Images from a 1960s Ypsi Childhood

Images from the 1965 and 1967 Ypsilanti Press and family photos from Dave P., who shared his recollections about his childhood in 1960s Ypsi.

"Moon Over Willow Run" Chapter 2 Summary: Various Appetites

Chapter 1 wrapup: Missionary gal Trilla returns to the States via California and is picked up by Bob, who is to drive her somewhere.

Bob and Trilla are speeding among the redwoods when their hunger catches up to them. Excerpt follows.

"I have an appetite proportionate in size to one of these redwoods!" he exclaimed, wheeling the roadster up to a wayside refreshment stand bearing the caption 'The Red "Cedar Lodge'. "This place doesn't look like the Waldorf Astoria, I'll admit, but Mother MacDay knows how to work wonders in vanquishing that demon hunger that persistently pursues the California traveler."

Dusty D likes the naturalistic dialogue.

"I have been debating the question for an hour, hating to admit it," Trilla replied. "The truth is: I have been trying to make myself believe that it was merely a hold-over from my ocean voyage. I am really famished, yet ashamed to claim ownership to such a craving for something to eat."

"Let's tackle the job then with the mutual satisfaction that we have nothing for which we need apologize. The bigger the steak the better; although I know that it is a dangerous policy to eat heavily at the noon hour when traveling," Bob explained, "I find that I often get sleepy when driving, after a big meal. I'll get around that today, however, by taking a nap. I'll curl up in the car for twenty minutes following lunch, while you look around in the curio ship; then I'll be all set. Come on, let's celebrate your first attempt at sampling American cooking!"

With all due respect, what kind of hopeless dork discusses his nap strategy with a pretty young woman with whom he's traveling alone? (sigh)

The two enter the restaurant and meet its proprietress, Mother MacDay, who, against all odds, has a missionary daughter overseas whom Trilla knows intimately. It also turns out that both Trilla and Mother MacDay are of Scottish extraction. Mother MacDay and Trilla hug and wipe their eyes. "Whe-e-e-e!" whistled Bob, "now try and tell me that the Scotch don't stick together."

Dusty D is skeptical that one can whistle a 'w' consonant sound. Informal experimentation proves that the consonant in question is the labiodental fricative 'f,' not the labiovelar approximant 'w'. But we'll let that pass.

Mother Macday takes the pair to the special guest room for their steak feast. Trilla and Mother MacDay offer grace for the meal while "a stoical expression" flits across Bob's face. Later when Trilla tells Mother MacDay that it is God's purpose that Trilla met Mother Macday's daughter, "the faint trace of a frown" crosses Bob's face, which does not keep him from "helping Trilla to a choice selection of relishes from a dainty centerpiece" as he "feigned a congenial attitude in helping Trilla to a second piece of steak."

"'Here, I must insist that you share a portion of this last T-bone with me,' he said. . . 'There's nothing like one of Mrs. MacDay's steaks to help you enjoy the scenery. Talking from experience, I can guarantee the fact. Is there any question of my being an authority in that respect?' he interjected, with a sly wink of amusement meant to express appreciation to his hostess."

;-)

The two are about to depart when Mother Macday vetoes that idea and offers to put them up for the night, not without alluding to Bob's masculine, er, nature:

"'May I insist that you remain here as my guests where you are sure of safe quarters? An early start in the morning will prove far more satisfactory and permit a view of all the scenery. I am sure that Bob will approve of the wisdom of my choice; casting no reflections upon his honor'."

"A flush of color rose to Bob's temples. 'I have guaranteed Miss MacIntyre's safe arrival in Seattle and every courtesy that could be accorded a sister en route,' he replied, with a slight touch of resentment.

We'll see how long that lasts--I mean, good on ya, my fine young Bob. And that's about as much "Moon over Willow Run" as I can absorb in one day--tune in for a Chapter 3 summary once I regather my strength, perhaps with one of Mother MacDay's T-bones.

Reconsidering "Moon Over Willow Run"

Dusty Diary has ventured further into this book, and returns now with a report, seasoned by some pondering.

The boildown is that it's easy to snark at a book whose stilted language and silly plot invite armchair giggling. But it's more complicated than that.

Chapter 2 contains a long scene at a restaurant. Bob and Trilla have stopped there to refuel. Coincidentally, the proprietress is the mother of a girl Trilla worked with as a missionary overseas. Instant bond, wiping eyes, hugs, &c. But what's curious about this chapter is the focus on the food.

The food is described in great and sharp-focus detail, and dwelt upon, to a degree that made Dusty D pause a moment. Dan Patch wrote this work in the 40s as the chief of police. Likely he rose through the ranks for a number of years. Possibly he came from a blue-collar background, like Dusty D. Dusty D then remembered the chapter in David Halberstam's "The Fifties," describing the rise of McDonald's (stay with me, here). For many families, the little burger stands with 15 cent hamburgers offered the FIRST chance an average workingman could take his family out to eat--at ANY restaurant.

McDonald's, to those workingmen, was a rare luxury and a special thing.

Dusty D considered Dan Patch's possible childhood, without even this terribly modest, by today's standards, luxury. He lived through the Depression. Dusty D went back and reread the passages about luscious T-bone steaks and relish trays more carefully, and then I made a decision.

I like "Moon Over Willow Run."

I like it because this guy, without any apparent training in writing, got it in his head to write a book, and sat down, and he damn well wrote it, and this book was around 70 years later when I ordered it off Amazon.

Dusty D also reflected that it's easy to snark, it's twice as hard to criticize, it's twice as hard as criticizing as it is to create something, and it's twice as hard as creating something as it is to edit something well. I mean editing on the level of John Hilton at the Observer, the best editor I ever met.

Given that hierarchy, I have to respect someone who achieved what he set out to do and created something lasting. I also identify with him--he, like Dusty D, is an autodidactic craftsman, not an academically-trained writer. He's essentially doing the same thing I do. And I could laugh at his profligate adverbs, or jeer at his meandering plot, but the fact is that if I met him, the thing I'd do is shake his hand.

"Moon Over Willow Run" is a curious beast. It's not good by any objective standard of literature, but it's so oddly bad that the oddness turns out to be completely enchanting, and the man behind the book comes to be someone Dusty D respects, despite having probably nothing at all in common with him, least of all religion. Good on ya, Mr. Patch. More "Moon Over Willow Run" updates comin' up as time permits.

"Moon Over Willow Run" Chapter 3 Preview

Oh dear.

I hate to tell kind readers this, but "Bob," who seemed so nicely paired with the devout Christian Trilla...is an atheist.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

And they seemed so perfect for each other. He's even gotten a bit steamed when she admired some lovers' initials carved on a big tree. Ooh!--so soon, Bob!

But alas.

Well, I for one can't see how this is gonna end up, no sir. Just have to slog through 200 more pages to find out.

Actually my husband whisked this book away as soon as he got home and had fun sniggering at the very pious and eminent Foreword written by the Christian Businessmen's Association. I can hear him laughing now in a MOST disrespectful manner. Disgraceful. More updates as soon as I can pry it back out of his hands!

Moon Over Willow Run: Chapter 1 Summary

Hooray! Dusty D has received her anxiously-anticipated copy of Dan Patch's Moon Over Willow Run in the mail today, yay! Please allow me to embark on a chapter-by-chapter summary for the edification of kind readers, and myself.

Chapter 1: A young woman, "Thryilla," or, "Trilla," is traveling to San Francisco on a boat. She has never driven a car and does not know that her great-grandmother has just died for no apparent plot-related reason. Trilla has in hand a "radiogram" stating that her cousin Jean will pick her up on shore. She thinks "Jean" is a sexually ambiguous name [note: the humorous gender mix-up Dusty D instantly anticipated here, with a buff male cousin showing up instead of a female one, went sadly unfulfilled--it's the handsome young Bob who shows up to pick her up, not neglecting to "drink in her loveliness" (euww) while doing so].

Trilla meditates on returning to Michigan and visiting what to her family is a holy shrine--the "little white church" at Willow Run where her parents were joined in matrimony. [Now, see, even the stodgy cadences of the writing style of this book are infecting my own style! I meant to say MARRIED in good plain English, not "joined in matrimony." Gah!] Concerning Willow Run, an oblique reference to Henry Ford is made:

"Most of the farms had been purchased by a great industrialist. . . What would this quiet farming community of Willow Run be like?"[I guess if most of the farms are gone, it's NOT a 'quiet farming community' any more, but anyways].

Something about redwoods and Jesus. She tells Bob her nickname is Trilla. "'Readily understood; no one ever calls me Robert any more. I've been abbreviated since childhood!' he laughed." [Who in Tarnation talks like that? No offense, Bob, but if something's been abbreviated since childhood it's not your name.]

Trilla goes to stay with some random missionary folks for the night. She and the superintendent hit it off. Mr. Abbreviated remarks on this, because he remarks on things, often with adverbs, thanks to his puppetmaster Dan Patch--instead of just saying things like normal people. "Anyone would think that you two had known each other all your life," Bob remarked. "Instead, you meet for the first time, coming from opposite sides of the earth, and yet seem to have a perfect understanding. I can't fathom it." [Well, Dusty D is not terribly surprised that you can't, Bob.]

"'It's the common touch of Christianity, my boy,' the sage of many years of missionary experience replied. "'You see,'" [Dusty D HATES it when people say 'you see'--SO patronizing! I ain't blind yet!] "'You see, while we do not know each other, we do know Jesus Christ. He introduced us here in your presence' [Dusty D must have missed him, but anyways]. "'We find that even though we have never met previously, in reality we are old friends'."

[Well, no. You just met, invisible Jesus intro or no. Look, this is hard going. I'm gonna have to do this one chapter at a time if I want to keep an even keel. I have to take a break now, but tune in soon when I return to bring you more about Trilla, Bob, the sage guy, and...Jesus Christ.]

Author Calls Own Ypsilanti-Themed Book "Piece of Crap"

An anonymous reader has contributed another volume to the shelf of books about Ypsilanti: "Willow Run," by Glendon Swartout. Review:

"Willow Run was Glendon's very first published novel, in 1943, written after putting in nine-hour days as a riveter at the famous B-24 bomber plant outside of Ann Arbor, Michigan. He wrote it in six months, for he knew there was a market for a patriotic book about the war effort on the home front during this biggest of all wars. Sure enough, he got a small advance from a publisher and the novel was hurried into print after a page one rewrite. Glendon always acknowledged it in his backlist of titles, but he was embarrassed by Willow Run, referring to it sourly as "a piece of crap" in a short autobiography he wrote the year before he died, which is included in the latest compilation of his short stories, Easterns and Westerns, to be published by Michigan State University Press, summer of 2001."

"Willow Run is a novel about blue-collar workers at this defense plant and is somewhat heavy on win-the-war speeches and lacks story and character development. While the book rhapsodizes about the details of building airplanes and a bit obvious in its symbolism, it does give a glimpse into the mind of factory workers under stress. Willow Run remains an amateurish first effort by a 23-year-old novelist dying to break into print, and is of interest solely to book collectors dying to own the entire Swarthout oeuvre."

"Swarthout's conception of his novel is an interesting and ambitious one and his book, in spite of weaknesses and inadequacies in creative ability, has a definite rhythm and vitality. . . His ear is excellent in catching the locutions of the various workers who move through his scenes and episodes. One is left with the impression that he has fine material for a good novel but that he hasn't sufficiently absorbed and developed it." ---Rose Feld, New York Times Book Review.

"The brevity and crispness of the book is to be commended though the plot could have been rounded out a little more. The main characters might have been dealt with more fully in order to make the reader better acquainted with them. Nevertheless, it is good reading, a book that helps one pass a very good evening and leaves the reader with a great deal to think about." ---Ralph Hammett, Some Michigan Books.

The Worst Book Ever Written in Ypsilanti

I have exciting, or rather, "exciting" news for kind readers. The worst book ever written in Ypsilanti, former police chief Dan Patch's "Moon Over Willow Run," is on its way to me. I ordered it from Amazon, figgering that $6.99 was well worth the pleasure of reading this gem. Readers may remember eminent local historian Wystan Stevens's summary of the book:

The dust jacket of Dan Patch's book shows a romantic couple embracing on a hillside while they watch new-assembled airplanes, sihouetted by moonlight, as they roar into the sky from the runway of the Ford Bomber plant. How many hills do you know of near the Willow Run airport?

Unfortunately "Moon Over Willow Run" was not the only load of tripe purveyed by Mr. Patch, a very religious man who wrote moralistic, religious novels for the edification of American youth.

(In "Moon," even as they watch the bombers, the hero and heroine are planning their future life together, as missionaries in a faraway, exotic land.)

How can anyone take seriously a police chief -- or an author -- who is named after a famous race horse?

An excellent question. It is thanks to Mr. Stevens, whose colorful mini-review piqued my interest, that I'll soon be the proud owner of "Moon Over Willow Run." I will avidly read it once it arrives and review this item for blog readers.

Then we can add it to the shelf of books by or about Ypsilantians, which include Harriet Arnow's "The Dollmaker" (own that one, good stuff) and "Life on the Farm, and Selections in Prose and Poetry," by William Lambie. Any others?