Elder Shouse Analysis

It was a regular sunday morning around 6 a.m. when Mrs. Robinson was taking her daily run in the morning. She jogged around the perimeter of the neighborhood at a fair speed while she pondered her plans for the day. Would she go grocery shopping, would she go out with some friends, or would she just stay at home and continue to grade papers, as she was a school teacher. These thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when she saw something very peculiar in the corner of her eye. She approached what appeared to be a hunched over figure next to one of the rose bushes that lined the fence of the neighborhood. As she got closer, she realized what it was.

After a couple of hours, I decided to go home. As soon as I got there, there was a news truck pulled into my driveway. A tall lady with blonde hair and blue eyes asked me if she could give me and interview. "So what do have to say about the events that occurred today,"she asked." Well, I really am still trying to take all of this in," I said. "I never suspected this to happen, and I believe that we should be more prepared for if this should happen again." "It was less than a second, maybe half a second, but it changed

Down the avenue came boastfully sauntering a lad of sixteen years, although the chronic sneer of an ideal manhood already sat upon his lips. His hat was tipped with an air of challenge over his eye. Between his teeth, a cigar stump was tilted at the angle of defiance. He walked with a certain swing of the shoulders which appalled the timid. He glanced over into the vacant lot in which the little raving boys from Devil's Row seethed about the shrieking and tearful child from Rum Alley. "Gee!" he murmured with interest. "A scrap. Gee!" He strode over to the cursing circle, swinging his shoulders in a manner which denoted that he held victory in his fists. He approached at the back of one of the most deeply engaged of the Devil's Row children. "Ah, what deh hell," he said, and smote the deeply-engaged one on the back of the head.

Ralph sits in the Pere Marquette rail depot in Flint, fidgeting with the lose button on his overcoat, and looking down at his shabby brown shoes. The morning sun is low and catches dust in its light as it shines through the windows. His eyes dart to the door every time it opens. He is expecting a cop to walk in at any moment. He is getting desperate and would look suspicious if it wasn’t for his overall gentle appearance. He gets up and checks the time tables for the fourth time and debates if he should inquire why the train is late. He walks to the window and watches the congregation gathering outside the Lakeview Methodist Episcopal Church, which ironically is housed in the former Flint Brewery building and has been since 1915, when

Clevinger was already on the way, half out of his chair with emotion, his eyes moist and his lips quivering and pale. As always occurred when he quarreled over principles in which he believed passionately, he would end up gasping furiously for air and blinking back bitter tears of conviction. There were many principles in which Clevinger believed passionately. He was crazy.

On a particular Sunday, several months ago, I was making my anxious rounds through the sanctuary, checking on the two thousand minuet details that go unnoticed by everyone but the Pastor and a few influential widows. There I introduced myself to an obvious visitor, a professional looking women in her mid 50’s. I asked if she was visiting, knowing the answer, and was pleasantly surprised to learn she was a Truett Professor doing what she described as a field trip, observing churches her students attend. As I walked her to a seat that hadn’t belonged to an elderly member for five decades, I went back to my duty, working the room and politicking the old crowd.

These indicate that he thinks more practically than the others. Although the chief’s assistant holds intelligent ideas, the irrational boys rudely interrupt before the rational boy speaks; therefore, leading to the sensitive child to rant on how abused he feels by crying, “‘That’s what I said! I said about our meetings and things and then you said shut up—’” (43).

During the 1970s, American southerners who lived on the plantation and were of black descent and dark skinned were faced with racial prejudice and were harassed by lynch mob groups such as the Klu Klux Klan. In Ernest J. Gaines phenomenal book, A Gathering of Old Men, Gaines conveys the hard times faced during this time period. by a group of black men and women when a black man named Mathu is accused of murdering a white Cajun farmer named Beau. However, a white woman named Candy attempts to protect the people: “‘No, I won’t let them harm my people,’ she said. ‘I will protect my people.’ (pg 19).” She keeps stating that it was her who killed Beau. Candy then gathers many black folks to gather at the Marshalls place. While these men are commanded

On my first day of work, my boss led me to the section of the office in which I would be working. “Our old scrivener prefers not to work right now” he said, passive-aggressively gesturing to Bartleby “and that is why we’ve hired you to replace him.” I looked over at the motionless man, but he gave no acknowledgement to either of us. Instead, he stared out the window, which looked directly out onto a brick wall. The boss left abruptly and I began to get settled in the office and eventually I decided to engage the man by the window.

On the route to Florida, the grandmother is quick to point out the cemeteries on the way to Florida, which means that she knows her life is limited and she will be in one soon. Finally, the grandmother is led to the misfit and tries to act as a peacemaker. This plan fails because God is the only peacemaker when it comes to trouble. The critic offers a critical analysis of the idea of imagery and foreshadowing, which this critic believes is brought on by God as payback.

The prominent red-yellow flame glistened as if the colors overbearingly fought for dominance. Being in shock, the teacher came over and immediately reacted by stamping it out quickly and aggressively. I observed the anger and confusion in his face. “Who did it?” he asked. At this moment, I wanted to disappear immediately as a shock of guilt and fear overshadowed me with regrets. Why had I not stopped it? Was it for acceptance and approval? Or out of fear and unconsciousness? It remained silent. Trying to avoid eye contact with my peers and mainly his bulging eyes, before I knew it, I, along with 5 others, was escorted to a grim place, the office. Still, it was silent and I sat there wondering what I will say to the officer and to my parents. The longer I sat there the more I started to shake as all of these “What ifs and why’s?” submerged my mind. Finally, I was being questioned as to my role in the event. Convincing him that I didn’t take part in it was hard enough, but what appeared to be even worse, is that I had to accept that fact that I was still guilty regardless. I couldn’t say what I wanted to in words because I had said all that I could and would not be able to take anything back. As it occurred to be too late, all I could do was cry wretched, unfortunate

The tires squeal as Elder Shouse slams on the brakes and jerks the car into a gravel lot just outside one of the local Aberdeen trailer parks. He gets out of the car and walks far enough away that I can’t make out what he is yelling from where I am sitting inside the car. I uncomfortably sit in the car, not knowing what else to do. After a few minutes he stomps back to the car, opens my door and says, “We’re going back to the apartment and you’re going to call president Christiansen and tell him you’re going home, or I will.” Tension had been building between Elder Shouse and me for a while now so I wasn’t unfamiliar with confrontations between us, but this ultimatum was something entirely different.

The way both men respond to each other, implies the restrained tone of agitation and sarcasm within being used in a polite manner. Although the ethics in this story should appeal genteel, these characters transfer

Flakey’s office is as large as you can imagine, lots of plaques and ribbons decorating the baby blue walls, with a large photo of the whitest Jesus ever painted. Carl thanked the man for taking the time out to visit us, without much hesitation Carl sets the box of promotional material on Flakey’s desk and began his questioning. Flakey, looking a little flustered, admitted that this was old promotional material used to recruit new people for the church, as they were looking for more numbers. I butt into the conversation, sort of like a good cop, bad cop type of scheme, and insisted that there are gift packages still being handed out, no return address. Flakey replied that the promotion ceased sending the paper bags of incense when he found out people were using the incense to get high, but people are still receiving them. The church thought they’d already put this fire out, but someone has been distributing these on the church’s behalf. The story gets interesting, as Flakey brings up Mr. Shufner, who unfortunately no longer works at the church. Carl’s eyes bug out, head leaning forward. I turn to look over to Carl realizing we have the same expression on our faces. He asks about what happened to Schufner, who was excommunicated from the church during a random outburst during one Sunday morning mass. Mr. Shufner was picked off the

Focused eyes flitted purposefully from the tablet nestled carefully on the surface of a crowded desk, a primarily ignored computer that was only engaged when necessary, and the hurried scrawling print of a mind putting forth any possibilities spanning across an entire page of notebook paper. A loosely held, but well-worn pencil came to rest against Emory’s barely pouted bottom lip as the case currently subjected to his invasive scrutiny twisted itself further without a purely logical, evidence based answer coming into view. Notes reeking of uncertainty dotted the page and frustration at not having a more solid lead began to mount internally, though his outward exterior remained wholly unchanged in the face of this newfound adversary. The once eager hand that was previously enthralled with continuing work slowed before stilling completely and his free appendage