Name: _________________ Friday, 9/11/2015 Pre­reading Questions 1. What is the purpose of a government? 2. List three adjectives to describe how government leaders should be: 3. Where does power come from (what is the source of power)?

Vocabulary STORY #1 council ­

swindlers ­

approbation ­

retinue ­

bandied ­

prattle ­

The Emperor’s New Clothes Hans Christian Anderson

Many years ago there was an Emperor so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his

money on being well dressed. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or going for a ride in his carriage, except to show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and instead of saying, as one might, about any other ruler, "The King's in council," here they always said. "The Emperor's in his dressing room."

In the great city where he lived, life was always merry. Every day many strangers came to town, and among them one day came two swindlers. They let it be known they were weavers, and they said they could weave the most magnificent fabrics imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but clothes made of this cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid.

"Those would be just the clothes for me," thought the Emperor. "If I wore them I would be able to discover which men in my empire are unfit for their posts. And I could tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must get some of the stuff woven for me right away." He paid the two swindlers a large sum of money to start work at once.

They set up two looms and pretended to weave, though there was nothing on the looms. All the finest silk and the purest old thread which they demanded went into their traveling bags, while they worked the empty looms far into the night.

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"I'd like to know how those weavers are getting on with the cloth," the Emperor thought, but he felt slightly uncomfortable when he remembered that those who were unfit for their position would not be able to see the fabric. It couldn't have been that he doubted himself, yet he thought he'd rather send someone else to see how things were going. The whole town knew about the cloth's peculiar power, and all were impatient to find out how stupid their neighbors were.

"I'll send my honest old minister to the weavers," the Emperor decided. "He'll be the best one to tell me how the material looks, for he's a sensible man and no one does his duty better."

So the honest old minister went to the room where the two swindlers sat working away at their empty looms.

"Heaven help me," he thought as his eyes flew wide open, "I can't see anything at all." But he did not say so.

Both the swindlers begged him to be so kind as to come near to approve the excellent pattern, the beautiful colors. They pointed to the empty looms, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he dared. He couldn't see anything, because there was nothing to see. "Heaven have mercy," he thought. "Can it be that I'm a fool? I'd have never guessed it, and not a soul must know. Am I unfit to be the minister? It would never do to let on that I can't see the cloth."

"Don't hesitate to tell us what you think of it," said one of the weavers. "Oh, it's beautiful ­it's enchanting." The old minister peered through his spectacles. "Such a

pattern, what colors!" I'll be sure to tell the Emperor how delighted I am with it." "We're pleased to hear that," the swindlers said. They proceeded to name all the colors and to

explain the intricate pattern. The old minister paid the closest attention, so that he could tell it all to the Emperor. And so he did.

The swindlers at once asked for more money, more silk and gold thread, to get on with the weaving. But it all went into their pockets. Not a thread went into the looms, though they worked at their weaving as hard as ever.

The Emperor presently sent another trustworthy official to see how the work progressed and how soon it would be ready. The same thing happened to him that had happened to the minister. He looked and he looked, but as there was nothing to see in the looms he couldn't see anything.

"Isn't it a beautiful piece of goods?" the swindlers asked him, as they displayed and described their imaginary pattern.

"I know I'm not stupid," the man thought, "so it must be that I'm unworthy of my good office. That's strange. I mustn't let anyone find it out, though." So he praised the material he did not see. He declared he was delighted with the beautiful colors and the exquisite pattern. To the Emperor he said, "It held me spellbound."

All the town was talking of this splendid cloth, and the Emperor wanted to see it for himself while it was still in the looms. Attended by a band of chosen men, among whom were his two old trusted officials­the ones who had been to the weavers­he set out to see the two swindlers. He found them weaving with might and main, but without a thread in their looms.

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"Magnificent," said the two officials already duped. "Just look, Your Majesty, what colors! What a design!" They pointed to the empty looms, each supposing that the others could see the stuff.

What's this? thought the Emperor. I can't see anything. This is terrible! Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be the Emperor? What a thing to happen to me of all people! ­ “Oh! It's very pretty," he said. "It has my highest approval." And he nodded approbation at the empty loom. Nothing could make him say that he couldn't see anything.

His whole retinue stared and stared. One saw no more than another, but they all joined the Emperor in exclaiming, "Oh! It's very pretty," and they advised him to wear clothes made of this wonderful cloth especially for the great procession he was soon to lead. "Magnificent! Excellent! Unsurpassed!" were bandied from mouth to mouth, and everyone did his best to seem well pleased. The Emperor gave each of the swindlers a cross to wear in his buttonhole, and the title of "Sir Weaver."

Before the procession the swindlers sat up all night and burned more than six candles, to show how busy they were finishing the Emperor's new clothes. They pretended to take the cloth off the loom. They made cuts in the air with huge scissors. And at last they said, "Now the Emperor's new clothes are ready for him."

Then the Emperor himself came with his noblest noblemen, and the swindlers each raised an arm as if they were holding something. They said, "These are the trousers, here's the coat, and this is the mantle," naming each garment. "All of them are as light as a spider web. One would almost think he had nothing on, but that's what makes them so fine."

"Exactly," all the noblemen agreed, though they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

"If Your Imperial Majesty will condescend to take your clothes off," said the swindlers, "we will help you on with your new ones here in front of the long mirror."

The Emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put his new clothes on him, one garment after another. They took him around the waist and seemed to be fastening something ­ that was his train­as the Emperor turned round and round before the looking glass.

"How well Your Majesty's new clothes look. Aren't they becoming!" He heard on all sides, "That pattern, so perfect! Those colors, so suitable! It is a magnificent outfit."

Then the minister of public processions announced: "Your Majesty's canopy is waiting outside."

"Well, I'm supposed to be ready," the Emperor said, and turned again for one last look in the mirror. "It is a remarkable fit, isn't it?" He seemed to regard his costume with the greatest interest.

The noblemen who were to carry his train stooped low and reached for the floor as if they were picking up his mantle. Then they pretended to lift and hold it high. They didn't dare admit they had nothing to hold.

So off went the Emperor in procession under his splendid canopy. Everyone in the streets and the windows said, "Oh, how fine are the Emperor's new clothes! Don't they fit him to perfection? And see his long train!" Nobody would confess that he couldn't see anything, for that would prove him

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either unfit for his position, or a fool. No costume the Emperor had worn before was ever such a complete success.

"But he hasn't got anything on," a little child said. "Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?" said its father. And one person whispered to

another what the child had said, "He hasn't anything on. A child says he hasn't anything on." "But he hasn't got anything on!" the whole town cried out at last. The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This procession has

got to go on." So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn't there at all.

Discussion Questions: Answer on your own and be prepared to discuss. 1. What motivated everyone in the town to pretend to see the clothes? 2. What finally motivated everyone in the town (except the emperor and his noblemen) to admit there were no clothes? 3. Who is more powerful: the child or the emperor? Why? 4. What do you think happened to the emperor after the story ends? Why? 5. Describe a real life situation in which a large group of people allowed one or more people to lie to them without “calling them out.”

Source: http://www.andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheEmperorsNewClothes_e.html

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**Literature Term for “The Red Bow”** STORY #2 Tone ­ the attitude of an author toward his or her subject Types of tone ­ serious, comic, ironic, mournful, optimistic, deadpan, cynical, etc. [Tone is not the same as mood, which is the general atmosphere a work creates: eerie, cheery, etc.]

The Red Bow

by George Saunders

NEXT NIGHT, walking out where it happened, I found her little red bow.

I brought it in, threw it down on the table, said: My God my God.

Take a good look at it and also I'm looking at it, said Uncle Matt. And we won't ever forget

it, am I right?

First thing of course was to find the dogs. Which turns out, they were holed up back of

the--the place where the little kids go, with the plastic balls in cages, they have birthday parties

and so forth--holed up in this sort of nest of tree debris dragged there by the Village.

Well we lit up the debris and then shot the three of them as they ran out.

But that Mrs. Pearson, who'd seen the whole--well she said there'd been four, four dogs,

and next night we found that the fourth had gotten into Mullins Run and bit the Elliotts' Sadie and

that white Muskerdoo that belonged to Evan and Millie Bates next door.

Jim Elliott said he would put Sadie down himself and borrowed my gun to do it, and did it,

then looked me in the eye and said he was sorry for our loss, and Evan Bates said he couldn't do

it, and would I? But then finally he at least led Muskerdoo out into that sort of field they call the

Concourse, where they do the barbecues and whatnot, giving it a sorrowful little kick (a gentle

kick, there was nothing mean in Evan) whenever it snapped at him, saying Musker Jesus!--and

then he said okay, now when he was ready for me to do it, and I did it, and afterwards he said he

was sorry for our loss.

Around midnight we found the fourth one gnawing at itself back of Bourne's place, and

Bourne came out and held the flashlight as we put it down and helped us load it into the

wheelbarrow alongside Sadie and Muskerdoo, our plan being--Dr. Vincent had said this was

best--to burn those we found, so no other animal would--you know, via feeding on the

corpses--in any event, Dr. Vincent said it was best to burn them.

When we had the fourth in the wheelbarrow my Jason said: Mr. Bourne, what about

Cookie?

Well no I don't believe so, said Bourne.

He was an old guy and had that old-guy tenderness for the dog, it being pretty much all he

had left in the world, such as for example he always called it friend-of-mine, as in: How about a

walk, friend-of-mine?

But she is mostly an outside dog? I said.

She is almost completely an outside dog, he said. But still, I don't believe so.

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And Uncle Matt said: Well, Lawrence, I for one am out here tonight trying to be certain. I

think you can understand that.

I can, Bourne said, I most certainly can.

And Bourne brought out Cookie and we had a look.

At first she seemed fine, but then we noticed she was doing this funny thing where a

shudder would run through her and her eyes would all of a sudden go wet, and Uncle Matt said:

Lawrence, is that something Cookie would normally do?

Well, ah . . . said Bourne.

And another shudder ran through Cookie.

Oh Jesus Christ, said Mr. Bourne, and went inside.

Uncle Matt told Seth and Jason to trot out whistling into the field and Cookie would follow,

which she did, and Uncle Matt ran after, with his gun, and though he was, you know, not exactly

a runner, still he kept up pretty good just via sheer effort, like he wanted to make sure this thing

got done right.

Which I was grateful to have him there, because I was too tired in mind and my body to

know what was right anymore, and sat down on the porch, and pretty soon heard this little pop.

Then Uncle Matt trotted back from the field and stuck his head inside and said: Lawrence

do you know, did Cookie have contact with other dogs, was there another dog or dogs she might

have played with, nipped, that sort of thing?

Oh get out, get away, said Bourne.

Lawrence my God, said Uncle Matt. Do you think I like this? Think of what we've been

through. Do you think this is fun for me, for us?

There was a long silence and then Bourne said well all he could think of was that terrier at

the Rectory, him and Cookie sometimes played when Cookie got off her lead.

WHEN WE GOT to the Rectory, Father Terry said he was sorry for our loss, and brought

Merton out, and we watched a long time and Merton never shuddered and his eyes remained dry,

you know, normal.

Looks fine, I said.

Is fine, said Father Terry. Watch this: Merton, genuflect.

And Merton did this dog stretchy thing where he sort of like bowed.

Could be fine, said Uncle Matt. But also could be he's sick but just at an early stage.

We'll have to be watchful, said Father Terry.

Yes, although, said Uncle Matt. Not knowing how it spreads and all, could it be we're in a

better-safe-than-sorry type of situation? I don't know, I truly don't know. Ed, what do you think?

And I didn't know what I thought. In my mind I was all the time just going over it and

over it, the before, the after, like her stepping up on that footstool to put that red bow in, saying

these like lady phrases to herself, such as Well Who Will Be There, Will There Be Cakes?

I hope you are not suggesting putting down a perfectly healthy dog, said Father Terry.

And Uncle Matt produced from his shirt pocket a red bow and said: Father, do you have

any idea what this is and where we found it?

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But it was not the real bow, not Emily's bow, which I kept all the time in my pocket, it was

a pinker shade of red and was a little bigger than the real bow, and I recognized it as having

come from our Karen's little box on her dresser.

No I do not know what that is, said Father Terry. A hair bow.

I for one am never going to forget that night, said Uncle Matt. What we all felt. I for one

am going to work to make sure that no one ever again has to endure what we had to endure that

night.

I have no disagreement with that at all, said Father Terry.

It is true you don't know what this is, Uncle Matt said, and put the bow back in his pocket.

You really really have no experience whatsoever of what this is.

Ed, Father Terry said to me. Killing a perfectly healthy dog has nothing to do with--

Possibly healthy but possibly not, said Uncle Matt. Was Cookie bitten? Cookie was not. Was

Cookie infected? Yes she was. How was Cookie infected? We do not know. And there is your dog,

who interacted with Cookie in exactly the same way that Cookie interacted with the known

infected animal, namely through being in close physical proximity.

It was funny about Uncle Matt, I mean funny as in great, admirable, this sudden stepping

up to the plate, because previously--I mean, yes, he of course loved the kids, but had never been

particularly--I mean he rarely even spoke to them, least of all to Emily, her being the youngest.

Mostly he just went very quietly around the house, especially since January when he'd lost his

job, avoiding the kids really, a little ashamed almost, as if knowing that, when they grew up, they

would never be the out-of-work slinking-around uncle, but instead would be the owners of the

house where the out-of-work slinking uncle etc etc.

But losing her had, I suppose, made him realize for the first time how much he loved her,

and this sudden strength--focus, certainty, whatever--was a comfort, because tell the truth I was

not doing well at all--I had always loved autumn and now it was full autumn and you could smell

woodsmoke and fallen apples but all of the world, to me, was just, you know, flat.

It is like your kid is this vessel that contains everything good. They look up at you so

loving, trusting you to take care of them, and then one night--what gets me, what I can't get

over, is that while she was being--while what happened was happening, I was--I had sort of

snuck away downstairs to check my e-mail, see, so that while--while what happened was

happening, out there in the schoolyard, a few hundred yards away, I was sitting there

typing--typing!--which, okay, there is no sin in that, there was no way I could have known, and

yet--do you see what I mean? Had I simply risen from my computer and walked upstairs and

gone outside and for some reason, any reason, crossed the schoolyard, then, believe me, there is

not a dog in the world, no matter how crazy--

And my wife felt the same way and had not come out of our bedroom since the tragedy.

So Father you are saying no? said Uncle Matt. You are refusing?

I pray for you people every day, Father Terry said. What you are going through, no one

ever should have to go through.

Don't like that man, Uncle Matt said as we left the Rectory. Never have and never will.

And I knew that. They had gone to high school together and there had been something

about a girl, some last-minute prom-date type of situation that had not gone in Uncle Matt's

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favor, and I think some shoving on a ball field, some name-calling, but all of this was years ago,

during like say the Kennedy administration.

He will not observe that dog properly, said Uncle Matt. Believe me. And if he does notice

something, he won't do what is necessary. Why? Because it is his dog. His dog. Everything that's

his? It's special, above the law.

I don't know, I said. Truly I don't.

He doesn't get it, said Uncle Matt. He wasn't there that night, he didn't see you carrying

her inside.

Which, tell the truth, Uncle Matt hadn't seen me carrying her inside either, having gone

out to rent a video--but still, yes, I got his drift about Father Terry, who had always had a streak

of ego, with that silver hair with the ripples in it, and also he had a weight set in the Rectory

basement and worked out twice a day and had, actually, a very impressive physique, which he

showed off, I felt, we all felt, by ordering his priest shirts perhaps a little too tight.

Next morning during breakfast Uncle Matt was very quiet and finally said well he might be

just a fat little unemployed guy who hadn't had the education some had, but love was love,

honoring somebody's memory was honoring somebody's memory, and since he had no big

expectations for his day, would I let him borrow the truck, so he could park it in the Burger King

lot and keep an eye on what was going on over at the Rectory, sort of in memory of Emily?

And the thing was, we didn't really use that truck anymore and so--it was a very uncertain

time, you know, and I thought: Well, what if it turns out Merton really is sick, and somehow gets

away and attacks someone else's--so I said yes, he could use the truck.

He sat all Tuesday morning and Tuesday night, I mean not leaving the truck once, which

for him--he was not normally a real dedicated guy, if you know what I mean. And then

Wednesday night he came charging in and threw a tape in the VCR and said watch, watch this.

And there on the TV was Merton, leaning against the Rectory fence, shuddering, arching

his back, shuddering again.

So we took our guns and went over.

Look I know I know, said Father Terry. But I'm handling it here, in my own way. He's had

enough trouble in his life, poor thing.

Say what? said Uncle Matt. Trouble in his life? You are saying to this man, this father, who

has recently lost--the dog has had trouble in his life?

Well, however, I should say--I mean, that was true. We all knew about Merton, who had

been brought to Father Terry from this bad area, one of his ears sliced nearly off, plus it had, as I

understood it, this anxiety condition, where it would sometimes faint because dinner was being

served, I mean, it would literally pass out due to its own anticipation, which, you know, that

couldn't have been easy.

Ed, said Father Terry. I am not saying Merton's trouble is, I am not comparing Merton's

trouble to your--

Christ let's hope not, Uncle Matt said.

All's I'm saying is I'm losing something too, said Father Terry.

Ho boy, said Uncle Matt. Ho boy ho boy.

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Ed, my fence is high, said Father Terry. He's not going anywhere, I've also got him on a

chain in there. I want him to--I want it to happen here, just him and me. Otherwise it's too sad.

You don't know from sad, said Uncle Matt.

Sadness is sadness, said Father Terry.

Bla bla bla, said Uncle Matt. I'll be watching. WELL LATER that week this dog Tweeter Deux brought down a deer in the woods between

the TwelvePlex and the Episcopal Church, and that Tweeter Deux was not a big dog, just, you

know, crazed, and how the DeFrancinis knew she had brought down a deer was, she showed up

in their living room with a chewed-off foreleg.

And that night--well the DeFrancini cat began racing around the house, and its eyes took

on this yellow color, and at one point while running it sort of locked up and skidded into the

baseboard and gave itself a concussion.

Which is when we realized the problem was bigger than we had initially thought.

The thing was, we did not know and could not know how many animals had already been

infected--the original four dogs had been at large for several days before we found them, and any

animal they might have infected had been at large for nearly two weeks now, and we did not

even know the precise method of infection--was it bites, spit, blood, was something leaping from

coat to coat? We knew it could happen to dogs, it appeared it could happen to cats--what I'm

saying is, it was just a very confusing and frightening time.

So Uncle Matt got on the iMac and made up these flyers, calling a Village Meeting, and at

the top was a photo he'd taken of the red bow (not the real bow but Karen's pinkish-red bow,

which he'd color-enhanced on the iMac to make it redder and also he had superimposed Emily's

Communion photo) and along the bottom it said FIGHT THE OUTRAGE, and underneath in smaller

letters it said something along the lines of, you know, why do we live in this world but to love

what is ours, and when one of us has cruelly lost what we loved, it is the time to band together to

stand up to that which threatens that which we love, so that no one else ever has to experience

this outrage again. Now that we have known and witnessed this terrific pain, let us resolve

together to fight against any and all circumstances which might cause or contribute to this or a

similar outrage now or at any time in the future--and we had Seth and Jason run these around

town, and on Friday night ended up with nearly four hundred people in the high school gym.

Coming in, each person got a rolled-up FIGHT THE OUTRAGE poster of the color-enhanced

bow, and also on these Uncle Matt had put in--I objected to this at first, until I saw how people

responded--well he had put in these tiny teeth marks, they were not meant to look real, they

were just, you know, as he said, symbolic reminders, and down in one corner was Emily's

Communion photo and in the opposite corner a photo of her as a baby, and Uncle Matt had hung

a larger version of that poster (large as a closet) up over the speaker's podium.

And I was sort of astonished by Uncle Matt, I mean, he was showing so much--I'd never

seen him so motivated. This was a guy whose idea of a big day was checking the mail and getting

up a few times to waggle the TV antenna--and here he was, in a suit, his face all red and sort of

proud and shiny--

Well Uncle Matt got up and thanked everyone for coming, and Mrs. DeFrancini, owner of

Tweeter Deux, held up that chewed-up foreleg, and Dr. Vincent showed slides of cross sections of

the brain of one of the original four dogs, and then at the end I talked, only I got choked up and

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couldn't say much except thanks to everybody, their support had meant the world to us, and I

tried to say about how much we had all loved her but couldn't go on.

Uncle Matt and Dr. Vincent had, on the iMac, on their own (not wanting to bother me)

drawn up what they called a Three-Point Emergency Plan, which the three points were: 1) All

Village animals must immediately undergo an Evaluation, to determine was the animal Infected,

and 2) all Infected or Suspected Infected animals must be destroyed at once, and 3) all Infected

or Suspected Infected animals, once destroyed, must be burned at once to minimize the

possibility of Second-Hand Infection.

Then someone asked could they please clarify the meaning of "suspected"? Suspected, you know, said Uncle Matt. That means we suspect and have good reason to suspect that an animal is, or may be, Infected.

The exact methodology is currently under development, said Dr. Vincent.

How can we, how can you, ensure that this assessment will be fair and reasonable though?

the guy asked.

Well that is a good question, said Uncle Matt. The key to that is, we will have the

assessment done by fair-minded persons who will do the Evaluation in an objective way that

seems reasonable to all.

Trust us, said Dr. Vincent. We know it is so very important.

Then Uncle Matt held up the bow--actually a new bow, very big, about the size of a ladies'

hat, really, I don't know where he found that--and said: All of this may seem confusing but it is

not confusing if we remember that it is all about This, simply This, about honoring This,

preventing This.

Then it was time for the vote, and it was something like 393 for and none against, with a

handful of people abstaining, which I found sort of hurtful, but then following the vote everyone

rose to their feet and, regarding me and Uncle Matt with--well they were smiling these warm

smiles, some even fighting back tears--it was just a very nice, very kind moment, and I will never

forget it, and will be grateful for it until the day I die.

AFTER THE meeting Uncle Matt and Trooper Kelly and a few others went and did what had

to be done in terms of Merton, over poor Father Terry's objections--I mean, he was upset about

it, of course, so upset it took five men to hold him back, him being so fit and all--and then they

brought Merton, Merton's body, back to our place and burned it, out at the tree line where we had

burned the others, and someone asked should we give Father Terry the ashes, and Uncle Matt

said why take the chance, we have not ruled out the possibility of airborne transmission, and,

putting on the little white masks supplied by Dr. Vincent, we raked Merton's ashes into the

swamp.

That night my wife came out of our bedroom for the first time since the tragedy, and we

told her everything that had been happening.

And I watched her closely, to see what she thought, to see what I should think, her having

always been my rock.

Kill every dog, every cat, she said very slowly. Kill every mouse, every bird. Kill every fish.

Anyone objects, kill them too.

Then she went back to bed.

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Well that was--I felt so bad for her, she was simply not herself--I mean, this was a woman

who, finding a spider, used to make me take it outside in a cup. Although, as far as killing all dogs

and cats--I mean, there was a certain--I mean, if you did that, say, killed every dog and cat,

regardless of were they Infected or not, you could thereby guarantee, to 100 percent, that no

other father in town would ever again have to carry in his--God there is so much I don't

remember about that night but one thing I do remember is, as I brought her in, one of her little

clogs thunked off onto the linoleum, and still holding her I bent down to--and she wasn't there

anymore, she wasn't, you know, there, there inside her body. I had passed her thousands of

times on the steps, in the kitchen, had heard her little voice from everywhere in the house and

why, why had I not, every single time, rushed up to her and told her everything that I--but of

course you can't do that, it would malform a child, and yet--

What I'm saying is, with no dogs and no cats, the chance that another father would have

to carry his animal-murdered child into their home, where the child's mother sat, doing the bills,

happy or something like happy for the last time in her life, happy until the instant she looked up

and saw--what I guess I'm saying is, with no dogs and no cats, the chances of that happening to

someone else (or to us again) went down to that very beautiful number of Zero.

Which is why we eventually did have to enact our policy of sacrificing all dogs and cats

who had been in the vicinity of the Village at the time of the incident.

But as far as killing the mice, the birds, the fish, no, we had no evidence to support that,

not at that time anyway, and had not yet added the Reasonable Suspicion Clause to the Plan, and

as far as the people, well my wife wasn't herself, that's all there was to it, although soon what we

found was--I mean, there was something prescient about what she'd said, because in time we did

in fact have to enact some very specific rules regarding the physical process of extracting the

dogs and/or cats from a home where the owner was being unreasonable--or the fish, birds,

whatever--and also had to assign specific penalties should these people, for example, assault one

of the Animal Removal Officers, as a few of them did, and finally also had to issue some

guidelines on how to handle individuals who, for whatever reason, felt it useful to undercut our

efforts by, you know, obsessively and publicly criticizing the Five- and Six-Point Plans, just very

unhappy people.

But all of that was still months away.

I often think back to the end of that first Village Meeting, to that standing-ovation

moment. Uncle Matt had also printed up T-shirts, and after the vote everyone pulled the T-shirt

with Emily's smiling face on it over his or her own shirt, and Uncle Matt said that he wanted to

say thank you from the bottom of his heart, and not just on behalf of his family, this family of his

that had been so sadly and irreversibly malformed by this unimaginable and profound tragedy,

but also, and perhaps more so, on behalf of all the families we had just saved, via our vote, from

similar future profound unimaginable tragedies.

And as I looked out over the crowd, at all those T-shirts--I don't know, I found it deeply

moving, that all of those good people would feel so fondly towards her, many of whom had not

even known her, and it seemed to me that somehow they had come to understand how good she

had been, how precious, and were trying, with their applause, to honor her.

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Reflection Questions 1. Do you think Uncle Matt led the townspeople to do the right thing? Why or why not? 2. What made the people listen to and follow Uncle Matt, an average, unemployed man? 3. Describe a real world example that is similar to what occurred in “The Red Bow.” 4. What is the author’s tone in this short story? Give a quotation from the story to support your answer. 5. What do you think the author’s tone would be if he had written a fictional story about the real world example in #3? Explain your answer.

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The Lottery STORY #3 by Shirley Jackson The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full­summer day;

the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix­­ the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"­­eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted­­as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program­­by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round­faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three­ legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born.

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Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up­­of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing­in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty­seventh and came a­running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to

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make her way through the crowd. The people separated good­humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar." Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg,

hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?" "Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her

husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr.

Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I'm drawing for my mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said things like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?" "Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded. A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All

ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names­­heads of families first­­and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?"

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe." They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson.... Bentham." "Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs.

Graves in the back row. "Seems like we got through with the last one only last week." "Time sure goes fast.­­ Mrs. Graves said.

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"Clark.... Delacroix" "There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went

forward. "Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the

women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes." "We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of

the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt.... Hutchinson." "Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed. "Jones." "They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the

north village they're talking of giving up the lottery." Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks,

nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said. "Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools." "Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy." "I wish they'd

hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry." "They're almost through," her son said. "You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said. Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip

from the box. Then he called, "Warner." "Seventy­seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through the

crowd. "Seventy­seventh time." "Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be nervous,

Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son." "Zanini." After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of

paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!"

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"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said. "Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to be

hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?"

"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!" "Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You know

that as well as anyone else." "It wasn't fair," Tessie said. "I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's

family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids." "Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation,

"and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too. Right?" "Right," Bill Hutchinson said. "How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally. "Three," Bill Hutchinson said. "There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and

me." "All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?" Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr. Summers

directed. "Take Bill's and put it in." "I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell you it

wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that." Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers

but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off. "Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her. "Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his

wife and children. nodded. "Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each person has

taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

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The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

"It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way they used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's." Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he

held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr. opened theirs at the same time and both beamed and laughed turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper Bill." Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black

spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly." Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still

remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box. Mrs. Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I can't run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson a few pebbles. Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out

desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.

"It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

Discussion Questions 1. What do you understand to be the writer's own attitude toward the lottery and the stoning? Exactly what in the story makes her attitude clear to us? 2. This story satirizes a number of social issues, including the reluctance of people to reject outdated traditions, ideas, rules, laws, and practices. What kinds of traditions, practices, laws, etc. might "The Lottery" represent? 3. This story was published in 1948, just after World War II. What other cultural or historical events, attitudes, institutions, or rituals might Jackson be satirizing in this story?

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Excerpt from The Children’s Story by James Clavell STORY #4 (The United States has been conquered by an enemy state. The ruling state at this point in the story is working on changing the education system to suit its system of rule. A New Teacher enters an elementary classroom, removes the old teacher, and speaks to the students.)

"Johnny. Would you tell me something, please? How do you start school? I mean what do you

do to begin with?" Johnny stood reluctantly. "We first pledge allegiance and then we sing the song ­" "Yes, but that's all after roll call," Sandra said, "You forgot roll call. "Yes, You forgot roll call, Johnny," Mary said. "First we have roll call," Johnny said. Then he sat down. The New Teacher smiled. "All right. but we really don't need roll call. I know all your names

and I know everyone's here. It's very lazy for a teacher not to know who's here and who isn't, don't you think? After all, a teacher should KNOW. So we don't need roll call while I'm your teacher. So we should pledge, isn't that next?"

Obediently all the children got up and put their hands on their hearts and the New Teacher did the same, and they began in unison, 'I pledge allegiance to the flag of ­"

"Just a moment," the New Teacher said. "What does PLEDGE mean?" The children stood open mouthed; Miss Worden had never interrupted them before. They

stood and stared at the New Teacher. Wordless. And silent. "What does ALLEGIANCE mean?" The New Teacher asked, her hand over her heart. The children stood in silence. Then Mary put up her hand. "Well, PLEDGE is, ah, well,

something like ­ sort of when you want to do something very good. You sort of pledge you're going to do something like not suck your thumb 'cause that makes your teeth bend and you'll have to wear a brace and go to the dentist, which hurts."

"That's very good, Mary. Very, very good. To pledge means to promise. And ALLEGIANCE?" Mary shrugged helplessly and looked at her best friend, Hilda, who looked back at her and then at the teacher and shrugged helplessly too.

The New Teacher waited, and the silence hung in the room, hurting. then she said, "I think it's quite wrong for you to have to say something with long words in it if you don't understand what you're saying."

So the children sat down and waited expectantly. "What did your other teacher tell you that it meant?" After a long silence Danny put up his hand. "She never said nothing, miss." One of my teachers at the other school I went to before this one," Joan said in a rush, "well,

she sort of said what it all meant, at least she said something about it just before recess one day and then the bell went and afterwards we had spellin'."

Danny said, "Miss Worden ­ well, she never told us. We just hadta learn it and then say it, that's all. Our real teacher didn't say anything at all."

All the children nodded. Then they waited again. "Your teacher never explained to you?" All the children shook their heads.

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"I don't think that was very good. Not to explain. You can always ask me anything. That's what a real teacher should do." Then the New Teacher said, "But didn't you ask your daddies and mommies?"

"Not about 'I pledge.' We just hadta learn it," Mary said. "Once I could say it, Daddy gave me a nickel for saying it good."

"That's right," Danny said. "So long as you could say it all, it was very good. But I never got no nickel."

"Did you ask each other what it meant?" "I askt Danny once and he didn't know and none of knowed really. It's grown­up talk, and

grown­ups talk that sort of words. We just havta learn it." "The other schools I went to," Hilda said, "they never said anything about it. They just wanted

us to learn it. They didn't ask us what it meant. We just hadta say it every day before we started school."

"It took me weeks and weeks and weeks to say it right," Mary said. So the New Teacher explained what allegiance meant. " ...so you are promising or pledging

support to the flag and saying that it is much more important than YOU are. How can a flag be more important than a real live person?"

Johnny broke the silence. "But the next thing is ­ well, where it says 'and to the republic for which it stands.' That means it's like a, like a..." He searched for the word and could not find it. "Like well, sort of a sign, isn't it?"

"Yes. The real word is a SYMBOL." The New Teacher frowned. "But we don't need a sign to remind us that we love our country, do we? You're all good boys and girls. Do you need a sign to remind you?"

"What's REMIND mean?" Mary asked. "It means to make you remember. To make you remember that you're all good boys and girls." The children thought about this and shook their heads. Johnny put up his hand. "It's our flag," he said fiercely. "We always pledge." "Yes," the New Teacher said. "It is a very pretty one. She looked at it a moment and then said,

"I wish I could have a piece of it. If it's so important, I think we should all have a piece of it. Don't you?" "I've a little one at home," Mary said. "I could bring it tomorrow." "Thank you, Mary dear, but I just wanted a little piece of this one because it's our own special

classroom one." Then Danny said, "If we had some scissors we could cut a little piece off." "I've some scissors at home, Mary said. "There's some in Miss Worden's desk," Brian said. The New Teacher found the scissors and then they had to decide who would be allowed to cut

a little piece off, and the New Teacher said that because today was Mary's birthday (HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT? Mary asked herself, awed) Mary should be allowed to cut the piece off. And then they decided it would be very nice if they all had a piece. The flag is special, they thought, so if you have a piece, that's better than having just to look at it, 'cause you can keep it in your pocket.

So the flag was cut up by the children and they were very proud that they each had a piece. But now the flagpole was bare and strange.

And useless. The children pondered what to do with it, and the idea that pleased them most was to push it

out of the window. They watched excitedly as the New Teacher opened the window and allowed them to throw it into the playground. They shrieked with excitement as they saw it bounce on the ground and lie there. They began to love this strange New Teacher.

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4 U.S. Code S.4 The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag: “I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”, should be rendered by standing at attention facing the flag with the right hand over the heart. When not in uniform men should remove any non-religious headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Persons in uniform should remain silent, face the flag, and render the military salute. Members of the Armed Forces not in uniform and veterans may render the military salute in the manner provided for persons in uniform.

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