I have told my stories about Maine to many, many people throughout my lifetime, who loved hearing them.
As an example, when I was camping out in public campgrounds, it would always seem to me that we friendly, fellow campers were all equally swapping stories around the campfire. Then, the next morning, someone would come up to me and say, “Hey man, my friend told me that you were telling stories around the campfire last night. She said it she really enjoyed it. Tell some stories.”
But it would be breakfast time. I’d not be in a wide-awake enough frame of mind yet to be able to tell any of them thar’ obviously entertaining tales. Besides that, the night before, we happy campers had all been settin’ round what I called “my all natural color TV set” and sippin’ cold beer, while sometimes passing a warm pipe around, so that had loosened me up and relaxed me quite a bit for the sharing of wild and crazy and fun and interesting and historically informing, accurate stories.
That complimentary feedback concerning my story telling always surprised and puzzled me though. Because I thought that, all along as I told my stories, I had been prompting me campfire mates into telling their similar life experiences too, and had shut my fly trap closed tight when it was their turn to tell their own personal tales of life, fun and adventure. Evidently, even though I had enjoyed listening to their stories as much as they had liked hearing mine, it was my oral history of a very different life up in Maine and in the Army that the other campers enjoyed hearing about the most—point being: we have the basis on this entire blog here for making a popular movie.
David Robert Crews