TKAM Post #8

"To Kill A Mockingbird"

Monday, May 31st, 2010

Journal Entry

Perspective: Helen Robinson

Dear Journal,

          I don't know if my life can take in any more calamity.  Every morning, I try to diminish the misery on my face, to hide the sorrow from my children.  But I cannot fool them with little inconveniences.  I certainly cannot fool my self.  I am forced to wallow in the anguish that rips my soul apart.  I suppose it all began one morning like any other.  I was tidying up my little house in the neat row of Negro cabins.  My son, Sam approached me and told me Mr. Atticus Finch was a waitin' yonder.  I smiled as I walked toward the door.  I was so grateful that Atticus had been such a caring, considerate man to help an innocent Negro.  He had always been polite, kind, and helpful to Tom and I.  Even though Tom was no doubt miserable in jail, I was still grateful that Atticus had truly done his best to defend Tom.  "'evenin', Mr. Finch," I greeted, as I walked outside.  "Won't you have a seat?"  I paused and a small spasm shot through my body like ice; Atticus had a grave expression on his face.  Something had gone wrong, something bad had happened, or else Atticus would have kindly greeted me back and consented to go inside.  My voice constricted in my throat and I couldn't seem to breathe correctly.  It had happened; something I had forced myself never to think about had happened.  I collapsed.

          When I woke up, I was in my house.  Atticus and Cal were talking in soothing voices but I couldn't vaguely comprehend what they were saying.  It had been lingering in the back of my mind that there was a possibility that something would happen to Tom, but I had foolishly chosen never to believe it.  I felt like I was in a dream; that I would wake up from this horrible night mare.  I wondered what the last thing I said to him was.  I tried to imagine a life where Tom would never come home; where it would be useless to wish and hope and pray to God every night; where I'd never see him again; where he would be gone for good.  Tears spilled from my eyes like never ending rivers.  Waves of grief washed over me without mercy.  When Atticus was done with his assessment and there was no more he could say nor do, he left unceremoniously.

          The next few day or weeks (I forgot to keep track of time) went by like a dream.  I felt as if I were looking a the world through a telescope, not really there.  Everyone's life, problems, and worries were somehow far away in a different world.  I still worked, in order to keep a living for what was left of my family.  Work was good.  It forced me for brief periods of time to concentrate on something else.  Often, when I attempted to walk to work the shortest way, the Ewells chunked at me, so I ran quickly the other, longer way to work.  When my boss, Mr. Link Deas found out, he became sorely angry.  I begged him not to say anything; it would probably just make the Ewells more angry.  I couldn't think about them doing anything worse, especially to my family.  But Mr. Deas was stubborn.  He went and threatened to lock Bob Ewell in jail if he dared assault me again.  Everything seemed fine until a few days later.  I had had no trouble with Mr. Ewell since the day Mr. Deas threatened him.  But suddenly, he was behind me, following me, muttering foul language under his breath.  I stopped at the closest telephone booth and hurridly called Mr. Deas.  He came to my aid at once and straightened out the matter with Mr. Ewell.  I have heard that Mr. Ewell has been about some bad deeds.  He allegedly tried to rob John Taylor.  I still have nightmares that he will one day come for me.  I swear, his soul will haunt and persecute me for the rest of my life.

Sincerely, 

          Helen Robinson

Question: What do you think Bob Ewell was trying to accomplish by following Helen Robinson?

TKAM Post #7

"To Kill a Mockingbird"

Tuesday, May 25th, 2010

Choice B: Tell how the following characters respond to the jury's verdict: Jem, Aunt Alexandra, Dill, Miss Maudie, and Bob Ewell.

          The book, "To Kill a Mockingbird", written by Harper Lee takes place when black people were not equal to white people.  A white man's word against a black man's word would always dominate.  In Tom Robinson's court case, Tom Robinson was voted guilty of rape because the jury was biased toward white people.  Although Tom's verdict was guilty, not everyone in Maycomb agreed.  Everyone had their individual thoughts and opinions.

          Jem's opinion about the verdict was the most visibly strong.  Jem knew that Tom was innocent.  He had been truly convinced that the jury would decide ethically and find Tom innocent and Bob Ewell guilty of beating Mayella Ewell.  It was a horrible experience for Jem to witness the injustice opinion's of the jury.  Out of all the characters, Jem was the most disheartened that Tom was found guilty, frustrated at the jury for favoring Bob Ewell just because he was white, and stunned at the results of the trial.  Jem probably had the hardest time accepting the verdict because he was too young to have clearly witnessed society racism, but mature enough to understand.  Younger characters, such as Scout and Dill knew that it was not right for Tom to be found guilty.  However, they were too young to make a big deal about the subject and too young to understand racism.  For example, Dill simply did not want the atmosphere to be dim and solemn, so he told Scout and Jem, "I think I'll be a clown when I grow up."  In a child's view, clowns laugh and have fun without a lot of worries.

          Older characters, like Atticus, Aunt Alexandra, and Miss Maudie knew and accepted (even if they did not necessarily like it) that white people in Maycomb usually favored white men over black.  Aunt Alexandra was sorry that Atticus had lost the trial, but she did not seem to have expected a different outcome.  In Maycomb, it was obvious that a white man would be believed over a black man.  Miss Maudie also appeared to have foreseen Tom's unfortunate outcome.  Although Miss Maudie knew that Tom would never win, she knew that Atticus was assigned as defense lawyer in order to better appeal to the jury.  Judge Taylor appointed Atticus defense because he knew that Atticus (one of the best lawyers) would be more convincing than the other lawyers.  The last character, Bob Ewell, was most likely pleased about the verdict (even though his real thoughts and opinions were never revealed).  Although Bob Ewell won the trial, he was angry that Atticus had exposed the truths about his drinking and beating habits.  When he met Atticus in town, Bob threatened him, cursed at him, and spit in his face.  This just shows how the characters in the book react differently to the verdict, some irrational (like Bob Ewell) or some more calm and sensible (like Atticus).

TKAM Post #6

"To Kill a Mockingbird"

Post #6

Prompt B: Compare and contrast yourself to either Scout or Jem at their age. Compare and contrast your summer activities, friends, relationships with your dad, siblings, and adults.

  Maycomb is a small, usual town in Alabama.  There are not a lot of activities to spend time, save staying, playing, or resting at home or in the neighborhood.  During the humid summers, Scout finds usage of the school-free days, making up games, daring to approach the Radley place, and interacting with their neighbors.  Scout has a strong, independent, daring personalitiy, which leads her, Jem, and Dill into many adventures and some trouble.  My life and personality is very different than hers.

  In contrast to Scout’s confident personality, when I was her age (around seven to nine years), I was a little quiet and shy.  Scout attempted to beat up Walter Cunningham on her first day of kindergarden because he “made her start off on the wrong foot”.  Rather than take out my anger on a classmate, I would have probably just sulked and not talked to anyone.  Another difference is Boo Radley’s house.  Scout went with with Jem and Dill to confront the house and attempt to see its inhabitants.  Though she is wary about Boo coming out, she helped keep watch for Jem when he and Dill try to deliver a note to Boo.  If I were in that situation, I would be too cautious to try something risky and know better than to bother people who didn't want to be disturbed.
          A difference between Scout and Jems' summers and mine is that I am occupied for the majority of the summer.  Scout and Jem spend most of their time in the neighborhood or at home playing games and exploring.  During my summers, I am usually enrolled in camp programs or activities to spend time.  I am almost never bored because I usually have some activity or work I need to do.  If not, I can always stay at home and read and rest, unlike Scout and Jem who enjoy active activities and games.  In addition, I do not interact with the people on my street as Scout and Jem do.  I don't usually walk around without supervision talking to random people in my neighborhood that I am not acquainted with.  Since my neighborhood is comprised of wide, various streets, I do not know many of the people living in surrounding houses.  The Finch's house in Maycomb is located on a smaller street where everyone knows each other.  For example, the book, "To Kill a Mockingbird" says that there was no need to identify oneself on the telephone because everyone knew each other's voices.  In large cities, such as San Diego, no one is familiar with everyone in the city.  In all, my summers, personality, and relationships are a lot different than Scout Finch's.

TKAM Journal #4

"To Kill A Mockingbird"

Journal #4

Chapters 10 to 12

Perspective: Atticus Finch

Dear Journal,

           This week has certainly been very tiresome. I’m much too old to be out and (though I wish otherwise) playing with Jem and Scout. I know I shouldn’t be exerting so much energy nowadays. At just the beginning of the week, I received an urgent telephone call from a hysterical Calpurnia. “Mr. Finch!” she yelled into the phone. “This is Cal. I swear to God there’s a mad dog down the street a piece. He’s comin’ this way!” I asked her if she was quite sure that it was a mad dog, and she replied, “Yes sir.” Then I inquired if she recognized the dog. “Mr. Finch, I declare he is-old Tim Johnson, yes sir.” Poor Tim Johnson, I thought as I hung up the phone. No one will live with a mad dog in their neighborhood. He will have to be put down immediately.

          I contacted Heck Tate, the sheriff of Maycomb and he was obliged to drive himself and me to my house street. We arrived quickly (thank goodness, for everyone seemed to be in chaos) and proceeded out of Heck’s black Ford. Jem opened the door to allow us in. Scout stood behind him with a nervous expression that matched her brother’s. I told them to stay inside, then asked Calpurnia where Tim Johnson was at. “He oughta be here by now,” she said, glancing anxiously down the street. Heck, Calpurnia, and I discussed if we should greet him on the street or wait until he came to us. We waited in silence for a few moments. I saw the frightened looks on the neighbors’ faces in the window, mirrored by my own children.

          “There he is,” I murmured as a limp figure walked drunkenly across the street. He did not walk straight, but sauntered toward us, as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was supposed to go. Scout and Jem asked what was wrong with him and was he sick. He did look dazed and slightly bamboozled, however, I was sure he wasn’t yet sick. When he was close enough, I tolf Heck, “He’s within range, Heck. You better get him now before he goes down the side street.” I didn’t want a mad dog to surprise any innocent civilian taking a walk down the sidewalk. Heck objected. He tried to give the rifle over to me, insisting that it was a one-shot job. When I was younger, I had been precise at archery and shotting, but that was thirty years ago. In the end, I took the rifle and marched to the middle of the street. With a bang, Tim Johnson’s life was gone in less than a second.

          As the week progressed, I noticed that Jem had been getting into a little trouble with Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose. Mrs. Dubose is an old lady who resides in a neighboring house on our street. She lives by her self, except for her Negro housekeeper, Jessie. She’s a poor old lady without great health with a lonely, pitiful life. I have tried to teach my children to be courteous and respectful to Mrs. Dubose, but they never seem to get along with her. I suppose it is because she is quite critical and always says what she is thinking (mostly to them, it is comments such as, “Don’t say hey to me, you ugly child! You say good afternoon Mrs. Dubose.”) I do my part in saying politely, “Good evening, Mrs. Dubose. You look like a picture this evening,” when we walk by. I believe it slightly cheers her up and makes her happy.

          One day, this week, I became very angry with Jem when I found Mrs. Dubose very upset about her wrecked garden. When I inspected the ripped, torn, and mangled garden, I discovered Scout’s baton. Later, at home, I asked Jem if he was responsible. “Yes sir,” he replied. I inquired why. Jem told me, “She said you lawed for niggers and trash.” I wasn’t that bothered by people calling me a “nigger lover” or “nigger defender”. I knew it was morally right to defend Tom Robinson, and kept my head up high. I reasoned with Jem that ruining someone’s garden (though he was angry) was inexcusable. I sent him away with a promise to apologize. “Atticus, she wants me to read to her,” Jem told me when he came back. So I told him he must. I hope that while assisting Mrs. Dubose, he will learn to better understand her; he will know how to climb in her skin and walk around a bit.

Sincerely,

          Atticus Finch

TKAM Journal #3

"To Kill A Mockingbird"

Journal #3

Chapters 8 & 9

Perspective: Miss Maudie

Dear Journal,

          Snow. I absolutely distaste snow. It freezes all my poor flowers, ruins the soil, and just makes a plain mess! I woke up this morning (the morning after poor, old Mrs. Radley had passed away, not that I really gotten to know her. Come to think of it, I have barely talked to her once in my life!). Anyway, I woke up this morning to find to my surprise (and horror) that a fresh blanket of white was draped over my house and garden as well as all of the other homes on the street. Of course, I couldn’t leave my beautiful azaleas! As soon as I was dressed in my usual overalls, straw hat, boots, and a heavy coat, I flew outside and began tending to my poor flowers. The row of azaleas I cutivated blossomed in a row adjacent to my house. I started wrapping them in burlap bags, trying to keep them warm. Hopefully, I thought, If they’re warm, they might survive the stupid snow!
          Just then, I caught sight of little Scout and Jem Finch approaching my front yard. “Jem Finch, you Jem Finch! You stay in the middle of the yard!” I hollered as he and Scout stepped through the gate. “There’s some thrift buried under the snow near the porch. Don’t step on it!” When I was sure that the children were safely away from the porch, I returned to my labor. They asked if I thought the snow was beautiful. I retorted with a complaint about freezing my flowers. Then they fanatically asked if they could borrow the snow in my yard. “Heavens alive, take it all!” I told them and gestured towards a basket.
          In a few hours time, I was looking for my hedge clippers and straw hat, which had mysteriously disappeared. I was just debating if I should search around in the remains of snow in the yard, when I spotted a snowman (who looked a lot like my acquainted neighbor, Mr. Avery) with my hedge clippers and hat! “Jem Finch!” I yelled. “You devil, bring me back my hat, sir!” Not long after I had my equipment safely tucked under my arms, I decided I had better go back inside and get some sleep.
          I woke up to the smell of dense, sickening smoke. I leaped out of bed and ran downstairs and out of the house. On the way down, I caught sight of flames curling on part of the downstairs. People with perplexed expressions were staring from out their windows and from the porches of their houses at the smoke billowing from the top of my house. In the distance, I heard a fire truck’s wheels speeding down the small streets of Maycomb. I watched as people tried to salvage the last of my belongings and as the flames engulfed my house. The fire trucks arrived and water was expelled on my house, smoldering the fire. My house was ruined, but I wasn’t sad. I had always wanted to build a smaller house with a large garden! I will be excited to begin the new project soon!


Sincerely,
          Maudie Atkinson

TKAM Journal #2

"To Kill A Mockingbird"

Journal #2

Chapters 4 to 7

Perspective: Jem Finch

Dear Journal.


          Boo Radley (or should I say, Mr. Arthur Radley?) is getting me into a mighty lot of trouble. It’s true that I haven’t yet seen him, never mind talked to him before, but the curiosity of his existence draws me to discover the truth. I’ve always longed to see what he looks like (that is, if he isn’t dead and stuffed up the chimney yet). My guess is he’s about a malignant six and a half feet tall with crazy, popping eyes, and blood stained hands. Ms. Stephanie Crawford says she once saw Boo staring at her through her window at the dead of night (not exactly a chameleon, is he?). Anyhow, Dill and I are gonna get him to come out, the polite reason being we think he might enjoy our company. Really, we just want to see him.
          We started our scheming (I mean, planning) one sunny afternoon. Dill came up with the original idea of sending Boo a letter, politely asking him to come out. We were just discussing the final details of our plan when my little sister, Scout, had to come and interrupt. She is always butting into Dill and my conversations. “Go away, Scout. Dill ‘n’ I are busy,” I told her.
          “Will not,” she retorted. “This yard’s as much mine as it is yours, Jem Finch. I got just as much right to play in it as you."
           “If you stay you’ve got to do what we tell you,” said Dill. Scout began quibbling, but eventually agreed and asked what we wanted her to do. I told her our plan. I would attach the note to Boo on the end of a fishing pole. Then I would stand on the sidewalk, carefully out of range of the inhabitants of the house, and stick the end of the pole in the house. Dill would be patrolling the front of the house and Scout would be watching the back lot. If anyone came in the middle of the operation, Dill would ring Mother’s dinner bell.
          “Anyone who’s brave enough to go up and touch the house hadn’t oughta use a fishin’ pole. Why don’t you just knock the front door down?” Scout teased as we walked to the vacant house. I clenched my teeth together. Didn’t she know it was one thing to touch the house and another to contact the inhabitants of the house? Scout and Dill took their places at either side of the house and signaled to me that everything was clear. I carefully began urging the letter through the window. But the darn pole was to short to reach the window. I stretched out as far as possible and tried to put the note on the window sill. It dangled pathetically, swaying and fluttering in the gentle breeze. Just when it was almost there, I heard the bell ringing. My heart hammering, I turned around to see Dill crazily waving the bell in front of Atticus. I felt guilt welling up in me. I’d done wrong, Atticus would be angry (or worse, ashamed), and I’d be in trouble. He asked to see the letter and I reluctantly handed it over.
          “Son, I’m going to tell you something and tell you one more time,” he told me sternly. “Stop tormenting that man. That goes for the other two of you.” He glanced pointedly at Scout and Dill. He told us to stop making fun of him and ignored us when we objected. “You want to be a lawyer, don’t you?” he said before walking stiffly into the house. I cringed. After he had disappeared into the depths of the house, I yelled with all my might I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to be a lawyer. The dead words hung in the air.
          At last, it was Dill’s last day with us; he would be going home to Mississippi the next day. We decided as a final tribute to his stay, we would walk to the window of the Radley place and see if we could sneak a peek inside. “I know what, let’s go for a walk,” Dill yawned. I agreed when he nodded to the house. The vote wasn't unanimous; of course Scout protested but we wore her down, swearing that we were just going to peep in the window. She was getting more like a girl ever day, now. When we reached the street lamp at the Radley place, Scout and I folded our arms together to create a lift. Dill leaped on. Eventually the burden of Dill’s weight made us put him down. I asked him what he saw. “Nothing. Curtains. There’s a teeny light way off somewhere, though. Let’s try the back window,” he urged. We crept around the house. The sun had rapidly faded from our last detour; it was almost dark. Dill stood on the back porch and peered in through the moonlit window. I didn’t see it at first, but a shadow passed me. My heart literally stopped and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. I flung myself to the gate and through it open, pushing my little sister and Dill through first. My last memory was a shot gun going off close behind us. We rolled under the fence in the school yard and ran, sobbing, as far as we could.
          Now I lay in bed, wishing I hadn’t done that. I have a plan though. I’m gonna get my pants back, which I had lost in the chaos of escaping. The evidence will be disguised and it will be like nothing ever happened.


Sincerely,
          Jeremy Atticus Finch (Jem)

TKAM Journal #1

"To Kill A Mockingbird"

Journal #1

Chapters 1 to 3

Perspective: Ms. Caroline

Dear Journal,

          One thing I learned in school today was that being a school teacher in a foreign environment is no easier than taming a class of jungle animals. By the end of the day, I was exhausted, worn out, and simply glad I had persevered the school day. A day I had planned so perfectly, so precisely had been shredded into a million chaotic pieces. I began standing at the black board in front of the room. I watched as children of all different shapes and sized came trooping into the room, some chattering excitedly to their fellow peers, other surveying the room with a nervous air. I smoothed my favorite dress; red and white striped for the first day of school and smiled at the class. When the class had begun, I gingerly picked up the chalk and printed, I am Miss Caroline Fisher. “This says, ‘I am Miss Caroline Fisher’. I am from North Alabama,” I added in explanation to why I was not indigenous to their home. Some of the students muttered timidly to each other and I wondered if there was something bad about North Alabama. I picked up one of my favorite books as a young girl. I began reading and was soon lost in the story of eccentric cats and kitchens, pictures forming in my mind out of mere words of a book.

          After that, I wrote the alphabet in capital letters below my name. “Does anybody know what these are?” I asked. I expected a few people to shyly raise their hands, however, to my surprise, every hand was hoisted into the air. I wondered how they all knew the alphabet (this year should be their first, even though quite a few of the students appeared older). I scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, and my eyes fell upon little Jean Louise Finch, a girl whom my house mate, Maudie had introduced me to previously. “Yes, Jean Louise?” I said. She began reciting the alphabet. I waited for her to stumble or forget a letter, but she did not. I was worried. What if she and all the other children already new the alphabet and how to read? I wouldn’t be able to teach them anything about reading. I asked her to read a section of My First Reader. She did. I challenged her with quotations from the newspaper on my desk. She did. Jean Louise could read. I couldn’t be a good teacher if all the students already knew how to read. I bit my lip in frustration. Children should be taught by their teachers when they come to school; not before. “Jean Louise, tell your father to stop teaching you how to read,” I scolded. It came out harsher than I intended. She looked taken aback when she told me that her father had not taught her to read. “If he didn’t teach you, who did? Somebody did. You weren’t born reading The Mobile Register,” I asked with a more casual voice. She protested, but I thought it that this as getting silly; her pronouncements were not relevant, she must have been lying. “Your father does not know how to teach,” I said, firmly and told her she could sit down. Jean Louise seemed like a nice girl, but when I caught her composing a full letter, I lost my patience. It irked me that she had the nerve to write even after I told her off for reading.

          I had no more trouble until lunch. I asked all the children to raise their hands if they would be going home for lunch. That way, I could keep track of everyone that would be leaving. Several did. “Everyone who brings his lunch, put it on top of his desk,” I told the remainder of the class. Everyone did, except an older, quiet boy, who I noticed as I walked down the aisle of metal lunch pails. I asked him if he forgot his lunch. I had to inquire twice before he muttered that he had. That’s okay, I thought and produced a quarter from my purse. “Here’s a quarter. Go and eat downtown today. You can pay me back tomorrow.” He refused. In the process of encouraging him to take the quarter, I heard Jean Louise say, “Ms. Caroline, he’s a Cunningham.” A Cunningham? I had never heard of that. “What?” I asked. She told me that the Cunninghams were a family that never took what they couldn’t pay back. “You’re shamin’ him, Miss Caroline. Walter hasn’t got a quarter at home to bring you,” she said and something about stovewood. I figured she was being pretty rude; to the Cunningham child and myself. Did she have to make fun of him for having no money? It was okay with me if he kept the quarter. “Jean Louise, I’ve had enough of you this morning!” I said and told her to hold out her hand. I smacked it with a ruler a few, quick times. Then slumped in my seat the minute the class had filed out of the room. The day had started off bad; my head was spinning and my body was stressed.

          It seemed like no time at all until the class came into the room for the second time. I made an effort to familiarize myself with the class. There was Walter and Jean Louise, and a few other’s whose names I recognized. A small boy caught my attention. He was extremely dirty, almost to the point of disgust. Suddenly something moved in his hair. I gave an involuntary shriek as a small bug crawled out of his hair. I found his name to be Burris Ewell. I didn’t want the whole class to be infected with bugs (or cooties as I was told), so I looked up a cure and told the boy to wash his hair. I suppose the boy and I ended up in an argument. It seemed he didn’t want to come to school again for the rest of the year, and since he had no responsible parents, no one could reinforce him. I told him to leave, quite harshly. When out of the building, he yelled, screaming insults, and foul language, calling me a slut of a teacher. Eventually, the stress of the day fell on me, and I broke down crying. The rest of the day passed at a blur. I was so relieved when it was all over. I dread the next day.

Sincerely,

          Caroline Fisher