Leonard G. Herron III

9 Responses to Leonard G. Herron III

1. Beverly L. Kargel says:

   December 6, 2005 at 10:13 am

   When I walk thru my neighborhood of 38 years I always feel safe. So many friends call “hey”, old ones like me and students too.
   Life is good here. We have rented houses on Bellis and Ramsey and in 1971 we bought one on West Knapp behind Will Rogers school. Just before my husband retired, he inherieted a little money and we rode around with a real estate agent.”gonna move up”. We even signed some papeers and we lost money when we realized we didn’t want to leave here. So we fixed up old 808.
   I no longer feel secure. If the OSU master plan is implimented, I know our turn to leave will come. They will probably have to carry me out on a chair.
   Somebody call 60 Minutes and please don’t watch cuz I will be bawling my head off. Beverly Kargel

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2. Lee Agnew says:

   January 20, 2006 at 12:50 pm

   Poem/Rant, for 701 N. Bellis Street

   By Lee Agnew

   I want to buy our old home from Dad, and when the current tenants’ lease is up, I want to live there.

   Maybe I could move in by June 1.

   I would plant elms along the street, a juniper shrub by the front porch, and a Rose of Sharon beside the gas meter.

   I would patch and paint all the trim, clean up the trash, and cut out the scrub from the spirea bushes and the back hedge.

   I would re-seed and re-sod the lawn.

   I would not be a “willing seller” to OSU under any circumstances.

   If OSU wants to tear it down, they’d have to tear down the best darn looking house between McElroy and McGeorge.

   (I say “McGeorge,” because “Hall of Fame” does not exist.)

   I would use every obstructive and delaying tactic I can think of:

   I would find some horny toads and re-establish a colony in the back yard as an endangered species habitat.

   I would have the house certified as a Historic Site (I know some historians, I could make that happen.)

   I would claim that the property actually belongs to the Cherokee Nation, since the Dawes Commission report was a fraud and the Run of 1889 was an illegal land grab.

   And in the meantime, as the days shorten towards fall, I would sit in my lawn chair in my yard on Saturday afternoons, holding up a great big sign:

   “NO FOOTBALL PARKING. EVER!”

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3. Marion Agnew says:

   January 20, 2006 at 1:43 pm

   Would you have a swingset, and would you still bomb Amboy?
   Would you keep turtles and, when they died, bury them in the front garden?

   You could set up your aquarium in the family room, beside the TV
   Where we watched Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights,
   And Mommy would cut my fingernails and toenails (curved nail scissors,
   Not clippers) after my bath. Sometimes I’d get
   “Shampoo, shampoo, guess who, guess who” and sometimes
   Susan’s Dairy Queen dip cone hair-do. (During the day,
   Keeno watched TV there, too, and cried at “All My Children.”)

   But when you set up the aquarium this time, would you
   Please move the rocking chair so nobody
   Nobody nobody accidentally shatters your aquarium?

   The wrecking ball would not be an accident,
   But the glass would splinter, just the same.

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4. sue agnew says:

   January 20, 2006 at 11:10 pm

   On game day, I would play in the yard.
   I could hear the spectators’ hubbub, like crashing surf,
   and the announcer’s voice.
   Because it was three blocks away
   (which, it turns out, is not far enough)
   the roar of the crowd preceded the boom of the cannon.
   I would cheer, hoping it was OSU that had scored.
   Little did I know that my home’s proximity
   would be its Achilles’ heel.

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5. Beverly Kargel says:

   January 21, 2006 at 7:48 am

   I love your poem Mr, Agnew. I read it four times.

   Reply
6. Tamara Colbert Maschino says:

   January 21, 2006 at 2:02 pm

   What a lovely poem, it captured what it was like to grow up in our neighborhood. It took me back, we played softball and kickball in the Mcguillards’s field in front of Mom’s house, we skate boarded all day long on the sidewalks, we played hide and seek. Kay Miller and I would read our cherished books in the trees, and would bicycle until called in at dusk or for supper. Everyone knew everyone, and we always felt safe. It was and still is, a wonderful neighborhood.

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7. Lee Agnew says:

   January 22, 2006 at 11:13 pm

   Dear Beverly and Tamara,

   Thanks for the kind words, neighbors. Love also to my sisters for contributing their parts of the Story.

   We need to plan the Fourth of July party. Whose backyard, this year?

   Reply
8. Tamara Colbert Maschino says:

   January 24, 2006 at 8:13 pm

   Lee, I want to thank you , your sisters and your family for all the hard work and hours spent on analyzing this monstrous project and helping the rest of us truly understand it from every viewpoint. I thank everyone who has helped out our neighbors and those who have kept this website so informative, I appreciate being able to keep up on the latest happenings. My brother Lynn says it is the “Good People Of the Community” and that is what you all are.

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9. Roy Blomstrom says:

   January 30, 2006 at 9:46 am

   Once upon a time, a magician wearing an ill-fitting mortarboard came to town and went straight to a small house on Bellis Street. A young boy lived there with his mother, his father and his little sister. The boy just happened to be sitting on the front steps when the magician walked up the sidewalk.

   “What are you doing?” the magician asked.

   The boy looked up. What he saw was just a man, but magicians are like that – they like to look like real people. The man was carrying a pole on his shoulder, and at the end of the pole was a bag. “Sitting,” said the boy.

   “I can see that,” the magician said. “Would you like a dog?”

   “Sure,” the boy said. Boys are like that – they know what they want. “But I’ll have to ask my parents.”

   “Fair enough,” the magician said. “Go get them.”

   When the parents came outside, and the situation was explained to them, it was Mother who had the first question. “How much?” she asked.

   “Dog’s free,” the magician said. “You don’t have to pay me a cent.”

   “Well, I don’t know,” said Father. “What’s the catch?”

   “No catch,” the magician said. “In fact, if you’ll let me, I’ll show you a little trick the dog does. It might help you make up your mind.” He put down the pole, reached into the bag and pulled out a very large dog – much larger, in fact, than the bag that had held it.

   “Is that the trick?” Father asked.

   “No, said the magician. “Go get a cookie, a bone and a piece of hamburger.” Father went inside the house and came back with everything the magician wanted. “Now, give the dog the cookie.” Father held the cookie in his hand and offered it to the dog. The dog sniffed, pawed the ground, barked once – but did not eat the cookie. “Try the bone,” suggested the magician. Father took the bone and, as before, offered it to the dog. Same result.

   “Well, I’ll be . . .” said Father.

   “Try the hamburger,” said Mother who had become much more interested than she wanted to let on.

   Father put the hamburger right in front of the dog. It sniffed the hamburger, pawed the ground, and barked. “Pretty good trick,” Father said.

   “That’s not the trick,” the magician corrected. “You got a dollar bill?”

   “Yes,” said Father, and he reached into his wallet for a dollar.

   “Money Pit!” the magician yelled, and the dog dug a small hole in the middle of the yard. When it was done, the dog barked once. “Put the dollar in the hole,” the magician commanded, and Father did. The dog promptly leaped into the hole and ate the dollar. Then it looked up, wagged its tail, dug a bit more and barked once. “Got another dollar?” the magician asked, and Father threw another bill into the hole. The dog pounced on it, devoured it, and looked up for more.

   “Amazing,” said Father. “That’s all he eats?”

   “Yes,” said the magician. “You want him?”

   “Sure,” said Mother before Father could reply. Little Sister shook her head in dismay and stared at the hole in the lawn.

   “But . . .” Father began.

   “It’s win-win-win,” Mother said. “The boy gets the dog, we get to make money by charging admission to see him do the trick, and the magician . . . .” She stopped, and the magician just shrugged his shoulders.

   “My name’s on the collar,” he said. “That’s enough for me.” And he threw the mortarboard into the hole, where it promptly vanished.

   And so the story of the Amazing Dog spread through the city – indeed, through the country. People came from miles around to pay their admission and throw their money into the pit. But one day in a barbershop the following conversation took place.

   “So,” said the barber to his customer, “seen the Amazing Dog yet?”

   “Yup,” said the customer. “Fed him a hundred dollars yesterday. Ate it all like nobody’s business.”

   “Hole’s gotten pretty big, I hear.”

   “Hundred acres,” said the customer. “Dog’s got an appetite. Can’t figure out where the dirt goes, though. Lake Carl Blackwell, maybe, or Boomer.”

   “Been in the Big Dog restaurant?”

   “It closed down,” said the customer. “Not many people come to see the Dog eat their money anymore. Those that do don’t have much to spend in the restaurant. Folks that own the Dog are being sued by the children of people whose houses fell into the hole, so they’re not too happy, either. And I’m sure not going to stand at the edge of that pit and fold my paper money into airplanes for a dog to catch. That was the last time. Feel like a fool.”

   And so it was not surprising that when a genie happened by the hole and offered the boy one wish, he wished the whole business about the dog had never happened. Little Sister smiled and nodded, Mother and Father breathed a very loud sigh of relief, the hole closed up, the dog vanished as did the genie, the neighborhood returned, and all the bad memories turned into a dream.

   Twice upon a time, however, a magician came into town and sauntered past Bellis Street towards the University. When he got to the University he went straight to Whitehurst Hall, the administration building, and sat down on the lawn beside the University President. “So,” he said, “you want $165 millon?”

   “What’s the catch?” the President asked.

   “No catch,” the magician began, “the money’s in the bag. You just have to dig a hole.”

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