With the passing of Robert Sherman, yet another door closes to Disney’s golden era. Not that the songwriters working for Disney today are slackers, but the Sherman Brothers – Robert with his brother Richard – were Disney music, as much as Carl Stalling was Warner Brothers/Bugs Bunny music.
These guys put a lot into their work – and “work” was whatever was at hand. Robert Sherman joined the US Army at age 17 and was among the first to enter the concentration camp at Dachau. He won a passel of decorations from the army and then went on with his brother to win two Academy awards for Best Original Song (Chim Chim Cher-ee)and Best Substantially Original Score.
And then there’s Feed the Birds, which was Walt Disney’s favorite. Often, years after Mary Poppins, all Disney had to do was ask the Sherman Brothers to “play it,” and they knew which song he spoke of.
These songs are as much a part of my childhood as going to school, playing around in the dirt, riding bicycles and whatever else I did as a kid.
Indy and Harry
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We're heavily into many things at our house, as is the case with many
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Here at the End of All Things
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And another book blog is complete.
Oh, Louis Untermeyer includes a final collection of little bits -- several
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Here at the End of All Things
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I’ve pondered this entry for a while now. Thought about recapping my
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Christmas Box Miracle, The; by Richard Paul Evans. 261 pages.
Morbid Tase for Bones, A; by Ellis Peters. 265 pages.
Peanuts by the Decade, the 1970s; by Charles Schulz. 490 pages
Rakkety Tam, by Brian Jacques. 372 pages.
Rickover Effect, The, by Theodore Rockwell. 411 pages.
Road to Freedom, The; by Shawn Pollock. 212 pages.
There's Treasure Everywhere, by Bill Watterson. 173 pages.
Trolls of Wall Street, The; by Nathaniel Popper, 339 pages.
Undaunted Courage, by Stephen E. Ambrose. 521 pages.
Read in 2025
Diary of A Wimpy Kid Hot Mess, by Jeff Kinney. 217 pages.
Ze Page Total: 217.
The Best Part
Catch You Later, Traitor, by Avi
“Pete,” said Mr. Ordson, “we live in a time of great mistrust. This is not always a bad thing. People should question things. However, in my experience, too much suspicion undermines reason.”
I shook my head, only to remember he couldn’t see me.
“There’s a big difference,” he went on, “between suspicion and paranoia.”
“What’s . . . paranoia?”
“An unreasonable beliefe that you are being persecuted. For example,” Mr. Ordson went on,” I’m willing to guess you’ve even considered me to be the informer. After all, you told me you were going to follow your father. Perhaps I told the FBI.”
Startled, I stared at him. His blank eyes showed nothing. Neither did his expression. It was as if he had his mask on again.
“Have you considered that?” he pushed.
“No,” I said. But his question made me realize how much I’d shared with him. Trusted him. How he’d become my only friend. And he was the only one I hoad told I was going to follow my dad. Maybe he did tell the FBI.
He said, “I hope you get my point.”
Silcence settled around us. Loki looked around, puzzled.
Mr. Ordson must have sensed what I was thinking because he said, “Now, Pete, you don’t really have any qualms about me, do you?”
Yes, perlious times then. Who to trust? And perlious times now, with paranoia running even deeper than during the Red Scare . . .
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