The Storyteller and the Listener Online
What story can do: Readers share their experiences
posted Monday, 24 April 2006
compiled by Holly Stevens, editor
Copyright © 2006 by each entrant. All rights reserved.
(editor's website) (editor's email)
The best Christmas gift ever
KANSAS CITY, Mo., USA -- I was doing a Christmas program for a nursing center and, when I had finished several stories, I asked the residents about their own Christmas stories. What was the best Christmas gift they ever received? Several talked about a fancy doll or a bicycle. Finally a little lady who had not entered into the program before held up her hand and said, "Corn husk doll." That sounded like a really fine story, so I asked for details. "We were poor!" she said. "I didn't think that Santa would come at all, but on Christmas morning there was a corn husk doll. It was my favorite thing for years." It was a wonderful story and I really played it up with all the other residents. After the program was over, the activities director of the home came up to me and said, "You know Mrs. Williams, the lady with the corn husk doll?" I readily agreed that was a fine story. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "She does not talk! That was the first time I have heard her utter a word in the three years she has been here!"
I have been told grown men don't cry, but that day I realized the power of story to bring tired minds out of their cobwebs with something as simple as a corn husk doll . . . I cried! -- Steve Otto (website) (email)
He wasn't out to get us after all
BEACHWOOD, Ohio, USA -- For more than nine years I worked for a nonprofit community development corporation (CDC). There are 50 CDCs in the Cleveland area and, even though we all are working to improve our communities, we also experience a great deal of competition and politics. Our service area bordered on another that our executive director always felt was trying to encroach on our area. He would criticize their executive director and act like the other was "out to get us." I had formed a community storytelling group, and we held an evening of casual storytelling with those from the community invited. John, the other executive director -- the bad guy -- showed up and told his story. He had come here from Africa, and it was obvious that he sincerely cared about his service area and was not "out to get" anyone; he only wanted to make their lives better. I immediately liked him and related to his goals. It taught me to never, never form judgments about another person from someone else's words. Storytelling communication at work! -- Chris King (website) (email)
The little animal story that calmed a boy
JOPLIN, Mo., USA -- I was a nursery/kindergarten teacher for five years, and during that time I used story many times to diffuse anger, sooth hurts -- both physical and emotional, ease group dynamics, and teach lessons. One little boy I had in my class was rather volatile emotionally, and he took a lot of attention from the teachers. Once after an altercation, I took him out of the classroom, and was holding him on my lap in the school office. I could feel him shaking, upset and angry. I started a story; I had no idea where the story would go; it was made up on the spot. I don't even remember what the story was about now, but it involved a little animal that was having problems getting along with its friends, and the problems were resolved. As I told the story, I could feel his body begin to relax, and by the time I finished, he was comfortably settled into my arms. He sighed that wonderful satisfied sigh that told me the story had taken hold. We returned to the classroom, and he played happily with the other children for the rest of the morning. Not that all his problems were resolved by that one story, but it was a start. -- Judith Wynhausen (website) (email)
Stories for turbulent times
NEW YORK, USA -- Having just come home after a four day workshop I co-taught called "Lotus in the Flames" about working in turbulent times, I smiled deeply [reading Dvora Shurman's entry, below]. For the first time in my life I worked as a storyteller in a very serious workshop relating to activists, giving new ways of understanding how to work with strong emotions, how story can help us cut through the habitual stories that promote conflict, and how to strengthen listening skills and trust in "space" between us and within us. -- Laura Simms (website) (email)
From the drama class from hell to a world without war
SAINT PETERS, Mo., USA -- Teaching the "drama class from hell," my student teacher and I both had a difficult time, with very resistant and sometimes belligerent students. When I started the storytelling unit, she was glad to be rid of them, and I dreaded it. For two days, I had them read silently and take notes, selecting from stories I had carefully pre-chosen for themes of cooperation and responsibility. Then they began telling in pairs and small groups, and they began to glow with confidence. By the time they were telling their final versions, everyone was encouraging each other, and even the most shy among them took the stage and did well.
Another time, after hearing Dan Keding's "Two Warriors" story at the final New Salem weekend, looking at the faces of the children in the audience, the blessing arose in my mind, "May these children raise their children in a world without war." I was the next teller, and for a few seconds I could only look at those children and hope that hope for them, silently, though I now wish I could have made my mouth speak the words. -- Mary Garrett (email)
Her mother's hands, found by a story
ALBANY, N.Y., USA -- I told my story My Mother's Hands at one of Marni Gillard's workshops about eight years ago. Afterwards, one of the women there told me, "My parents never married. A few years after I was born, my mother married another man. He and his family always treated me like an outsider. As a child, I spent many hours in the attic, poring over my mother's family photo albums, searching for someone who looked like me. Until I heard your story, I never realized that I have my mother’s hands." I thanked her for sharing her story with me. And I was honored that my story about my mother could mean so much to someone else. -- Kate Dudding (website) (email)
Her favorite part was the storytelling
DEARBORN, Mich., USA -- I have been involved in Detroit's First Unitarian Universalist Church Summer Peace Camps for the past two years. I am hired by my friend and fellow peace activist Jennifer Teed, who is also the religious education director at the church. I tell peace stories to inner city children. One year, I thought the children weren't interested in the stories, but at the end of the day, as we went around the circle telling each other what our favorite activity of the day was, one little girl who had been difficult during her time with me and the storytelling I did said, "The best part of the day for me was the storytelling." I was shocked but very pleased. You see? Storytelling did have an effect on her life. -- Rob McCabe (website) (email)
Of scuds, animals, toys, spaceships, stories and laughter
TEL AVIV, Israel -- In 1991 during the first Gulf War, I went back to work in Israel as a substitute teacher after schools had been closed for two weeks as the scud missiles had rained down and people had holed up in their homes. I went to a comprehensive school, grades 1-8, from disadvantaged to brilliant classes. I was hired to teach English in three classes and art in 14.
I told the supervisor I can elicit art through story and that's what I did. I told my original version of the Crowded House. Instead of more and more animals, it was all the people in the apartment building, bit by bit. I told stories of hiding, being attacked. And I told the true story, of having heard Orson Welles' radio broadcast of War of the Worlds, ensconced safely in Milwaukee, Wisc.
The children drew Scuds and then little green animals and toys coming down from a space ship. The last day, the war over, I tore down the paper sealing the windows for them to draw the light! I also encouraged them, showing pictures from Lucia Cappacione's book on healing, showing terror or emotion in drawing. An 8th grade girl drew a black and white outline drawing, a girl with her mouth open in a great scream, and told me it was she, as the Scud demolished their brand new house.
One little boy, 10 years old, came in with three little plastic sacks about a couple of inches wide, and said his father told him to tell the stories behind them. The first held remnants of of his destroyed bed. The second, salvaged bits of his favorite book. The third, a metal corner brace from his bedroom. He told the stories, then sat down. I did not know what to say to him but the telling helped. The 8th grade girl wanted a hug, and then all the girls in the class lined up for hugs. The boys giggled first, then were quiet, watching, but not yet ready for that.
How could I forget that? Yet it seems nearly every day is like that here. I have a friend around my age, 80, who is very ill with asthma. She calls me her "laugh maker." I walk about breathing life with story and laughter, especially in the two gym classes I teach weekly, with a "slogan" that often includes humor. The last gym lesson was a play, a "Purimspiel" enacting the story of Esther, with a great deal of laughter. One of my students at the center for Holocaust survivors, said, "It's not just gym. We leave here happy." -- Dvora Shurman (email)
A father's death mourned, thanks to story
CEDAR HILL, Texas, USA -- After weeks in intensive care, my father was dead, so I brought my mother from their home in Louisiana to a nursing home near my home in Dallas, Texas. Months of intensive therapy with Mom followed and there was no time to mourn Dad. As a member of the audience at a Texas Storytelling Festival, I heard Elizabeth Ellis tell about standing around a hospital room singing to a dying family member. I lay my head down in the empty chair in front of me and quietly wept the loss of my father. It was not the obvious time or place, but it was right for me. -- Mel Davenport (email)
The cartoonist turned storyteller by a listener
PITTSBURGH, Penn., USA -- I had been performing since the age of 15, but had always considered myself a cartoonist first and storyteller second. I draw stories as I tell them in a program called "Once Upon a Toon." I am constantly drawing as I tell, so a single show is usually around 20 illustrations.
About eight years ago, I was performing at a school in Pennsylvania. I was telling my version of "How Turtle Flew South" at an assembly program of about 300 kids. One girl about 11 years was participating along with the story more than any of the others. At each sound effect, each repetition, she was right with me the whole way, and seemed to grow louder and louder each time. You could tell she was really into the performance. After the show, the principal came up to thank me and tell me how much he enjoyed the performance. He also apologized for the little girl who was so loud.
Of course, I said there was no apology necessary.
But he insisted that it was obviously a distraction to the other kids, but he simply did not want to stop the little girl from participating. He explained that he had never seen her so involved in a program. She was a quiet girl who kept to herself and never seemed to enjoy any of the programs. The teachers and everyone were so happy to see her so involved in a program they rightfully let her be as vocal as she wanted.
I thanked him for letting her enjoy the program, and told him that I have found in my performances lots of kids who might not normally want to sit and listen to a story literally get drawn in by the cartooning aspect of the show. I said that kids love cartoons, and seeing a drawing come to life before their eyes often reaches them in a unique way.
It was then the principal told me: That little girl was blind.
It was entirely the story! That was the day I became a storyteller and cartoonist, not the other way around. I always had realized the power of pictures; it was then I realized the power of story. -- Joe Wos (website) (email)
Copyright © 2006 by each entrant. All rights reserved.
(editor's website) (editor's email)
The best Christmas gift ever
KANSAS CITY, Mo., USA -- I was doing a Christmas program for a nursing center and, when I had finished several stories, I asked the residents about their own Christmas stories. What was the best Christmas gift they ever received? Several talked about a fancy doll or a bicycle. Finally a little lady who had not entered into the program before held up her hand and said, "Corn husk doll." That sounded like a really fine story, so I asked for details. "We were poor!" she said. "I didn't think that Santa would come at all, but on Christmas morning there was a corn husk doll. It was my favorite thing for years." It was a wonderful story and I really played it up with all the other residents. After the program was over, the activities director of the home came up to me and said, "You know Mrs. Williams, the lady with the corn husk doll?" I readily agreed that was a fine story. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "She does not talk! That was the first time I have heard her utter a word in the three years she has been here!"
I have been told grown men don't cry, but that day I realized the power of story to bring tired minds out of their cobwebs with something as simple as a corn husk doll . . . I cried! -- Steve Otto (website) (email)
He wasn't out to get us after all
BEACHWOOD, Ohio, USA -- For more than nine years I worked for a nonprofit community development corporation (CDC). There are 50 CDCs in the Cleveland area and, even though we all are working to improve our communities, we also experience a great deal of competition and politics. Our service area bordered on another that our executive director always felt was trying to encroach on our area. He would criticize their executive director and act like the other was "out to get us." I had formed a community storytelling group, and we held an evening of casual storytelling with those from the community invited. John, the other executive director -- the bad guy -- showed up and told his story. He had come here from Africa, and it was obvious that he sincerely cared about his service area and was not "out to get" anyone; he only wanted to make their lives better. I immediately liked him and related to his goals. It taught me to never, never form judgments about another person from someone else's words. Storytelling communication at work! -- Chris King (website) (email)
The little animal story that calmed a boy
JOPLIN, Mo., USA -- I was a nursery/kindergarten teacher for five years, and during that time I used story many times to diffuse anger, sooth hurts -- both physical and emotional, ease group dynamics, and teach lessons. One little boy I had in my class was rather volatile emotionally, and he took a lot of attention from the teachers. Once after an altercation, I took him out of the classroom, and was holding him on my lap in the school office. I could feel him shaking, upset and angry. I started a story; I had no idea where the story would go; it was made up on the spot. I don't even remember what the story was about now, but it involved a little animal that was having problems getting along with its friends, and the problems were resolved. As I told the story, I could feel his body begin to relax, and by the time I finished, he was comfortably settled into my arms. He sighed that wonderful satisfied sigh that told me the story had taken hold. We returned to the classroom, and he played happily with the other children for the rest of the morning. Not that all his problems were resolved by that one story, but it was a start. -- Judith Wynhausen (website) (email)
Stories for turbulent times
NEW YORK, USA -- Having just come home after a four day workshop I co-taught called "Lotus in the Flames" about working in turbulent times, I smiled deeply [reading Dvora Shurman's entry, below]. For the first time in my life I worked as a storyteller in a very serious workshop relating to activists, giving new ways of understanding how to work with strong emotions, how story can help us cut through the habitual stories that promote conflict, and how to strengthen listening skills and trust in "space" between us and within us. -- Laura Simms (website) (email)
From the drama class from hell to a world without warSAINT PETERS, Mo., USA -- Teaching the "drama class from hell," my student teacher and I both had a difficult time, with very resistant and sometimes belligerent students. When I started the storytelling unit, she was glad to be rid of them, and I dreaded it. For two days, I had them read silently and take notes, selecting from stories I had carefully pre-chosen for themes of cooperation and responsibility. Then they began telling in pairs and small groups, and they began to glow with confidence. By the time they were telling their final versions, everyone was encouraging each other, and even the most shy among them took the stage and did well.
Another time, after hearing Dan Keding's "Two Warriors" story at the final New Salem weekend, looking at the faces of the children in the audience, the blessing arose in my mind, "May these children raise their children in a world without war." I was the next teller, and for a few seconds I could only look at those children and hope that hope for them, silently, though I now wish I could have made my mouth speak the words. -- Mary Garrett (email)
Her mother's hands, found by a story
ALBANY, N.Y., USA -- I told my story My Mother's Hands at one of Marni Gillard's workshops about eight years ago. Afterwards, one of the women there told me, "My parents never married. A few years after I was born, my mother married another man. He and his family always treated me like an outsider. As a child, I spent many hours in the attic, poring over my mother's family photo albums, searching for someone who looked like me. Until I heard your story, I never realized that I have my mother’s hands." I thanked her for sharing her story with me. And I was honored that my story about my mother could mean so much to someone else. -- Kate Dudding (website) (email)
Her favorite part was the storytelling
DEARBORN, Mich., USA -- I have been involved in Detroit's First Unitarian Universalist Church Summer Peace Camps for the past two years. I am hired by my friend and fellow peace activist Jennifer Teed, who is also the religious education director at the church. I tell peace stories to inner city children. One year, I thought the children weren't interested in the stories, but at the end of the day, as we went around the circle telling each other what our favorite activity of the day was, one little girl who had been difficult during her time with me and the storytelling I did said, "The best part of the day for me was the storytelling." I was shocked but very pleased. You see? Storytelling did have an effect on her life. -- Rob McCabe (website) (email)
Of scuds, animals, toys, spaceships, stories and laughter
TEL AVIV, Israel -- In 1991 during the first Gulf War, I went back to work in Israel as a substitute teacher after schools had been closed for two weeks as the scud missiles had rained down and people had holed up in their homes. I went to a comprehensive school, grades 1-8, from disadvantaged to brilliant classes. I was hired to teach English in three classes and art in 14.
I told the supervisor I can elicit art through story and that's what I did. I told my original version of the Crowded House. Instead of more and more animals, it was all the people in the apartment building, bit by bit. I told stories of hiding, being attacked. And I told the true story, of having heard Orson Welles' radio broadcast of War of the Worlds, ensconced safely in Milwaukee, Wisc.
The children drew Scuds and then little green animals and toys coming down from a space ship. The last day, the war over, I tore down the paper sealing the windows for them to draw the light! I also encouraged them, showing pictures from Lucia Cappacione's book on healing, showing terror or emotion in drawing. An 8th grade girl drew a black and white outline drawing, a girl with her mouth open in a great scream, and told me it was she, as the Scud demolished their brand new house.
One little boy, 10 years old, came in with three little plastic sacks about a couple of inches wide, and said his father told him to tell the stories behind them. The first held remnants of of his destroyed bed. The second, salvaged bits of his favorite book. The third, a metal corner brace from his bedroom. He told the stories, then sat down. I did not know what to say to him but the telling helped. The 8th grade girl wanted a hug, and then all the girls in the class lined up for hugs. The boys giggled first, then were quiet, watching, but not yet ready for that.
How could I forget that? Yet it seems nearly every day is like that here. I have a friend around my age, 80, who is very ill with asthma. She calls me her "laugh maker." I walk about breathing life with story and laughter, especially in the two gym classes I teach weekly, with a "slogan" that often includes humor. The last gym lesson was a play, a "Purimspiel" enacting the story of Esther, with a great deal of laughter. One of my students at the center for Holocaust survivors, said, "It's not just gym. We leave here happy." -- Dvora Shurman (email)
A father's death mourned, thanks to story
CEDAR HILL, Texas, USA -- After weeks in intensive care, my father was dead, so I brought my mother from their home in Louisiana to a nursing home near my home in Dallas, Texas. Months of intensive therapy with Mom followed and there was no time to mourn Dad. As a member of the audience at a Texas Storytelling Festival, I heard Elizabeth Ellis tell about standing around a hospital room singing to a dying family member. I lay my head down in the empty chair in front of me and quietly wept the loss of my father. It was not the obvious time or place, but it was right for me. -- Mel Davenport (email)
The cartoonist turned storyteller by a listener
PITTSBURGH, Penn., USA -- I had been performing since the age of 15, but had always considered myself a cartoonist first and storyteller second. I draw stories as I tell them in a program called "Once Upon a Toon." I am constantly drawing as I tell, so a single show is usually around 20 illustrations.
About eight years ago, I was performing at a school in Pennsylvania. I was telling my version of "How Turtle Flew South" at an assembly program of about 300 kids. One girl about 11 years was participating along with the story more than any of the others. At each sound effect, each repetition, she was right with me the whole way, and seemed to grow louder and louder each time. You could tell she was really into the performance. After the show, the principal came up to thank me and tell me how much he enjoyed the performance. He also apologized for the little girl who was so loud.
Of course, I said there was no apology necessary.
But he insisted that it was obviously a distraction to the other kids, but he simply did not want to stop the little girl from participating. He explained that he had never seen her so involved in a program. She was a quiet girl who kept to herself and never seemed to enjoy any of the programs. The teachers and everyone were so happy to see her so involved in a program they rightfully let her be as vocal as she wanted.
I thanked him for letting her enjoy the program, and told him that I have found in my performances lots of kids who might not normally want to sit and listen to a story literally get drawn in by the cartooning aspect of the show. I said that kids love cartoons, and seeing a drawing come to life before their eyes often reaches them in a unique way.
It was then the principal told me: That little girl was blind.
It was entirely the story! That was the day I became a storyteller and cartoonist, not the other way around. I always had realized the power of pictures; it was then I realized the power of story. -- Joe Wos (website) (email)
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