Once upon a time, in a land not too far from where you live, there was a bank whose outside clock was the talk of the town. Clocks usually don’t cause people to talk about them, unless they’re not working right. This clock wasn’t working right at all.

The clock was a digital clock, meaning that it was the kind of clock with large neon red numbers that glowed both day and night. You could read the clock from an entire block away.

The clock sat prominently a few yards above the main doors to a respected bank, right on the corner of a major intersection in town. In some ways, the clock represented the very center of town.

One day, a few months ago, the time on the clock started slipping backwards a few minutes. At first this didn’t cause any alarm. After all, if you are two minutes late, or two minutes early to an appointment, is there any harm done?

But then the clock’s health got even worse. Not only did the clock slip back more than a few minutes, sometimes it would actually jump forward an hour or two, and then jump back to being a few minutes late. It was clear to everyone in town that this was a sick clock.

What do you do with a sick clock, though? Take it the clockerenarian? Take it a clockpital? Visit a clocktor?

You’re right. Healing a sick clock is not an easy thing to do. First you need to find what’s wrong with the clock, and then you need to find a place that sells the particular part that needs replacing.

The bank, being a respected bank, was eager to get the clock fixed and working again. The bank became even more eager after last month’s birthday party.

You see, a young child on the way to a birthday party burst into tears when he looked up at the clock and realized that he was going to be late. On that day, the clock was running about two hours fast, and the child was in perfect time for the party. The child just thought he was late, because who would ever doubt the time on a public clock?

And then there was the whole wedding fiasco last week. A groom, on the way to his wedding ceremony, noticed that he was two hours early, so he stopped off at the cybercafe to do some web surfing. When he showed up to the ceremony two hours late, the bride and everyone else were not overjoyed to see him.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, though, was last week when an army major was traveling through town. Being an army major, he would regularly adjust his wrist watch to make sure it was perfectly on time. When he saw the clock above the bank, he immediately reset his watch three hours ahead of time. And the next morning he woke his troops at 3 AM to do their regular 6 AM ten mile morning run.

The troops were not amused. And so they stopped by to pay a friendly visit to the bank manager. “Please, please, please repair the clock above the door of your bank,” they spoke in military unison. “Each one of us would like to chip in $20 to repair the clock,” they added.

The bank manager, a kindly young woman, promised that she would do whatever she could to find a part to repair the clock. She would even take the clock to a clockerenarian, if need be. And she had not ruled out the possibility of driving the clock straight to the clockpital, herself. Her own doctor had recommended some skilled clocktors that she could use when she received the replacement part.

Until the clock was repaired, though, she decided to switch off its electricity. For three weeks the lights on the clock were entirely dark. And then one day a UPS truck drove up the bank with a very small package. Inside that very small package was a very small part that made the clock healthy again.

The town sighed a huge sigh of relief when the clock was switched on again. And then everyone reset their watches and went on their merry way.

Phil Shapiro
Copyright 1997
All Rights Reserved

Ellen the eagle first suspected that she needed glasses the day that she swooped down out of the sky and grabbed a small lawn chair to carry back to her hungry children. When she arrived back at her nest, perched high atop a cliff, her oldest son said, somewhat sarcastically, “Great. Another lawn chair for breakfast. Just what we need.”

Her husband, Ed, was more forgiving. He gently picked up the lawn chair with his beak and moved it over to the flat, back section of the nest. Then he sat down in the lawn chair, folded his wings comfortably behind his head, and lay back.

“Honey, you might want to go and have your eyes checked one of these days,” Ed said. “It’s easy enough to do, and only costs a mouse or two.”

“I’ve been meaning to get my eyes checked,” replied Ellen, “but you know how it is. Every day it just seems that there are new mice to catch, new things to do for the nest, and new nature shows to be in.”

“True, the nature shows do put the dead mice on the table, but they take away from the hunting and stalking I really like to do.”

“I’ll put it on my calendar as something to do next week. Although, I’ve got to say, I would feel a little self-conscious wearing glasses out in public. What would the other eagles say?”

“Honey, what other eagles think doesn’t matter at all. It’s more important that your eyesight be sharp and in focus. Anyway, these days they can fit you with contact lens that you hardly notice are even there.”

Ellen sighed. Maybe it was time for her to get her eyes checked. Could she really afford to keep bringing back lawn chairs for her hungry children?

So the next day she flew over to the eagle optometrist to have her eyes checked. The optometrist sat her down in a comfortable chair and asked her to identify the small animals on the tiny chart two miles away. “Mouse, chipmunk, gopher, squirrel, rabbit,” she said, trying to sound confident. “It was difficult telling the difference between a mouse and a chipmunk. The shapes of these two animals were so similar.”

“Okay, you did well on that line of animals,” said the optometrist. “Now see if you can read the animals on the line below it.”

Ellen concentrated all her mental powers on trying to see what the animals were on the next line. She could barely make out what the small animals were, so she made her best guess, “Hippo, elephant, giraffe, and rhinoceros,” she said in a voice that lacked confidence.

“I’m sorry, but you missed a few animals on that line. Your eyesight is far below the normal 2000/2000 eyesight of regular eagles. I’m going to recommend you get glasses or contact lens.”

“Can you tell me more about the contact lens?” inquired Ellen.

“These days they have contact lens that are far more comfortable and far less bother than they were in the past,” the optometrist explained. “And we happen to have a sale on them this week.”

“For three dead mice you can walk away with a pair of contact lens you can be proud of.”

“Three dead mice?” declared Ellen in a surprised voice. “I thought you could buy a decent pair of contact lens for two dead mice.”

“Well, it is true you could buy contact lens at other stores for two dead mice,” replied the optometrist, “but they are inferior quality contact lens. If you bought the cheaper contact lens, you might not be able to read the numbers on a license plate that was two miles away.”

Ellen shuddered at the thought. Not being able to read the numbers on a license plate two miles away was a sure sign that an eagle’s eyesight was fading.

“I’ll take the three dead mice contact lens,” she said quickly. As she flew out of the store she said to herself, “So it costs me an extra dead mouse. What’s an extra dead mouse when you need to buy something to help your eyesight?”

Her husband Ed leaped out of the lawn chair when she landed on the nest. “Honey, you’re back so soon. Did you get a new pair of glasses or contacts?”

“Sure did,” Ellen replied with a renewed confidence in her voice. She hopped over to the back of the nest and casually nudged the lawn chair over the edge of the nest.

“No more lawn chairs in this nest,” she announced smugly. “Only dead mice, rabbits, and fish are going to show up here in the future.”

“Honey, I was just getting used to the lawn chair when you nudged it over the side of the nest. Do you think you could find me another lawn chair sometime?”

“No more lawn chairs in this nest, ever,” said Ellen. “Okay, Ed, it’s time we flew off to find something for the kids to eat for dinner. There’s no use in just sitting around in lawn chairs all day.”
Phil Shapiro

Copyright 1995

All Rights Reserved

Patty was the type of pigeon who always had a sense of adventure and an active curiosity. She lived in a brick hole near the top of a building near Union Station, in Washington D.C. Patty loved watching the trains come in and go out of the station. She loved the clackety-clack sound of the trains as they picked up speed going down the train track. And she loved the loud whistle that the train made.

Just before the train would blow its whistle, Patty would throw back her head and pretend as if the train’s glorious whistle sound was coming directly from her own beak. Her friends looked at her a little strange when she did this, but those poor pigeons had no idea what it’s like to ride a train.

Patty knew almost everything there is to know about trains since she once took the Amtrak train all the way to Boston. Actually, that’s not totally true. She first took the train to Philadelphia, and then caught a second train to Boston.

First, fly down to the train tracks and pretend as if you’re just pecking around for sandwich crumbs. Act as if you’re just a regular pigeon looking for the odd scrap of food.

Then make your way over to the doorway of one of the cars of the train. All the while, pretend as if it is the furthest thing on your mind to hop onto a train.

When you get near to one of the doorways to the train, check to see that there aren’t any conductors too close to you. Then just at the moment when someone is getting on or getting off the train, pretend as if you’re startled and fly up into the air while screeching just a bit.

The hurried traveler may take notice of you for a second, but you can be sure that they will be quickly on their way. Then when you’re up in the air near the doorway to the train car, pretend as if you accidentally land on the top step of the doorway of the train car.

Then pretend as if your sense of curiosity is so strong that you need to take a quick peek inside the train car. Waddle a little bit forward in the way that they tell you to do in the Pigeon’s Acting Book. Then you can duck underneath one of the first seats you come to, put your head underneath your wing, and then snooze all the way until the train has completely left the station.

It’s important that you not engage in regular pigeon clucking when you’re hiding underneath the train seat. If the man in the seat above you is carrying on and on in the most boring way imaginable, resist the temptation to cluck. And if the kids in the seats across the aisle always seem to be making a big fuss about everything, resist the temptation to cluck.

The first big city you will reach is Baltimore. You know you have reached Baltimore when the train conductor yells over the loudspeaker. “Baltimore! Baltimore! I can’t imagine a city with anything more. Baltimore!”

The second big city you will reach is Wilmington, Delaware. You know that you have reached Wilmington when the conductor yells out, “Wilmington! Wilmington! The best place to play badminton is Wilmington!”

After the Wilmington train stop you will reach Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in about twenty minutes. You know that you have reached Philadelphia when the conductor yells out, “Philadelphia! Philadelphia! Best philharmonic in the world. Philadelphia!”

Philadelphia has a fine train station well worth visiting. I once spent a week there visiting some cousins.

After Philadelphia the train gets to Trenton, New Jersey. You know you have reached Trenton when the conductor yells, “Trenton! Trenton! Terrific Trenton!”

About an hour after leaving Trenton the train pulls in to New York City. If you’re a pigeon who likes opera or Broadway plays, it’s worth getting out at this stop.

I personally like to stay on the train for the twenty minutes that the train stops in New York City. One of the stops after New York City is New Haven, Connecticut. A friend of mine from high school is going to law school at Yale University, in New Haven. Yale has a fine law school, especially if you’re interested in Pigeon Law, International Pigeon Law, or Criminal Pigeon Law.

About two hours after New Haven you reach Providence, Rhode Island. Here the conductor usually yells out, “Rhode Island! Rhode Island! Take the Rhailroad to Rhode Island!”

And within an hour of leaving Providence the train pulls into the central Amtrak station in Boston. Stay underneath your seat until all the passengers have gotten off the train. Then pretend as if you’re a Boston pigeon who accidentally jumped up onto the top step of the train’s car.

With a squawk, jump up into the air and pretend as if someone almost stepped on you. The train conductor will never ask a pigeon for a ticket if they think that someone almost stepped on you. You can then take your time visiting Boston before catching a train back to Washington DC. An excellent place to visit is the Boston Commons, the large park in the center of Boston. Some of the best crumbs from the best sandwiches in the nation fall onto the ground in the Boston Commons.

Also, you might enjoy visiting Harvard University, in nearby Cambridge, Massachusetts. Harvard is a place where human beings go to try to become as smart as pigeons.

But don’t be too concerned about human beings catching up to the intelligence of pigeons. Until human beings figure out a way to ride the train for free from Washington DC to Boston and back, we pigeons will always be smarter than they.
Phil Shapiro

Copyright 1997

All Rights Reserved

Katrina Katrinka was like any other ordinary mother with two kids, a stationwagon, and a 6O foot tall crane in her back yard. The crane just showed up one morning. A construction company was building an apartment building down the street. One day the company went bankrupt, and left their crane in Mrs. Katrinka’s back yard. They just went bankrupt, and left her with a 6O foot tall crane in her back yard.Mrs. Katrinka didn’t know what to do at first. But then she had an idea. She called the sanitation department in her town to come around and pick up the 6O foot tall crane. If you have an old couch, an old table, an old refrigerator, or an old washing machine, you can call the sanitation department, and they’ll come around and pick it up.

You can guess what the sanitation department had to say about Mrs. Katrinka’s crane. “Sorry, ma’am. We don’t pick up 6O foot tall cranes. Old couches, old tables, old refrigerators, and old washing machines are fine. Large, 6O foot tall cranes are not fine.”

Mrs. Katrinka was not the type of ordinary mother who lets a 6O foot tall crane sit around in her back yard. No, sirree. Not that type of ordinary mother at all.

So she bought a large wrench, and climbed up the tall 6O foot crane. She carefully climbed out onto the horizontal part of the crane, and unbolted one of the end sections. She happily climbed down and carried the steel section into her basement.

Her neighbors peered over the fence, wondering what on earth could this ordinary mother be doing with a steel section of crane in her basement. What the neighbors didn’t know was that Mrs. Katrinka also bought an excellent power saw. This saw could cut through the toughest, hardest steel.

Day after day, Mrs. Katrinka would take one more section from the crane, carrying it carefully down into her basement. And night after night, she cut those sections up into little bits. These little bits of steel were easy enough to hide in her regular trash.

Some of the bits she stuffed in empty cans of tuna fish. Other bits she stuffed in the middle of over-ripe watermelons. And other bits she hid inside old smelly socks.

But it’s hard to hide a full 6O foot crane in your day to day trash. You could hide a 2O foot crane, or a 3O foot crane. But a 6O foot crane is just too big to easily hide in the trash.

So Mrs. Katrinka started painting the sections of crane she took down each day. She painted them, and then welded them into interesting sorts of sculptures. When her basement became too full of sculptures, she set the sculptures out in her back yard.

It didn’t take long for people to flock from all over the neighborhood to see Mrs. Katrinka’s sculptures. One day, one of her neighbors walked right up her front steps and asked if she might buy one of the sculptures.

Well, Mrs. Katrinka didn’t know what to say. She didn’t make the sculptures to sell. She made the sculptures because it’s hard to hide all the bits of a 6O foot crane in your trash.

On the very day that she took down the last section of the crane, the man who used to own the construction company came back to pick up his crane. “Sorry, sir,” Mrs. Katrinka said.

“The crane you left in my back yard is no longer here anymore. It’s hiding in empty cans of tuna fish, over-ripe watermelons, and old smelly socks. If you want to put it back together, you’ll have to go looking through lots of empty tuna fish cans, over-ripe watermelons, and old socks.”

“Well, ma’am,” said the construction company man. “I really shouldn’t have left that 6O foot crane in your back yard. It wasn’t the right thing to do, and I’d like to apologize to you.”

Mrs. Katrinka looked the man up and down. He looked as if he was genuinely sorry for what he had done.

“Oh, all right,” Mrs. Katrinka said. “If you’d like to take home some of the 6O foot crane you left in my back yard, it’s sitting right over there in those six sculptures.”

“Six sculptures?” said the man, in wonder.

“Yes, six sculptures,” replied Mrs. Katrinka. “Mrs. Olney down the street bought the seventh sculpture last week for $2OO.”

“Well, the least I can do is buy the other six sculptures, at the same price,” the man whispered gently.

“No. I’m sorry. That won’t do,” replied Mrs. Katrinka. “I can’t sell all six of those sculptures. They mean too much to me now.”

“But I tell you what. If you want to buy five of them, I won’t complain too loudly about that. You can’t expect me to give up all my wonderful sculptures to some stranger who left a 6O foot crane in my back yard.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s too much to expect an ordinary mother to give up all six sculptures she made from a 6O foot tall crane that a total stranger left in her back yard.”

As Mrs. Katrinka took the man’s money, she laughed, “Besides, I need to keep at least one sculpture to show my grandchildren. They’ll never believe this story if I didn’t have at least one of the sculptures left to show them…”
Phil Shapiro

Copyright 1995
All Rights Reserved

The Nile river is the longest river in the world. It starts out in Lake Victoria, in the middle of Africa, and flows nearly four thousand (4,000) miles north to the Mediterranean Sea. Lake Victoria, where the Nile starts, is the second largest fresh-water lake in the world. The only lake that is larger is Lake Superior, in between Canada and the United States.

Now nobody knows for sure who first suggested the great ping pong ball experiment. It might have been dreamed up by some absent-minded, daydreaming inventor. Or, it could have been thought up by some great scientist. Or, it might have been thought up by a little kindergartener in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

But the important thing is that somebody thought of it. And before long, people all over the world were talking about it. The newspapers printed stories about it. Television stations did special feature stories on it. And, everyone, just everyone, expected that the great ping pong ball experiment would happen right on time.

What exactly was the great ping pong ball experiment anyway? How was the experiment to be performed, and what was it supposed to show?

The great ping pong ball experiment took place to show just one thing. The purpose of the experiment was to show that a small, frail ping pong ball could travel four thousand miles down the longest river in the world.

The experiment would end when the ping pong ball reached the capital city of Egypt, Cairo. At that time, a kindergarten student from one of the schools in Cairo would reach down into the Nile, and pick up the ping pong ball that had been thrown into the river way back at Lake Victoria.

Two months. That’s how long the ping pong ball would have to travel from Lake Victoria to Cairo. To add some zest and excitement to the experiment, the ping pong ball was to be thown into the top of the Nile River on November 1, 1999. The entire world would then watch to see if the ball could travel the length of the Nile before midnight, December 31, 1999.

But the journey would be a dangerous one for a small, frail ping pong ball to travel. The ball would have to survive at least nine large waterfalls. It would have to survive being thrown against rocks and boulders. It would have to survive getting stuck in the papyrus reeds by the side of the river. And most importantly, it would have to survive getting swallowed by any hungry fish along the way.

People would follow it all along its long journey. Scientists would follow it by driving along roads that travelled parallel to the Nile river. They would keep careful track of how far the ball had travelled each day. Sometimes they would even circle over the ping pong ball in a helicopter, making sure that the ball was safely travelling downstream.

Once a week people all over the globe would turn on their televisions to see how far the ping pong ball had travelled in the past week. The television studios would have a large map of Africa on the wall, with an arrow pointing to where the ping ball was on that particular day.

It would be an elegantly simple experiment for the people of planet Earth to perform. For two months, the attention of the world would be focussed on what was happening to a ping pong ball travelling down the Nile river.

The outcome of the great ping pong ball experiment would not change the lives of many persons living on this planet. But perhaps, just perhaps, the experiment itself would help people realize that in some ways the planet Earth is just a small, frail ping pong ball traveling through space.
Phil Shapiro

Copyright 1995

All Rights Reserved

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