Nonfiction Commons^™

As I Remember, Emily Loveridge

Emily Loveridge’s Memoir: As I Remember

This typewritten document was authored by Emily Loveridge, the founder of the Good Samaritan Hospital School of Nursing. Loveridge began working at the Good Samaritan Hospital in 1890 and worked there for 40 years. This memoir is her remembrances of people, events, and the way the hospital and nursing program evolved during her tenure.

Please note that the back of page 14 has additional text not accounted for in the original page numbering. The manuscript is numbered page 1-47, but consists of 48 typed pages. The pdf document is a total of 49 pages, counting the cover as page 1.

A Peculiar Institution Indeed: The Humanity Of Indian Slave Owners, Brennan King, David Hertzel

SWOSU Journal of Undergraduate Research

This project was undertaken to better understand the rift between the understandings of how slaves were treated in Indian Territory versus how they were treated in the Deep South. In order to complete this project research was completed at the Oklahoma Historical Society, along with primary source resources from archival materials from the now defunct Works Progress Administration. The resulting conclusion of this project is that slaves owned by Native Americans in Indian Territory were generally treated with much more humanity than were slaves in the Deep South. The main implication realized was that it is important to have a …

Los Porcentajes Para Las Mujeres En Los Cargos Políticos: Las Leyes De Cuotas The Quotas For Women In Political Offices: The Quota Laws, Breanna Cary, Hector Garza

SWOSU Journal of Undergraduate Research

There is a growing number of women in politics today, but many countries still struggle to obtain a number of women in politics that accurately represents the female population. Political parties and government organizations are searching for ways to get more women involved in the politics of their country. One way that they are doing this is by setting a quota for the number of women required to be representatives in their political party, or even a number of women to be in their government. The research of this essay looks at the quotas in various parts of the world …

Souvenir, Kathryn Rhett

Gettysburg College Faculty Books

A collection of autobiographical essays

Souvenir, a collection of autobiographical essays rooted in the present, investigates travel, staying put, and how it is that our experience of being here right now includes so much of being elsewhere at another time. Rhett reconciles present to past in serious encounters with birth and death, alongside lighter observations. In a world that makes no sense except the sense we make of it, Souvenir plays with the dynamics of home and away to represent the fullness of daily life. [From the publisher]

The Art Of Seward Johnson, Joy Williams

Ontario Review

Joy Williams, novelist and short story writer, is the recipient of the Rea Award for the Short Story and a Strauss Living Award. She has recently published Genesis, a novel, and Honored Guest, a collection of short stories.

Molestation, Sheila Kohler

Ontario Review

Sheila Kohler is the author of six novels, most recently Bluebird or the Invention of Happiness (Other Press), and three collections of short stories. Her stories and essays have appeared in numerous journals, including Boulevard, Conjunctions, The Paris Review, Salmagundi, and Yale Review. She lives in New York City.

Grampy Hagen's Tale, Steven Schmidt

Manuscripts

"They's some folks what believes in haints," said Grampy Hagen. We, my brother Johnnie and I, were ready for bed, but first we huddled together in front of the fire while Grampy Hagen sat in the big old oak rocking chair. "Yes, sir, some folks believes in haints 'n spooks 'n things. But I weren't one of 'em, no sir! Leastwise, not afore I spent the night in the cabin down in the holler by the Willow Creek wash."

And Not To Yield, Lisa Nowak

Manuscripts

Harry Theobald, formerly called Ulderico Theobaldi, entered the kingdom of God today at 11:02 a.m. having lived his life with all the vigor he possessed. At age 76, he died of leukemia at the Golden Hills Nursing Home, leaving three children and three granddaughters the deed to his warm spirit. Included in his will was a document citing three basic inheritances--faith, hope, and love--to be practiced with positive consideration and serious contemplation in his remembrance.

Doughnuts At Night, Michael Martone

Manuscripts

Open, it says, all night.
the tacky lights talk
flicking around the yawning O
and the open hole of the doughnut.
a planet peers through.

Indian Summer, Noel Wyatt

Manuscripts

As the blood red sun began to sink, a silhouette broke the painted scene. It approached the Apache Reservation roaring like the Father Wind on a winter day. The beast seemed to shout its name above its own voice; across its shiny hood "Lincoln" defied any opponent.

A Fourtwothreelegs Poem, Ed Shacklee

Manuscripts

The first grade teacher greeted
with simplicity the coming of the Day

Untitled, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

He took an old Barlow knife from his pocket and eased into the cane bottom chair, tipping it back on two legs against the low stone fence. Methodically, he drew the gleaming blade across a fragrant block of red and yellow cedar. His gnarled, weathered hands moved deftly. He worked intently for some time, honing the block to a soft roundness and piling thin light curls of cedar around his feet. He peered at his companion from singular eyes set below incredibly unmanageable gray brows.

Of Sap And Tears, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

I sit in the woods
and watch the stream
admiring the trees as they ripple and flow
Waves sweep us in,
lulled into dream-sleep,
carrying us away--
content to settle beneath the gentle caress
certain to end as we began

Battle, Bob Sullivan

Manuscripts

Wet from the cold March rain, the white paint glistens fresh. It is almost as if the barn has been swept by a snowstorm of Elmer's Glue. In contrast to the radiant purity of this barn, the soil of the farm is a tiring alternation of milky gray and soggy brown. Tattered stubs of once-green corn cling to the ground in haggard remnants of narrow rows. Like the littered aftermath of Gettysburg, this land is hallowed--Mother Earth. The farmer sees himself as the victor. He has tamed the cycle with civilized plastic machinery.

Avatar, Mary Harter

Manuscripts

You see her in the supermarket every day. She wears size 14, stretch pants (that advertise plainly why she needs the stretch) and a matching print blouse. She wears them with tennis shoes.

A Child's Viewpoint, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

She beckoned to me, and with much apprehension I entered the door of the shabby unpainted house. Inside, the room was small and dark and almost the entire space was taken up by a big metal-framed bed which stuck out into the middle of the room. A ragged upholstered chair in one corner and a small pot-bellied stove in the other completed the furnishings. The windows, uncurtained, were filthy and one was covered with pieces of a cardboard box where the pane had been broken out.

The Surrender, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

Light revolves
patterning grey age faces
in flashing momentary brilliance--
exposing shadow dreams
of victorious kingdoms
built in bottle caps
the shrapnel of hope's treachery--
to be swept away with
debris of belief

The Hairy Arms Poem Or The Love Song Of J. Alfred Poofrock, Mary Harter

Manuscripts

I have encountered "The Love Song of J. Alfred Poofrock" in three different college English classes taught by three different teachers. They all agree that T. S. Eliot wrote the poem. On everything else they disagree.

Heat Lightning At Night, Michael Martone

Manuscripts

mute mimic,
the splashing spark

The Fine Art Of Ineptitude, Sue Winemiller

Manuscripts

Each of us knows at least one of them. They are perched before easels duplicating the spring's emerald meadows and the autumn's turbulent skies. Clad in leotards, they pirouette and pas de buerre their souls into the "Nutcracker Suite," while their colleagues entrance the audience with skill in the orchestra pit. Not content with a monopoly of the fine arts, their type is found fashioning Christmas angels from empty toilet paper rolls, making doll houses out of old cereal boxes, and whipping together gourmet dinners from cans of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I speak of my personal nemesis, the artist--one …