Lost and Found in Alaska - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

After earning his Master of Arts Degree from the University of Alaska in 1964, Joel Rudinger enrolled in the University of Iowa's Writers Workshop and, in 1966, finished a Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing. That fall, he entered the doctoral program in English Literature at Bowling Green State University in Ohio. In 1967, BGSU began construction of a new satellite campus in Huron, Ohio. Joel was one of three people first hired in 1967 to teach fulltime at the new Firelands branch. He finished his Ph.D. in 1971 with a 658 page field-study in American folklore, Folklore of Erie County, Ohio, the home county of the new campus. In 1972, he incorporated the nonprofit Rudinger Foundation and initiated a long-standing creative arts scholarship program. In 1972, Joel started the Firelands Arts Review literary journal. He published it for ten years, his creative writing students acting as editors. In 1978, he started the Cambric Press which published the Cambric Poetry Projects series and other books.

During his years of teaching at the BGSU Firelands College, Joel taught creative writing, the short story, intro to poetry, children's literature, folklore and popular culture, and The Alaskan Experience, thirteen day summer field trips to Alaska to experience native culture and the wild beauty of the state. His illustrated children's book, Sedna: Goddess of the Sea, is a retelling of an ancient Eskimo creation myth of how the warm-blooded sea animals came to be. He retired after forty-five years of teaching in 2013 with the rank of Professor Emeritus.

In 1995, Joel became a Third Degree Reiki Master and an Ohio ordained minister in the Church of Radiant Lights. Awards from BGSU-Firelands include a Links to Progress Award (2003) and Distinguished Creative Scholar (2004). He was Huron's Poet Laureate for three years. Joel is also an artist and has illustrated several books, such as Harry Eiss's The Mythology of Dance and Divine Madness, using the medium of black cut paper. He is an active member of the Huron Rotary club, loves golf, backgammon, and sweet, warm apple pie.

He lives in Huron, Ohio with his wife Susan, near the shores of Lake Erie.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

27: Back in Fairbanks: Leda Revisited



With money in my pocket, the next day I flew into Anchorage. I got a taxi at the airport and went directly to the railroad station for a ticket to Fairbanks. The next train out wouldn't leave until the following morning, so I walked over the bridge to the Hofbrauhaus on Third Street for a beer and a sandwich. After my lunch, I went over to the piano and noodled around with my "Moonlight Sonata". Like the first time I was there, someone sent over a beer. I waved at a guy at the bar and wondered what he would have sent over if I had played "Danny Boy."

To walk to and from the terminal from town, you had to cross over the Ship Creek bridge, a narrow wooden walkway. A dozen fishermen lined the banks on both sides of Ship Creek trying to catch a salmon or a trout. I stood on the bridge, leaning on the railing to see if there was any action. After half an hour, a native man in a flannel cap and a parka snagged a fish and reeled it in. It was at least a foot long and enough of a catch to keep everyone else casting and reeling. I stayed to watch for half an hour, but no one else snagged anything so I went to the station to hang out and take a nap. The train was scheduled to leave Anchorage around 8:30 and I didn't want to miss it. It would be a long day. The train ride could take as much as ten hours if there were a lot of off-the-grid commuters or transit riders waiting along the tracks, and at this time of year there usually were.

When I got back to Fairbanks, I found out the deal I thought I had for the room was off the table. The Polands, the trailer park owners, had had a change of plans while I was gone and were not going to travel south. So, just back from Juneau, I had no place to stay. But I didn't dwell on it. Something would happen. The moving hands of the clock bring constant change.

I got a coffee and a slice of hot apple pie at the café across from the Fairbanks post office and, carrying my duffle and backpack, caught a ride with a student to the university. I went to the Bunnell building to see if Chuck Keim was in his office, but he was out. I peeked into my old office. It was empty. My next stop was the bookstore. As luck would have it, Leda was there. I told her about the Juneau trip and that the Polands had backed out of their offer. What she heard was that I was homeless. Again.