any given year, frenzied and potentially delusional NFL fans wake up thinking this might just be their year. Inside the generally hospitable confines of establishments like Jimmy’s Famous Seafood in Baltimore, Chickie’s and Pete’s in Philly and Bobby Hebert’s Cajun Cannon just outside New Orleans, you might even hear someone yell, “Super Bowl!” The story lines and scenarios spun by NFL fans are too numerous, and often too ludicrous, to follow.

In 1925, however, not a single hewer, pitman or digger in the rugged coal country of southeastern Pennsylvania was delirious enough to believe the Pottsville Maroons, just months out of a semi-pro B-League, would play well enough to win the National Football League Championship. But that’s exactly what they did.

The Maroons officially entered the National Football League in September of that year when Dr. John “Doc” Striegel, a local surgeon thought to be a bit on the eccentric side, paid a $500 franchise fee and a $1200 cash guarantee on behalf of the upstart crew from Pennsylvania’s hard coal country to join the league of 20 teams.

The Maroons were on something of a hot streak, having won the title the previous year in the Anthracite League. As if you couldn’t guess from the name, it was essentially a coal miner’s alliance, and the Maroons captured the 1924 title in their one and only year as members.

From 1920-23, even before competing in the Anthracite League, they had been an independent franchise called the Pottsville Eleven. Pottsville was something more than a wide spot in the road, but not much more. It was a town of roughly 20,000 people, many of whom were involved in coal mining after a significant coal seam was discovered there in 1790. King Charles II granted the land that would become Pottsville to William Penn. The town was named after John Pott, who had an anthracite forge there in 1795. Later, in 1829, D.G. Yuengling opened what many people consider to be the oldest brewery in the United States, in Pottsville. So, when you are hoisting a Yuengling Lager on game day, the can or bottle you are drinking from will still list “Pottsville, PA” as the city of origin. And while anthracite coal fell out of favor after World War II, Yuengling is still the beer that makes Pottsville semi-famous.

Modern Pottsville is not an unpleasant place — even charming in an old-school kind of way. Like many aging coal mining towns, there are signs of decline, but Pottsville still has a busy main street with businesses, retail stores and small hoagie shops churning out cheesesteaks, “wit or wittout.” There is little crime. Families thrive. The Yuengling Brewery sits on the side of a hill and continues to be one of the little city’s focal points. And, posted right in the middle of the central business district, is a historical marker that tells the story of the beloved Maroons of the National Football League. 

The Maroons got their name in 1924 when Doc Striegel asked Joe Zacko, a local sporting goods store owner, to supply 24 uniforms to upgrade the team’s look. When the order form asked what color he wanted the suits to be, the box was not populated. So, when the outfits arrived in maroon, the team had its name. No Miners, Rocks, Mountaineers, Brewers or anything else — they were the Pottsville Maroons.

Coming off the 1924 Anthracite League Championship, Dick Rauch, the player/coach, knew he had a diverse mixture of skilled players and rugged brawlers on his squad — a combination of good college performers and tough coal miners. But were they good enough to compete at the top tier of football? After all, this was the NFL, even if it was an embryonic NFL.

Many of the Maroon players were locals themselves and typically had second jobs. Some pushed heavy coal carts, others were surveyors or land men for coal companies. Some had professional careers in engineering and dentistry.

Coach Rauch was no joke. Besides being a football player and coach, the Penn State graduate was a noted ornithologist, an electrician, a steelworker and a graduate engineer. He spent his off seasons studying the nesting habits of various birds. He was an accomplished poet and later explored the Antarctic for the U.S. government, studying our frozen feathered friends at the bottom of the world. On the gridiron, he was the first professional football coach to institute daily practices and is credited with inventing the screen pass.

In the early days of the NFL, the building of a team roster was an informal process. Players were often selected from a pool of free agents, mostly on a regional basis, and from colleges close to the team’s base of operation. The wealthier teams could cast a somewhat wider net. There was no formal way of procuring players until 1936, when Philadelphia Eagles owner Bert Bell suggested, and the league unanimously accepted, a method that would become the NFL draft.

In the league’s inaugural draft, the University of Chicago’s Jay Berwanger, the Heisman Trophy winner, was the first pick, chosen by Bell’s Eagles. Instead of playing for Philadelphia, Berwanger opted out, choosing a more stable and safer career — he became a foam rubber salesman.

In their initial NFL season, the Maroons suited up Tony Latone, nicknamed the “Human Howitzer,” a bona fide star of the era. The Chicago Bears’ Red Grange, the “Galloping Ghost,” said of Latone, “For my money, he was the most football player I have ever seen.”

Latone, a player of Lithuanian descent, did not attend college and had worked in the nearby Pennsylvania coal mines beginning at age 11. He later said he was paid $125 for daytime games and $75 for night games, more than he made hauling coal by the ton. Many people regarded him as the most productive rusher during the decade of the ’20s. Bears owner George Halas once commented, “If Latone had gone to college and played college ball, he would certainly have been one of the greatest pro players of all time.”

Charlie Berry, an All-American at Lafayette College, an hour’s drive from Pottsville, played end for the Maroons and led the league in scoring on his way to being named All-Pro. Berry also caught for three major league baseball teams and was an umpire in Major League Baseball’s American League, as well as a head linesman in the NFL for more than 20 years, officiating 12 NFL championship games. In Major League Baseball, he umpired five complete World Series and five All Star Games. In fact, Berry umpired the World Series, officiated an NFL game and worked the College All-Star Game (a long defunct exhibition between college stars and the NFL champions), all in one year. He was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1980.

Walter French, a West Point grad who had a .303 lifetime batting average with Connie Mack’s world champion Philadelphia Athletics, was a late addition to the backfield for the Maroons and averaged 5.4 yards per carry during the 1925 season. Because of his mobility, French was the perfect complement for the bone-breaking Latone. After his dual careers in football and baseball were over in 1936, French returned to the U.S. Military Academy to coach baseball from 1937-1942. He was a Reserve officer in the Army and after World War II went on active duty with the U.S. Air Force, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.

It was clear Rauch had more than a random band of misfits.

The Maroons were covered by the Pottsville Republican’s young reporter John Henry O’Hara, who would become a star in his own right, later joining the staff of The New Yorker and writing Butterfield 8 and Appointment in Samarra. When they took the field in Minersville Park, a 5,000-seat facility comparable to a modern-day high school stadium, most fans expected their spirited entrance — fueled by the brass of the local high school band — would be the only highlight of their NFL debut. They opened with what was essentially an exhibition game against a team from a Philly suburban neighborhood, Colwin-Darby, and won it, 48-0.

A week later, the time came for the NFL schedule to start, and there was a noticeable buzz about town. Maroons games were suddenly big events, and as one local put it, “They had taken on the significance of a heavyweight fight.” It was not unusual for Pottsville to draw 10,000 ecstatic fans, half the town’s population and double the capacity of Minersville Park.

The Maroons started their NFL slate with a resounding 28-0 victory over Buffalo, before dropping a sloppy and uninspired 6-0 decision to Providence in their second outing. It was not lost on coach Rauch that the team was one-dimensional and predictable. After adding the elusive French to the roster, Pottsville then shut out its next four opponents. They went into the game with the Frankford Yellow Jackets (forerunners to the Philadelphia Eagles) with a strong 5-1 record but lost ignobly to their natural rival from 100 miles south, 20-0. Rauch rallied his troops and the Maroons won their next seven games, including a 31-0 victory over Curley Lambeau’s legendary Green Bay Packers. During that run, they stunned the Yellow Jackets in a rematch, 49-0.

When the regular season ended, the teams with the two best records had not crossed paths. Realizing money had been left on the table, the arrogant and over-confident Chicago Cardinals challenged the Maroons to a season finale, which was immediately billed by the media as the league championship game. The Cardinals never dreamed they could lose. A throng of fans from eastern Pennsylvania accompanied the team to Chicago while others watched the progress on cardboard cut-outs parading across the stage in a Pottsville theater. The Chicago Tribune wrote, “In the face of a driving attack by the Eastern eleven, the Cardinals curled up and were smeared in the snow on the gridiron of Comiskey Park yesterday, 21-7.” The Maroons got off the train in Pottsville and were greeted by a large contingent of celebrating fans. The impossible had happened, and some members of the league apparently didn’t take it well. 

As the coal dust cleared, Pottsville finished the league season 10-2-0, the NFL’s best record. As they celebrated their championship with two meaningless exhibition games to end the season (both of which they won), the word got around Pottsville that something was brewing — not at Yuengling but in the dusty NFL offices in Columbus, Ohio.

Playing with the Best author Lenny Wagner writes, “In November of 1925, after the game the Maroons had lost to the Frankford Yellow Jackets, a Philadelphia promoter by the name of Frank Schumann approached the teams proposing that the top NFL team play a post-season exhibition game against the Notre Dame All-Stars, which were led by the famous backfield known as the Four Horsemen. Presumably, the game would be played in Philadelphia. Both owners signed on for the game. Sheppard H. Royle, president of the Frankford franchise, assuming that the team to play Notre Dame would be his Yellow Jackets, never raised the issue of territory, or anything else. However, on November 29th, the Maroons turned the tables on Frankfort, pummeling them 49-0. After the Maroons beat the Cardinals the following week, in a post-season game arranged by the Chicago team, by a score of 21-7, they were declared the NFL champions and were in line to play Notre Dame at Shibe Park in Philadelphia. It was at that point that Royle made a protest to the league, which was backed by then-commissioner Joe Carr, and the other owners.”

What would happen following the Notre Dame game would be devastating to the Maroons and their faithful. The All-Stars comprised the bulk of Norwegian-born coach Knute Rockne’s unbeaten ’24 team famously nicknamed the “Four Horsemen and the Seven Mules,” considered by some to be the greatest college team ever assembled. The game was to be played at Shibe Park, later named Connie Mack Stadium, home of the Phillies and Athletics, and the birthplace of Philly’s legendary penchant for booing.

But there were few boos on that day. The exhibition was expected to draw a large crowd of more than 10,000, which it did. The Maroons won the game 9-6, behind former Penn State fullback, Barney Wentz, and an opportunistic defense. Charlie Berry kicked a field goal to give the Maroons a lead they never relinquished. The victory, along with exhibition wins over Colwyn-Darby and the Atlantic City Roses, made the Maroons overall season record 13-2-0.

Things came apart rather quickly after the Notre Dame game when the commissioner of the league, Joe Carr, a former sportswriter who some later called “the Father of Professional Football,” ruled that Pottsville had never gotten permission to play the game in Philly and was infringing on Frankford’s territorial rights, essentially playing an unauthorized exhibition game, even though there was no clear prohibition in any franchise agreement. Carr not only stripped away the NFL title and awarded it to the Chicago Cardinals, but also suspended the Maroons from the league entirely and fined them $500. In any event, the Chicago-St. Louis-Arizona Cardinals have the trophy in their case. And no number of protests, political maneuvers or prods have been able to pry it loose.

Some people believe the Cardinals — the oldest team in professional football, founded in 1898 — to this day carry a curse related to their stolen championship, but there are lots of takes on the subject.

“It’s just not right,” said Steelers owner Dan Rooney. “When you are talking about the birthplace of professional football, you are talking about Pennsylvania, you’re talking about the Maroons.”

Red Grange, one of the greatest players of all time, said, “The Pottsville Maroons were the most ferocious and respected players I ever faced. You know, I always thought the Maroons won the NFL championship in 1925. They were robbed.” He promoted the Maroon’s championship throughout his life.

The Maroons never got their day in court, much less a judgment in their favor. And the court of public opinion in a small coal mining town didn’t matter all that much to the elitist big city power brokers of the NFL.

Despite their championship run in 1925, and a respectable 1926 season, the Maroons never again amounted to much. Players moved on, and opposing teams got stronger. They relocated to Boston in 1929 and became the Boston Bulldogs before Depression-related financial pressure forced them out of business at the end of that season. In Boston, they played their games at Braves Field, where Warren Spahn started his career and Babe Ruth ended his. The Boston Bulldogs were the first of several franchises that attempted to set up shop in Boston, without success. Not until the Boston/New England Patriots pitched their tent in 1960 did a professional football team establish itself in New England. 

According to his great niece, the Maroons’ colorful owner, Doc Striegel, died in 1969 in the bar of the Flamingo Hotel in Philadelphia, on his feet, pouring himself a drink. He was one day shy of his 84th birthday. Minersville Park is long gone with the King’s Village Shopping Center sitting on its former site along Route 901.

In 1925, the NFL was ruled by a czar in a small office in Ohio, influenced by powerful team owners. There was no way a bunch of coal miners from Pottsville was going to put an NFL Championship trophy in their building, if they even had a building.

The Maroons’ title was lost on a shaky technicality in what would become the biggest and most powerful league in one of the most popular sports on the planet. There were no controversial plays. No clandestine activities. No deflated balls. No ineligible players. It was more about money, greed and elitism.

The NFL may have given the trophy to Chicago — and the cursed and hapless Cardinals will likely never give it up — but as far as the city of Pottsville is concerned, the Maroons are still champions. Their beloved team won the 1925 NFL Championship on the field by virtue of having the best record in the National Football League. That much cannot be disputed and can never be taken away. 

Bookshelf

BOOKSHELF

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October Books

FICTION

Heart the Lover, by Lily King

Jordan’s greatest love story is the one she lived, the one that never followed the simple rules. In the fall of her senior year of college, she meets two star students, Sam and Yash, from her 17th Century Lit class. The boys invite her into their intoxicating world of academic fervor, rapid-fire banter and raucous card games. They nickname her Jordan, and she quickly discovers the pleasures of friendship, love and her own intellectual ambition. But youthful passion is unpredictable, and soon she finds herself at the center of a charged and intricate triangle. As graduation comes and goes, choices made will alter these three lives forever.

Decades later, the vulnerable days of Jordan’s youth seem comfortably behind her. When a surprise visit and unexpected news bring the past crashing into the present, she returns to a world she left behind, and must confront the decisions and deceptions of her youth.

The White Octopus Hotel, by Alexandra Bell

London, 2015: When reclusive art appraiser Eve Shaw shakes the hand of a silver-haired gentleman in her office, the warmth of his palm sends a spark through her. His name is Max Everly — curiously, the same name as Eve’s favorite composer, born 116 years prior. And she has the sudden feeling that she’s held his hand before . . . but where, and when?

The White Octopus Hotel, 1935: In this belle époque building high in the snowy mountains, Eve and a young Max wander the winding halls, lost in time. Each of them has been through the trenches — Eve through a family accident and Max on the battlefields of the Great War — but for an impossible moment, love and healing are just a room away . . . if only they have the courage to step through the door.

NONFICTION

To Rescue the American Spirit: Teddy Roosevelt and the Birth of a Superpower, by Bret Baier

An iconoclast shaped by fervent ideals, Theodore Roosevelt’s early life seems ripped from the pages of an adventure novel. Abandoning his place in New York aristocracy, he was drawn to the thrill of the West, becoming an honorary cowboy who won the respect of the rough men of the plains, adopting their code of authenticity and courage. As a New York State legislator, he fought corruption and patronage. As New York City police commissioner, he walked the beat at night to hold his men accountable; and as New York governor, he butted heads with the old guard to bring fresh air to a state mired in political corruption. He was a passionate naturalist, conservationist and hunter who collected hundreds of specimens of birds and animals throughout his life.

A soldier and the commander who led a regiment of “Rough Riders” during the Spanish-American War, Roosevelt’s show of leadership and bravery put him on the national map. As president, he brought energy, laughter and bold ideas to the White House, pursuing a vigorous agenda that established America as a leader on the world stage. Baier, Fox News Channel’s chief political anchor, reveals the storied life of a leader whose passion, daring and prowess left an indelible mark on the fabric of our country.

The Uncool: A Memoir, by Cameron Crowe

This long-awaited memoir by one of America’s iconic journalists and filmmakers is a joyful dispatch from a lost world, a chronicle of the real-life events that became Almost Famous, and a coming-of-age journey filled with music legends as you’ve never seen them before. Born in 1957 to parents who strictly banned the genre from their house, he dove headfirst into the world of music. By the time he graduated high school at 15, Crowe was contributing to Rolling Stone. His parents became believers, uneasily allowing him to interview and tour with legends like Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, and Fleetwood Mac. The Uncool offers a front-row ticket to the 1970s, a golden era for music and art when rock was young. Crowe spends his teens politely turning down the drugs and turning on his tape recorder. He talks his journalism teacher into giving him class credit for his road trip covering Led Zeppelin’s 1975 tour. He embeds with David Bowie as the sequestered genius transforms himself into a new persona: the Thin White Duke. Youth and humility are Crowe’s ticket into the Eagles’ dressing room in 1972, where Glenn Frey vows to keep the band together forever; to his first major interview with Kris Kristofferson; to earning the trust of icons like Gregg Allman and Joni Mitchell. It’s a magical odyssey, the journey of a teenage writer waved through the door to find his fellow dreamers, music geeks and lifelong community. The path leads him to writing and directing some of the most beloved films of the past 40 years, from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Say Anything . . . to Jerry Maguire and Almost Famous. His movies often resonate with the music of the artists he first met as a journalist, including Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Who and Pearl Jam.

The Uncool is also a surprisingly intimate family drama. For the first time, Crowe opens up about his formative years in Palm Springs and pays tribute to his father, a decorated Army officer who taught him the irreplaceable value of the human voice, and offers a full portrait of his mother, whose singular spirit helped shape him into an unconventional visionary.

CHILDREN'S BOOKS

Squirrels Scamper, by Mélina Mangal

Two young children — cousins Kamali and Josiah — notice the squirrels moving fast outside their window and venture to the backyard to watch them. They practice using their sense of balance to gain confidence while they climb, jump and move like the squirrels do. Taking in a beautiful fall day, they help rake the yard before jumping in their pile of leaves, noticing how their own work and play are parallel to a squirrel’s day. Squirrels Scamper is part of the Outside Our Window Board Book series, encouraging children — especially those in urban environments — to explore, protect and delight in nature.

The Five Wolves, by Peter McCarty

Across oceans, through fields and down tunnels, five daring wolves traverse the planet in search of wonders to draw and paint. All the while, a disembodied narrator spins the tale of their absurdist adventure and asks big questions. What is art? And who does it belong to? Part epic picture book, part graphic novel, The Five Wolves defies genres. With intricate ink work and meticulous hand-lettering, McCarty has crafted an exquisitely illustrated epic poem and a testament to the power of art and artists.

Dragonborn, by Struan Murray

There is a secret world of dragons that lurks at the edges of our own. But dragons also live among us. These Slumberers have been human for so long they have forgotten their true selves — until something awakens the dragon within. Twelve-year-old Alex Evans is about to wake up. Ever since her father’s death, Alex’s overprotective mother has smothered her with unbreakable rules and unspoken fears. Feeling trapped, Alex’s frustration has become too big to hide away. Burning inside, she erupts into a fierce, fiery roar. A new school and a new life await her on the legendary island of Skralla, one of the last surviving dragon havens. There, she will train alongside other young dragons who are wild, untamed and — unlike Alex — skilled at transforming and embracing their dragons within. As dark factions begin to rise, Alex finds herself in a race to unlock her long-dormant power before Drak Midna, the greatest dragon of all, rises to wage war against the human world.