26 March 2021

Published March 24, 2021 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

BRINGER OF LIGHT

At bedtime Blume Mabovitch brushed 10-year-old Goldie’s thick, dark curls. “How was school today?”

“Fun. Nothing like Kiev. My teacher says I’m klug—smart.”

“Gut. Into bed.” Blume tucked the covers around Goldie’s neck. “When the time comes, you’ll be a balabusta, a good American wife.”

Goldie watched snowflakes flutter past her window, glittering in the streetlight. She shivered and whispered to herself. “Balabustah? Feh! Someday I shall do great things for our Jewish people.”

***

Goldie’s fire and determination guided her long productive life. As Golda Meir she earned Israel’s love as a champion who helped turn dreams into reality.

*In 1956 when Golda Myerson became Foreign Minister, Prime Minister Ben Gurion urged her to Hebraicize her name. Meir means bringer of light.

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And just because…

12 March 2021

Published March 10, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

A note of thanks to those who sent photos. The response to my plea was overwhelming! I’m always open to quirky or intriguing shots. Send them to runtshell@gmail.com. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE GREATEST GENERATION

Great-Grandpa Harry’s war stories made wonderful essays for my seventh-grade history class.

“I never seen anything like it.” His faded blue eyes brimmed. “Charles Jackson French. The ‘human tugboat’. Ever hear of him?”

“No, Grandpa.”

“A-course not. So Imma gonna tell you.”

I poised my pencil.

“After the Japs sank our ship, a few of us wounded escaped on a big’ol life raft. Charlie tied the tow rope around hisself. Eight hours o’dodging sharks and bullets, he swam us to safety. Never received the full honors due him.”

“Why?”

Great-Grandpa fisted his gnarled hand.

“Worst reason ever, son. Skin color.”

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26 February 2021

Published February 24, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

CALLING MY CAMERA HAPPY FICTIONEERS!!!

PROMPT PHOTOS NEEDED! SOMETHING INTERESTING! SOMETHING INTRIGUING! MY ONLY REQUEST IS THAT YOU DON’T SEND PICTURES OF ANIMALS OR STATUES. ONTO THE PHOTO BELOW. THANK YOU, DALE!

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

FIRE AND ICE

“Corrie, we don’t have time to cry.” Her father’s eyes blazed. “Give thanks for our lives and pray for those who did this.”

Flames engulfed the only home the fifteen-year-old had ever known. How could she pray for evil people who hated them for the color of their skin?

Hours before they had enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner accompanied by laughter and music.

Heart racing, she made a vow never to allow the ugliness to remain in the shadows.

Twenty-six years later, Coretta Scott King refused to bathe in her grief, saying, “Hate injures the hater more than it injures the hated.”

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1280px-Reagan_signs_Martin_Luther_King_bill

Martin_Luther,_Coretta_Scott_and_Yolanda_Denise_King,_1956

19 February 2021

Published February 17, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

NO MAIL, LOW MORALE

“I have a dream.” Dr. King’s words gave Millie hope for an end to her beloved country’s racial divide as she returned home from the march in Washington.

Before she could open her door, someone tapped her shoulder. She whipped around to be caught in the blue-eyed gaze of a Raleigh policeman.

“Mrs. Veasey, were you in the 6888 Postal Directory Battalion during WWII?”

“And proud of it.” She stiffened. “We were the first black, female division in the US Army.”

“I was PFC Nelson…Belgium. No mail for months, until—” He saluted. “Thank you for your service, Ma’am.”

***

CLICK for more info about Mrs. Veasey and the Six-Triple-Eight

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12 February 2021

Published February 10, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

JUNE 12, 1943

“My little girl is a young woman.” Papa kissed Rutka’s cheek. “Happy fourteenth birthday!”

“I’ll never see my fifteenth.”

His reassuring smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Our God will protect you.”

“Will He? He allows innocent babies to have their heads smashed in while grandmothers are deported to the death camps.”

Rutka longed to go outside without a yellow star on her dress—to romp among fragrant flowers and trees.

“I’m young in age but old in experience,” she wrote in her diary. “The rope around us is getting tighter and tighter. Despite all these atrocities, I want to live…”

5 February 2021

Published February 3, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankivell

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ONE FURTHER WORD! PLEASE!!!

We’ll never forget 2020, the Pandammit and the hoarding of such items as cleaning supplies and toilet paper. Many are the stories written on the subject. So…I DARE YOU! I DOUBLE-DOG DARE YOU TO NOT write a story that has to do with lockdown, quarantine or the big C-19. You won’t be chastised or kicked to the kerb if you do, but…

Without further adieu, here’s my story.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

TYPECAST

Riccardo DiGuglielmo couldn’t see himself frittering away his life as a clerk. He decided to follow in his parents’ footsteps in show business.

Studying the fifteen-year-old, the Hamilton, Ontario radio director smiled. “You have a good voice for radio, son. Your name?”

“Um…” Riccardo hesitated. He didn’t want to be typecast as an Italian. “Dick Wilson.”

Years later, his character, Mr. Whipple, a store clerk who chastised anyone who dared to squeeze the Charmin, became an American household name.

The actor laughed, “I’ve done thirty-eight pictures and nobody remembers any of them, but they all remember me selling toilet paper.”

For those who never saw one of these 500 adverts, here’s one of the early ones that catapulted Dick Wilson to commercial success.

29 January 2021

Published January 27, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

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This week, January 27, marks the 76th anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. May we never forget.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

MEYN SHEYNER FRINTZ

מיין שיינער פרינץ

For my fifth birthday in 1939, Papa, my handsome prince, gave me a beautiful book called “Kinder und Hausmärchen.”

The next year we went into hiding with Papa’s Christian friends in the country. Three years later the SS arrested us.

At nights in my bunk, I’d close my eyes and imagine Papa reading Briar Rose or Rapunzel, mimicking the ladies with squeaky falsetto voices to make me laugh.

I was eleven when American soldiers liberated us from the camp. I searched for my handsome prince, but Papa was nowhere to be found. For me there is no happily ever after.

Meyn Sheyner Frintz – My Handsome Prince in Yiddish

The Book was also known as Grimm’s Fairytales

It’s a 48 minute commitment but THIS LINK leads to a wonderful story of how one woman survived and has lived to tell and retell her story.

LANGUAGE OF THE HEART

Published January 27, 2021 by rochellewisoff

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

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I hope you’ll forgive me for taking places one and two on the Hollywood Squares. This story was begging to be told this week.

Genre: Historical Fiction Circa 1966

Word Count: 100

LANGUAGE OF THE HEART

Supper dishes put away; Marie sank down on the sofa next to ten-year-old Rachel. “What’s on television?”

“Hollywood Bowl. Marcel Marceau’s on tonight.”

“The mime? I met him.”

“Really, Mom?” Rachel gasped. “When?”

“Over twenty years ago.” As white-faced Marceau chased imaginary butterflies across the stage, memories flooded Marie. “After my parents were deported to Auschwitz my brother and I were put in an orphanage. Marcel was but a boy himself when he entertained us with his silent art and led us to safety over the Swiss border.”

“Wow. Did you get his autograph?”

“Oui. It’s engraved on my heart.”

I had the pleasure of seeing him perform live in 1992. He was amazing even from the highest seat in the theatre. Click the photo to learn more about this Jewish boy from Strasbourg, France.

14 January 2021

Published January 13, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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CLICK THE FROG TO PLAY ALONG

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

LISTEN TO THE BAND

“I’ve had enough of this scene,” said Stephen Stills as he sat at a coffee house in Greenwich Village. “I’m off to LA.”

Peter picked out a tune on his guitar. “Ya think you’ll make more bread out there?”

“Dunno. But it’s warmer.”

_____

As the two basked in California sunshine, Stephen handed Peter a newspaper. “I’m auditioning. Why don’t you?”

Peter read the ad. “I’m a musician. Haven’t acted since the PTA play in grade school.”

“It says ‘Musicians-Singers.’”

“Okay. What’ve I got to lose?”

Years later, Peter Tork told an interviewer. “I’ll always have the Monkees on my back.”

Stephen Stills and Peter Tork

peter-tork-micky-dolenz-davy-jones-michael-nesmith

***

RIP Peter

February 13,1942- February 21, 2019

8 January 2021

Published January 6, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

PHOTO PROMPT @ Jan Wayne Fields

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

HEY! HEY! MERCY, WOMAN!

“I got a boy to raise. I can’t afford to lose this job.” Bette ripped the document from the IBM electric. The bank called it progress, she called it futile. “Doggone unerasable ink. Someone should invent…hmm.”

_____

“Is that paint in the blender?” asked 12-year-old Michael.

Bette took a bottle of the white stuff to work with a small paintbrush. Before she knew it, her coworkers clamored for a bottle. She called her lucrative invention “Mistake-Out.”

______

“My mom was a dynamo. She built the Liquid Paper Corporation from nothing.” Monkee Michael Nesmith drawled. “All I did was sing and write songs.”

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