http://radiofreehamilton.com/mobile/displayarticle.aspx?smid=7005&aid=93115
Newspaper article about our convention. Fun was had by all! Check out the newsletter for some of the talks presented.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
2014 Friends of Freddy Convention
'Tis the 75th anniversary of Wiggins for President, and as it is also an even-numbered year, the Friends of Freddy are holding our biennial conference on November 7-9. This year, it is taking place at the lovely White Eagle Hotel in Hamilton, NY. To quote from the FoF website:
"
For our 2014 convention, we're visiting Hamilton, NY, a town that looms large in the life of Walter Brooks and his family and where, indeed, he is buried.
Additionally, it's the 75th anniversary of the publication of Wiggins for President, so we're taking that as a theme for the weekend. Details will be forthcoming.
Anyone is welcome to give a presentation. If interested, please contact convention chair Henry Cohn at main132@comcast.net .
*Based on Wiggins for President, copyright © 1939 Walter R. Brooks, copyright © renewed 1967 Dorothy R. Brooks. Published in 2000 by The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc. www.overlookpress.com. All rights reserved.
Registration is free for Friends of Freddy members, $25 to nonmembers. However, registration includes a two-year US membership in the Friends of Freddy, a $25 value.
A preliminary schedule is forthcoming"
http://www.freddythepig.org/convention2014.html
Hope to see anyone reading this there!
"
For our 2014 convention, we're visiting Hamilton, NY, a town that looms large in the life of Walter Brooks and his family and where, indeed, he is buried.
Additionally, it's the 75th anniversary of the publication of Wiggins for President, so we're taking that as a theme for the weekend. Details will be forthcoming.
Anyone is welcome to give a presentation. If interested, please contact convention chair Henry Cohn at main132@comcast.net .
*Based on Wiggins for President, copyright © 1939 Walter R. Brooks, copyright © renewed 1967 Dorothy R. Brooks. Published in 2000 by The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc. www.overlookpress.com. All rights reserved.
Details
The 2014 Friends of Freddy convention will take place at the White Eagle Hotel and Conference Center, 2910 Lake Moraine Rd., Hamilton, New York, November 7-9, 2014.Registration is free for Friends of Freddy members, $25 to nonmembers. However, registration includes a two-year US membership in the Friends of Freddy, a $25 value.
A preliminary schedule is forthcoming"
http://www.freddythepig.org/convention2014.html
Hope to see anyone reading this there!
Thursday, August 21, 2014
SHADOW OVER BEANIA or DOES CTHULU EAT BACON? Part 2
The Centerboro Public
Library was an impressive building in the gothic style. Freddy admired it for a
moment before heading inside. Placing his fore trotters on the front desk,
Freddy said to the kindly chief librarian, Mr. Harrison-Lee. “I need to see the Necronomicon.”
Mr. Harrison-Lee nodded
and quietly led Freddy to a set of shelves labeled “Special Interest.” Pulling
out a sinister, leather bound tome, the librarian handed it to the pig. “Be
careful, Freddy,” Harrison-Lee said quietly.
Freddy thanked him,
setting the Necronomicon down on a nearby reading table. He began to examine it,
looking for any mention of the words in the chant Archibald had recited.
******************
It was dark when Freddy
set out that night for the meteoroid site. Mrs. Wiggins had wanted to come with
him. But the pig told her that stealth was essential. Freddy told her what he had
learned from the Necronomicon: that Meshelth was one of the Great Old Ones, an
elder being who had once ruled over the Earth before accident or joke created
life as animals and humans know it now; that the chant is an appeal to
Meshelth, and that It can be summoned to this place of existence by performing
a sacrifice on the first of October, a day that apparently has some hideous significance to Meshelth.
“But, Freddy, that’s
tonight. Even if that silly old book is true, you don’t want to get yourself
sacrificed.”
Freddy shook his head.
“That is exactly why I have to go up. I can’t let those creatures summon
Meshelth to our world.”
Mrs. Wiggins shook her
head, exasperated. “Well, at least take Jinx. He’s still awake, over on the
porch. We were just talking about the meteoroid.”
Freddy nodded. “Good
night,”Mrs. W.”
The cow’s big brown eyes
suddenly brimmed with liquid sadness.
“Watch out for yourself, Freddy. This is more dangerous than Mr.
Condiment, or Garble, or the rats.”
Freddy nodded again and
set off to get Jinx. He found the cat on the porch, just as Mrs. Wiggins had
said, and soon the two animals were heading up to the Big Woods. The quickly
darkening sky lent as eerie air to their mission and Freddy found himself
shivering in anxiety.
Suddenly, a coarse voice
called out, “I’m coming too, you animals!”
It was Jonas, running up to them from behind.
Freddy made no
objection; the rough and tumble turkey could be a help on this adventure. They
soon reached the other side of the Big Woods, settling into a spot in the
underbrush that afforded an excellent view of the clearing. For an hour the
trio waited, and whispered arguments about whose paw was on who's tail feathers,
and whose talon was pinching who's tail. Soon enough, however, a procession of
the squirrel abominations marched out into the clearing. There were six of them
in total, and they formed a ring around the meteoroid itself. The squirrel
creature who had spoken earlier started up a chant, but this incantation was
different from the one Archibald had heard.
“Meshelth al’g shig kanneloth!”
he repeated over and over, and other squirrel-like things soon joined in.
Freddy’s face went bone-white.
“I remember that from the Necronomicon … It’s the summoning chant for Meshelth, the elder terror himself! We have to stop it!”
Without waiting for the pig to continue,
Jonas suddenly broke cover and dashed headlong into the center ring of
creatures, bowling over two squirrels and beginning to slap a third with his
tough old wings. Jinx followed, flinging himself at the leader, claws bared.
Normally not one for such blunt tactics, Freddy shrugged and followed, chasing
down the only squirrel still chanting. Leaping at the foe from behind, Freddy
gave the creature a savage bite with his long teeth. The creature stopped
chanting to cry out in anger, turning to the pig with two paws full of ragged
claws. Freddy stared. Squirrels weren’t supposed to have claws. The horror
dealt Freddy a deep scratch on his belly, and here Freddy got really mad (which
also probably had something to do with that overwhelming, rotten perfume).
He bellowed and charged, knocking over his
opponent and continuing on to slam into a squirrel monster that was sneaking up
on Jinx. After a hit like that from a pig of Freddy’s ample girth, not even the
hideous squirrel got up. Meanwhile, Jinx had beaten up the leader and was
fighting another creature, as was Jonas. They both quickly knocked out their
opponents and walked over to Freddy.
Suddenly, the head squirrel stood up
awkwardly as if it was unsteady in its body. Its claws began to grow sharper
and larger in size, its slit of a mouth expanded into a nightmarish, gaping maw,
and a mass of evidently prehensile tentacles exploded from its chest. The beast
approached ponderously, rapidly gaining the feel of its new form. Its tentacles
reached out, gripping Jinx, who kicked and spat. It pulled the feline in
closer, seemingly unbothered by Jinx’s flailing claws, which left no mark on
the monstrosity.
Freddy dashed forward, but even his jaws
had no effect on the thing. For the first time since the Ignormous incident,
Freddy felt pure terror. This thing seemed invincible. Finally, just as the
being brought Jinx in inches from its monstrous mouth, Jinx managed to free
himself, twisting out of the tentacles’ grasp. The … thing roared in fury,
raising its claws and advancing toward Freddy, next to whom Jinx had landed.
The princely pig shut his eyes, trying to remain brave as his grisly fate
approached; his stocky trotters felt too gelatinous to move.
Without warning, four loud BANGs sounded.
Freddy opened his eyes to see the abomination reeling backward. A final BANG
and the creature fell to the ground. The pig and the cat turned to see Jonas
holding a Colt pistol which he had evidently concealed in his feathers. Jinx straightened
up importantly. “I weakened it for you.”
EPILOGUE
The three adventurers told no one about
what they had seen, not even Mrs. Wiggins or Whibley, Jr. After much
persuasion, Freddy got Mr. Bean to go up to the Big Woods and break apart the
meteoroid with a sledgehammer. Inside, they found a large skull of ominous
geometry unlike any living thing on earth. Freddy promised Jinx that he would
bring it to a museum in Syracuse, but instead buried it a ways down the road
after smashing it apart with a hefty rock. After the skull was destroyed, the
life grew back around the landing site within a few seasons. However, Freddy never did
figure out where the degenerated squirrels had come from. He was happy not
to know.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
SHADOW OVER BEANIA or DOES CTHULU EAT BACON? Part 1 (by Tim Deska-Kahn)
Late summer on the Bean farm had been
particularly hot this year, and sticky; the kind of weather Freddy despised. He
and Mrs. Wiggins sat under a tree near the cow barn, playing Twenty Questions
with a turkey named Jonas. Jonas was a tough, lean old bird who claimed to have
fought in Germany during the last war. Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins didn’t quite
believe him because, as you know, turkeys are apt to stretch the truth a bit.
“No, it’s not a bicycle,” Freddy said to
the turkey. “That’s your last question.”
Jonas protested, “That’s only my
nineteenth question, you cheater!” He raised one leathery wing threateningly.
Mrs. Wiggins laughed. “Oh, for goodness’
sake, calm down, Jonas. Why, when you came back with us from Syracuse, we
didn’t know you would be such a fowl loser!” Her eyes widened and the cow
guffawed thunderously. “Oh, dear, Freddy, I have made a joke, haven’t I?” Cows
are always surprised and a little embarrassed by their own comedic potential.
Freddy grinned, starting to speak in
verse,
“The cow
makes a joke
She just laughs
and laughs and laughs
Animals stay back.”
“That’s a haiku,” he
added importantly. Freddy had recently read about haiku in a book of poetry
from the Centerboro Public Library, and had immediately informed his friends
that haiku were “very popular just now.”
Jonas spoke up,
“Jonas hit pig
It hurts
Get back
to game!”
“No, Jonas,” Freddy
protested, “that has the wrong number of syllables. It’s supposed to be
five-seven-five –“
Just then the shadow of
a large bird appeared and the trio looked up to see Archibald, the eagle,
circling overhead.
“Freddy,” the eagle
called down, “magnificent specimen of the porcine race that you are, I require
your material assistance on a not-trivial matter.”
Years earlier, while on
the North Pole trip, Freddy had written a very complimentary poem about eagles,
and it had circulated throughout the eagle community. As a result, all the
eagles far and wide had a high opinion of the pig.
“What is it, Archie?”
Freddy yelled back, “Come down here, I can barely hear you.”
Mrs. Wiggins shook her
wide head. “Freddy, don’t order eagles around like that. They’re so regal, and
for you to give them commands … it, well, it doesn’t go!”
Freddy ignored the cow’s complaints. The
eagle landed in front of the pig, turning warily to appraise Jonas. Archibald
turned back to Freddy. “Recall, if you will, the meteoroid that struck ground
north of what you call the Big Woods.”
“The one that hit last
fall? I remember,” said Freddy. He had tried to write a poem about the fiery
spectacle, but had instead fallen asleep and smudged the ink.
“Indeed,” continued
Archibald. “Confoundingly, the area within a few meters of the meteoroid has,
to this day, remained utterly devoid of life. Upon, noting that curious fact
last week, I attempted, as an eagle ought, to investigate the source of the
barren lifelessness. Barely had I come within ten meters of the ground,
however, before a brigade of small animals broke from concealment in the nearby
shrubbery, hurling small spears in my direction. This phenomenon repeated
itself twice, the most recent occurrence only ten minutes hence. I seek your
aid in investigating this curious state of affairs.”
Freddy nodded sagely as
if to suggest that he was already well aware of this issue, which of course he
was not. “The Detective Firm of Wiggins, Whibley, and Bean will look into the
matter.”
Whibley, Jr. was Vera’s
son, named for his great-uncle, Old Whibley. The young owl had pestered, and
indeed successfully shadowed, Freddy until the pig let him join the detective
agency, whereupon Whibley, Jr. soon proved adept at tailing suspects and
discreetly gathering evidence. “I told you so, Freddy,” Mrs. Wiggins had said.
“That little bird has a brain between those wings.”
“Archibald, “Freddy
continued, “did you notice anything else at the site?”
The eagle cocked his
head to the side, trying to remember, then nodded. “Yes, I always heard the
ruffians repeating something that sounded like: ‘Alsh rg’geh nuhle Meshelth’. Some sort of odious incantation, no doubt.”
Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins
thanked the eagle, who continued on to his afternoon tea at the home of Mrs.
Vanessa Penniforth in Centerboro.
“We’d better get Jinx
and Whibley, Jr. and head up there as soon as possible,” Mrs. Wiggins observed
in a rare moment of rapid action.
Jonas started off towards
the cow barn. “Tell me if you find anything interesting. In the meantime, I’m
due for some sleep.” The gruff bird disappeared into the dark doorway and
Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins set off to collect their companions.
********************
“Eagles are, well, they’re
just too dignified!” exclaimed Jinx, upon being filled in on the way through
the Big Woods. Jinx wasn’t certain what “dignified” meant, but he had the
impression it was a very bad thing. “Why couldn’t he come with us? Sure woulda
helped.”
At this, Whibley, Jr.
scoffed. “Aw chucks, Jinx, don’t you think the four of us can handle this?”
Jinx murmured something
rude under his breath, and stopped suddenly. “Ugh, don’t you smell that, pig?”
“Smell what?” asked
Freddy. But a few more steps brought the scent into his nostrils. It was a
horrifying, cloying stench, smelling of the dark moldy things that lurk far
underground, like nothing Freddy had ever smelled before.
“Oh, my,” said Mrs.
Wiggins, “that really is awful. It smells worse that Mr. Bean does when he goes
without washing.”
Freddy was certainly not
going to let a bad smell stop him, though, and he pressed on, motioning for the
others to follow. From the branches of a nearby beech tree, Whibley, Jr.
sounded an alarm. “Stop, animals! I can see a few creatures coming toward us.”
In a moment, those
creatures came into view of the other animals. They bore the general
characteristics of squirrels, but their faces were hideously deformed: mouths
that were little more than crooked slits, noses twisted at unearthly angles,
and huge, cloudy eyes.
“Hello,” Freddy began,
“we’re trying to find the landing site of the meteoroid from last year.”
One of the squirrel-things
cut him off. “It is not here.”
Jinx spoke up, “We know
it’s still nearby. An eagle friend told us so, and he also told us you weren’t
very friendly to him.”
The squirrel creature who
had spoken blinked those horrifying eyes. “The eagle was interfering with my
family.” He gestured at the creatures with him. The other squirrel-things,
hunched and with squalid fur, all blinked at precisely the same time.
Mrs. Wiggins moved up
and whispered in Freddy’s ear, “I don’t like this, Freddy. I don’t want to get
into a fight with these animals, whatever they are.”
Freddy nodded. “Very
well, sir, we will bother you no more. Come on, Jinx, let’s go.”
The four Bean animals
turned and began heading back to the farm. As they walked, Whibley, Jr. landed
next to Freddy and asked, “Freddy, you read a lot. You know something about
everything.” At this, Freddy straightened himself importantly. Whibley went on,
“Have you ever heard of anything like this?”
Freddy nodded slowly.
“Yes… I think so. When we get home, I
need to head down to the library.” The pig wouldn’t say any more than this,
however, despite Whibley’s, Jinx’s, and Mrs. Wiggins’s best attempts to wheedle
information out of him.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Another Call for Anecdotes
Do you have any stories about old conventions or fond memories of yesterpig that want only sharing? Send in any FoF- or Freddy- related anecdotes you'd like to share to friendsoffreddy1@gmail.com.
Monday, January 20, 2014
The Best List of the 100 Best Children’s Books in the Last 100 Years
When the New York Public Library published its 100 Top
Children’s Books of the Last 100 Years, many of the Friends of Freddy were
shocked: not a single Freddy book could be found on the list. Members wrote in on the listserv:
“It’s a travesty.”
“Methinks it’s time for a protest.”
Others offered their opinion (not always favorable) on books
that made the list, and suggested other books that should have been on it. In response, the Friends of Freddy has
decided to create our own 100 Best Children’s Books list! And we are turning to
you, our august readers, for help.
Send us your list of the top 10 children’s books of the last
100 years. Do it right now!
Don’t put it off until tomorrow. Quick! Without overmuch thought, what are the best
10 children’s books you have ever read? Enter them in the comments below and let us know.
Here are the rules:
1) You can submit only ten.
2) Of your ten, no more than five can be Freddy books. (This
is called playing fair.)
3) Deadline for submissions:
March 1, 2014 at midnight.
We will compile the results, weighting them in some
mysterious mathematical way that I don’t understand, but Kevin Parker does, and
we will publish the list in the next issue of the Bean Home News. If you would
like to see the New York Public Library’s List it can be found at this link:
Thank you in advance for your participation in creating our
own list!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Happy Holidays from the Friends of Freddy!
I've always enjoyed Freddy's entry into the Christmas genre, More To And Again or Freddy Goes to the North Pole. It features, as do so many other Christmas books, a threat to that pillar of the Yuletide season, Santa Claus. In a clever twist, however, the threat is not hostile-the whalers see themselves as helping Santa modernize (a comment on the development of world economies over the century before North Pole's publication?). These whalers, lead by the steely Mr. Hooker, are perhaps the most relatable villians ever to stare down Freddy and his friends. Indeed, the confrontation between the two groups is, unusually, initiated by the Bean bunch. These whalers play games with the animals, eat ice cream jovially, and throw snowballs-a far cry from the murderous Herb Garble and the vindictive Simon.
North Pole also marks the end of the first great era of Freddy's adventures, that time when Brooks' overall view of the books was of a group of animals thrust into unusual places. I think Brooks realized that, as good as these first two entries in the series are, the series couldn't continue under this model, and, sure enough, the next Freddy book, Freddy The Detective, was based on the animals themselves providing the incongruities with ordinary barnyard life. Happily, there was enough character development in Florida and North Pole to allow for this shift to proceed, for the most part, painlessly. It's pretty clear that the series was not meant to focus on Freddy originally, as he (admittedly debatably) dowsn't serve as the central character for a novel again until number 8, Ignormus.
In conclusion, we at the Friends of Freddy would like to wish all of you Happy Holidays! Enjoy (or despise) the Christmas music swirling out from every radio station while you can.
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