Bob Papcsy

Reading was important in my life from the early years on to the present. I could read by the age of four, thanks to Uncle Don who read the "funny papers" aloud on Sunday morning over the radio. I looked at the words and read along with him. Acting and teaching were a big part of my adult life. I have been a professional actor for about thirty years. I have appeared off-Broadway and acted on radio and television and in numerous theatres. My experience ranges from Shakespeare to modern drama and comedy to musical comedy where I had to fake the dancing.

I also won a National Scholastic Magazine writing contest at the age of thirteen with a selection entitled "Tree In A Storm." This was an impetus to keep writing.

I am a late, late bloomer. I've written more in the past three years than I have in the previous fifty. There are a couple of other reasons why I write, but I don't feel qualified to speculate on the insanity that runs in my family. I believe every truly creative person is a bit "touched" in the head. Other than the aforementioned motivations, There is just that feeling that compels me to create and to have a dialogue with my fellow human beings. At times this feeling is almost a palpable ache that makes it painful to watch a terrific performance or to read a work of greatness. The drive is there and I can no longer deny it.

The Ballad of the Sober Bohemian He sings in the gutter amid orange peels and crushed tomatoes. He sings about North and South, about green sleeves, about blue mules and black men. Put a pittance in the upturned cap. Fifty cents. Thank you kind sir. You can do with a sober bohemian as you can a drunken sailor. Shave his "balls" with a rusty razor, or slash his throat with shiny six inches, and steal his up turned cap. Somewhere in the night a free spirit composes a ballad for his friend, the sober bohemian. At the break of day, somewhere, in the city, it will be sung in the gutter amid orange peels and crushed tomatoes.       Top of the Page. War and Peace Esprit de Corps My country right or wrong WAR! Give me your homeless Purple mountains majesty PEACE! The hills are alive Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition WALL ST.       Top of the Page.	Jerry "Good morning, Jerry' "Good morning, Sir. How are you today?", the bus boy asked me, except that he is not really a boy. He is a grown man 35 to 40 years old, who gives his employer more than his moneys' worth. "I am fine, just looking forward to the rain," I replied. "Me too," said Jerry. " I like the feeling it gives you inside. I don't know exactly, it's like a peaceful feeling." Jerry's sensitive observation is worthy of a poet. A " bus man" with poetry in his soul, a smile on his face, kind words from his lips, and pride in his work. He has imbued what must be considered menial work, with dignity and respect. I envy him his peaceful heart, as do those customers who seek his counsel. I am sure he would like a few more dollars in his wallet, but the lack of it is not a cause for bitterness or hateful feelings. On the contrary, serious adversity that Jerry has faced in life's struggle has made him stronger and more determined. He has a plan for life which guides his efforts. When knocked down, Jerry gets up and continues pursuing his goal. His nature and his will are in harmony. It is my good fortune that our paths have crossed. I guess what I have been saying is that Jerry is a man, he is what a man is supposed to be.       Top of the Page.
The Questions of Confuscious and the Egg Roll Why do you think Confuscious thought that eating was philosophic in nature ? Was consuming egg rolls actually a form of contemplation? Has it anything to do with its form and with its content ? What did the egg roll symbolize for Confuscious ? Is his assessment correct? In the simplicity of the egg roll, does he sacrifice the profound or is simplicity in itself profound ? Is the egg roll an example of simplicity or is it actually a very complicated and intricate statement ? Can we say that an egg roll explains the mystery of life? In your opinion, what makes this a stupid question? Postulate the theory of life that Confuscious puts forth in his philosophy of the extraordinary yet commonplace egg ? No more questions! We need your answers as they are the poem.       Top of the Page.	I Turned My Eyes Upward I stepped out the door, looked up at the deep blue sky not yet dark, lingering in half light which cast a transparent glow over the heavens. I saw something new, after years of observing the skies. In that great expanse there was just one star brightly shining in close awareness with a thin sliver of silver, curved like a scimitar. this sight must be what inspired the Turkish flag. I felt a camaraderie when I realized that the ancient Turks and I were moved by the same sight. Heavenly views are by nature ephemeral, and so it was with my enraptured observation which unknowingly stole away with the advent of full darkness. I was blessed for a moment, simply, because I turned my eyes upward.       Top of the Page.
The Gray Panthers? Whatever happened to the Gray Panthers? Nobody mentions them anymore on television or in the papers. I didn't thoroughly understand their mission but in general, I knew it was meant to support and further the rights of the silver-haired among us and let their ideas be heard. A squeaky, hacking, emphysema ridden voice is handled in a condescending manner by those with power to change things. No real thought is given to what is said, only lip service, which is really a kiss-off. There are national senior organizations, groups organized for those wrinkled beings who don't quite move as quickly as they used to. These groups, do they help or exploit our "seniors" for profit or political gain? I can't answer that but can you picture them leading their members in an old-age uprising. Instead of attacking the establishment they are a part of it. Why not? I would imagine, they are a multi-million dollar business. Where is our leader? Where is our "geriatric" firebrand who has the temerity to lead us into battle, not afraid and not intimidated by those who would treat us like overgrown children.? Yes, we have casualties of life who no longer are aware of the world around them or the issues that affect them. But, these dear folks are in the minority and not representative of us all. (continued in column to the right)	But , our "masters" would like the world to view us in that manner as it makes us easier to be manipulated. Put all our "squeaky" voices together as one voice and "they" will listen. There are millions of us with brains and energy to be a force in this great nation. That is their fear. The "movers and shakers" want you to think of yourself as retired, past any desire to participate in life. You should quietly rock before the TV with your afghan over your legs, head bent forward in slumber. So long as you sleep your days away you are no threat to their rule, to their way of running things, and telling you what you should want and what to do. Look around my fellow victims and fight back for a life of dignity and respect. Start "squeaking" now! Don't allow yourself to be ignored in this life. Speak up for your rights. Don't be cheated by frauds. Demand that you get what you paid for. Before you know it you will be back in action, a force in society that you are a part of. What else? Organize with others in your community or state. Flex your scrawny muscles together and discover your combined strength. There is an axiom that" the whole is greater than the sum of its parts." Go on the internet; find out what's happening. Silver threads among the gold, baby, and power to that 'silver.'       Top of the Page.
A Doe A doe tiptoes through sylvan glades like a banished harlot, timid, unsure of her place among the chosen few. A line of for-get-me-nots takes root in richly nourished half-moons. She ascends a star bright trail as a jewel in the brooding night sky, tears sparkle, refracting lunar light, pale and pure. A melodic twang defines reality. Discordant notes shatter the night. Why? So beautiful! Why?       Top of the Page.	There Was A Time A dazzling , breath-taking nubian princess exuding warmth and good humor, delightfully packaged, causes a twinge of regret in another wise resigned silver haired warrior of loves labors won and lost. Against my will, my rebellious thoughts yearn for one more skirmish with youth in bloom. The heart knows it can't be and even if it were possible, my heart belongs to another, whose prescence puts these intriguing feelings to rest. Still, There was a time, Oh yes, There was a time !       Top of the Page.

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