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The Bracero Program

The Bracero Program

Tuesday, October 22, 6:00 p.m.

Waukesha County Technical College, Broadway Campus
327 E. Broadway, Waukesha

The Bracero Program was a cooperative agreement between Mexico and the U.S. designed to address worker shortages during World War II. This was the beginning of migrant labor in the U.S.

Local expert Michael Goodman discusses the history and the long lasting
effects of the Bracero program on the U.S. economy.
Refreshments will be served.
For more information, call 262-695-6518.

 Check out the Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ calendar for detailed program information.

 

Seven Samurai

Seven Samurai

Sunday, October 20, 12:00-4:00 p.m.

Shattuck Music Center, Carroll University
100 N. East Ave., Waukesha

This award-winning 1954 film tells the story of a group of samurai that protect a village being attacked by bandits. The Magnificent Seven is the western-style remake of this Japanese film. (Subtitled)

For details, call (262) 650-4887.

 Check out the Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ calendar for detailed program information.
Food for Thought … Snacks and Scholars

Food for Thought … Snacks and Scholars

Literary, Historical and Cultural Connections with the Novel

Monday, October 21, 6:00 p.m.

Waukesha Public Library
321 Wisconsin Ave., Waukesha

Join us for refreshments and an intriguing discussion with local scholars.

Reluctant Amazons: Narratives of Women Without Men
Elizabeth Zanichkowsky (UW-Waukesha)

Hybrid Language of a Hybrid Identity: Spanish, English, and Spanglish in Into the Beautiful North
Debbie Paprocki (UW-Waukesha)

Tijuana Past and Present as the Portal Into The Beautiful North
Bert Kreitlow (UW-Whitewater)

Literature and Social Justice: The Author as Witness in the Work of Luis Alberto Urrea
John Allen (MATC)

Check out the Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ calendar for detailed program information.

 

Food for Thought…Snacks and Scholars

Food for Thought…Snacks and Scholars

Impact of Film: Inside and Outside the Novel

Monday, October 7 at 6:00 p.m.

Waukesha Public Library
321 Wisconsin Ave., Waukesha

Join us for refreshments and an intriguing discussion with local scholars.

 

Irish on One Side, Mexican on the Other. . . and Me in the Middle: The Role of Popular Narratives in Framing Perspective.
Joe Foy (UW-Waukesha)

Salt of the Earth: A Film Without an Audience?
Tim Thering and Ellyn Lem (UW-Waukesha)

Like Water for Chocolate: The Film/Book that Opened the Border Between the U.S. and Mexico
Ellyn Lem (UW-Waukesha)

Special Exhibits

Special Exhibits

Don’t miss these three special
Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ exhibits!

Memory: Soul of a People

October 1-31 at Waukesha Public Library, 321 Wisconsin Avenue, Waukesha
Photographs of Waukesha’s Hispanic community celebrate their traditions, values and humanity. Exhibit is a joint venture of Carroll University’s Advanced Spanish Conversation and Composition class taught by Dr. Elena De Costa and Prof. Phil Krejcarek’s Photography classes.Details: 262-524-3682

Renounce Forever

October 1-31 at Waukesha County Museum, 101 W. Main Street, Waukesha
View unique examples of naturalization papers of early Waukesha County immigrants who renounced forever their former countries to become citizens. Also visit the Research Center to look up your own family’s papers! Exhibit is free with museum admission. Details: 262-521-2859

Almont Gallery Art Exhibit

October 5-31, Almont Gallery, 342 W. Main Street, Waukesha
Check out the Almont Gallery windows for art based on the themes of the book created by local artists.

Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ Kickoff

Don’t miss a chance to get a free copy of Luis Alberto Urrea’s Into the Beautiful North.

Join us for Freeman Friday Night Live on Friday, September 27 from 6:30-9:00 p.m.

  • Free books and program information at the Five Points!
  • The Power of the Postcard at Waukesha Community Art Project, 320 South Street
  • Lots of live music!

Check out the Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ calendar of events for detailed program information.

Waukesha Welcomes Author Luis Alberto Urrea

Saturday, October 26

La Casa de Esperanza
410 Arcadian Avenue, Waukesha

6:00-7:30 p.m. – Meet the author and enjoy delicious Mexican specialties.
Ticketed event: $15, reservations required
Contact Joan: jquilan@waukesha.lib.wi.us or (262) 524-3694

7:30 p.m. FREE Author Presentation and Book Signing
Enjoy mariachi music and the History of Latinos in Waukesha art exhibit!

Check out the Waukesha Reads ~ THE BIG READ calendar for all program details!

Waukesha Reads Receives 2013 Big Read Grant

WAUKESHA PUBLIC LIBRARY ONE OF 77 ORGANIZATIONS NATIONWIDE

TO RECEIVE A BIG READ GRANT

 

Waukesha to read and celebrate Into the Beautiful North by Luis Alberto Urrea
during Waukesha Reads
~ The Big Read

 

May 29, 2013—Waukesha, WI—Waukesha Public Library today announced that it has received a grant of $16,000 to host The Big Read in Waukesha. The Big Read is a program of the National Endowment for the Arts, designed to revitalize the role of literature in American culture and to encourage citizens to read for pleasure and enlightenment. The Big Read is managed by Arts Midwest. Waukesha Public Library is one of 77 nonprofit organizations to receive a grant to host a Big Read project between September 2013 and June 2014. The Big Read in Waukesha will focus on Into the Beautiful North by Luis Alberto Urrea. Activities will take place September 27- November 3.

“We are pleased and honored to once again partner with the National Endowment for the Arts and the award-winning Big Read program for the fourth time in seven years,” said Grant Lynch, Executive Director of Waukesha Public Library. “This particular grant, the largest that we have ever received, is a testament to the outstanding reach and immeasurable impact of the ‘Waukesha Reads’ series, and receipt further solidifies our role as a leader of public libraries across the nation. The financial and complementary event resources from the NEA present the Waukesha Public Library with a unique opportunity to bring about brand new programs, high-quality materials in multiple languages and much, much more to our expanding community of readers in the City of Waukesha and beyond.”

Everyone is invited to stop by the Library on Friday, May 31, 2013 from 3:00-5:00 p.m. to help celebrate this award, learn more about the selected title and enter a drawing for a chance to win a copy of the book. Ten lucky winners will be able to get a head start on their reading for this fall event.

“It’s wonderful to see that these 77 communities are making reading and the celebration of books a priority,” said NEA Acting Chairman Joan Shigekawa. “I look forward to seeing the innovative ways they find to engage their community in these great works of classic and contemporary literature.”

The Big Read provides communities nationwide with the opportunity to read, discuss, and celebrate one of 31 selections from U.S. and world literature. The 77 selected organizations will receive Big Read grants to promote and carry out community-based reading programs featuring activities such as read-a-thons, book discussions, lectures, movie screenings, and performing arts events. Participating communities also receive high-quality, free-of-charge educational materials to supplement each title, including Reader’s, Teacher’s, and Audio Guides, which also are available for download on neabigread.org.

For more information about The Big Read please visit neabigread.org.

It is the vision of Waukesha Public Library to provide a welcoming and dynamic environment where citizens of all ages can find the inspiration, ideas, and information necessary to achieve their full potential. The Library staff is committed to serving the public in a customer centered and pro-active manner, providing a wide variety of materials, resources, and services. For more information about the Library, please visit waukesha.lib.wi.us. For additional information about Waukesha Reads ~ The Big Read, please visit waukeshareads.org or find us on Facebook.

The National Endowment for the Arts was established by Congress in 1965 as an independent agency of the federal government. To date, the NEA has awarded more than $4 billion to support artistic excellence, creativity, and innovation for the benefit of individuals and communities. The NEA extends its work through partnerships with state arts agencies, local leaders, other federal agencies, and the philanthropic sector. To join the discussion on how art works, visit the NEA at arts.gov.

Arts Midwest promotes creativity, nurtures cultural leadership, and engages people in meaningful arts experiences, bringing vitality to Midwest communities and enriching people’s lives. Based in Minneapolis, Arts Midwest connects the arts to audiences throughout the nine-state region of Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, North Dakota, Ohio, South Dakota, and Wisconsin. One of six non-profit regional arts organizations in the United States, Arts Midwest’s history spans more than 25 years. For more information, please visit artsmidwest.org.

Flash Fiction Contest Adult Division Winner

Flash Fiction Contest Adult Division Winner

Old at Night
By Alicia Zuberbier

She pats the pillow with her once slender fingers, and the dust of come to bed puffs out from her yawn. She already has her eyes closed when I slip under the sheets, but she is not sleeping.

Carolyn does not sleep at night.

I count the seconds between her breathing. Too fast for dreaming, too fast like the trains outside our window at three a.m. I’ve heard their passing for the last week, a deep rumble in the throat of night. And so has Carol.

I do not know why she watches me, but I can almost feel her fingers inside my mouth, counting my teeth; I can sense her stare, watching me inhale then exhale then inhale again. I noticed it one night a few weeks ago, the cool evaporation of breath on my neck. Carol breathes on me while she watches. She must be tallying up the hairs I’ve lost, the winkles I’ve gathered, and the weight I’ve gained.  In the mornings, she says I snore, that my airways are blocked, but I just say that people who sleep, snore. Carolyn does not snore.

Her arm lies across my chest. When she was young, it felt like a small cat curled up above my heart. Now I’m sure she is checking my pulse while I sleep, her hand on my chest, rising and falling with my ribcage.  She always says I cannot die before her.  What will she do, she says. Who will she watch, I think.

Trying to sleep is like having my whole body be a funny bone, one that twinges constantly.  The sheets are too heavy. The darkness is too black. She is selfish, putting this feeling into my brain so I cannot enjoy the night anymore. I used to stay up for hours with her. The yokey color of a sunrise reminded us that we had spent the whole night awake, talking about our future and quoting the bad movies playing after midnight on TV.  Now I stay up because of her. When I look over at my wife, expecting to find her eyes stuck to my skin, Carolyn is folded up neatly inside herself, making me doubt my convictions.  Her lids are purple curtains, drawn over the eyes I once fell in love with. She pretends to sleep at night the way I pretend I am awake in the day.

The window is open, letting in cool September air. The leaves whisper to one another outside, likely planning their escape to the ground before mother tree notices. Our children have gone too. Not even in the state anymore, but like red wings, they migrate around, and we aren’t sure if they ever really come home. Carolyn used to wake at two so they could be fed, and even after they outgrew their bottles, she would still wake to check on them. Her attention is now on me at night. I’m sure of it.

The stars are pretty. Carol used to be pretty too. Little flecks of light once flickered like flames in her eyes as hair poured down her shoulders–dark like merlot.  Now the crust of age outlines her forehead. Her hair is always pulled back. She is old to me.

I must also be old to her.

Flash Fiction Contest High School Division Winner

Flash Fiction Contest High School Division Winner

Nothing Else
By Laura Lyons

Maybe it was the weekend that drove me to madness. The Fates had brewed an elixir of bizarre, unforeseeable events, poured it into my water Friday morning, and poisoned me with ill fortune for the next three days. Now here I lay, stiff in my bed, unable to find the will to move. Tears dripped down my face and soaked my pores, making the already unbearable night damp. At my side lay a wooden cross, pressed into my hip, promising to shield any demon that dared to rattle me from my sleep. My father, who had long passed, gave it to me as a very small child after devils had entered my dreams and drenched my thoughts in terror. Father swore it would fight away the brutes that plagued my thoughts. Thus far, it certainly had.

I lay there, dosing off, the tips of my eye lashes seeming to want an affair with the bottom most part of my eyes. Then, like a blessing, I finally slept.

It must have been midnight when I felt a tugging at my hip. The hands of the person did not brush against me, but only grasped the wooden frame of the cross, attempting to remove it from my side. The light glowing from the hall way was made visible since whoever had entered my room had left the door ajar. Sleep was still fresh in my sight, making my vision blurred and distorted, but the person had the silhouette of my mother and the same blue-green eyes. Out of rage and annoyance, I yelled at her to leave my room.

She turned sharply so that her blue-green eyes were hidden from me. Her body was a dark shadow against the light, moving quickly, almost running. Then as soon as she was in the hall, she faced me once again. “I saw you needed me,” she said in a hushed, distant voice.

I screamed loud enough so that I’m sure Father could hear. ”Leave me alone!”

Slowly, the person began to close the door, only stopping so that a crack remained and a single blue-green eye could be seen.

“Let me sleep!”

But that pale blue-green eye never moved, its stare never faltered. It stayed there, peering at me intently.
“My God Mother! Let me sleep!”

This time, the door closed, that eye disappearing completely. I turned back to the side I had been laying on, put the wooden cross next to me, and fell back asleep.

The next morning I woke to my mother rapping at my bedroom door. I opened my eyes, dressed slowly, still drowsy, and made my way downstairs. I sat down at the spot my mother had laid out for me. The eggs she had set out were running, their dull, yellow insides bleeding out, soaking the whites.

“What were you doing in my room this morning?” I cut my egg up further until the entire contents leaked out.

She turned those stunning blue-green eyes to me. “I wasn’t in your room last night.”

Putting my fork down, I pushed my eggs aside. Egg whites drowning in yoke didn’t seem appealing to me anymore. “Yes you did,” I said hesitantly. “I saw you. I felt you.”

My mother now had a serious look on her face. “I wasn’t in your room.” But, just as suddenly as she had become stern, she laughed. “You must have had a dream, nothing else!”

An uneasy feeling drowned my insides. It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. I felt that cross move, it woke me.

Nevertheless, I went to school. The image of those blue-green eyes haunted me. It felt as if they were still watching me, seeming to pry at my thoughts. I described the event to my dear friend. She said it was a dream and nothing else. This did not satisfy me. I went to my councilor’s office and told her the thoughts gnawing away at my mind. She, too, claimed it was a dream and nothing else. With these statements told in faith, I believed them. It had been a dream, and nothing else.

That very night, I fell asleep just the same as I had the night before. There came again the tugging at my hip, my wooden cross moving.

“Get out!” I screamed at the woman with pale blue-green eyes.

Once again, the woman turned and made her way quickly to the door.”I saw you needed me,” she said and, just as she did the previous night, she closed the door until it was only open a crack wide enough for a blue-green eye to peer through.

This time, I sat up, fist so tight that the nails dug into my palms. “Who are you?”

The woman’s gaze held strong, never blinking, never shifting.

“Who are you? What are you?” I was standing now, shouting.

Still she stared, never blinking, never shifting.

My heart pounded in my chest, beating so fast that I was sure that it would hit a rib wrong and burst completely. I took a step to the door and screamed again. “Friend or foe! Tell me who you are, make yourself known!”

I took another step. The blue-green eye was still watching me, peering deep into my soul.

“Why are you here? Let me be!” This time I flung the door open, only to see a beast, so horrifying, so morbid. Her body was thin and obscure, her face melting off her bones with her piercing blue-green eyes the only thing intact. Her eyes were laughing, clawing into my spirit. I reached out with both hands, grabbing to wring her neck out, to kill this phantom haunting me, but all I caught was air. I fell forward and hit my head hard on the wall in front of me, causing blood to ooze down my face. Through the blood, I saw that wooden cross lying on the floor, scorched with a missing limb, and nothing else.

Flash Fiction Contest Middle School Division Winner

Flash Fiction Contest Middle School Division Winner

Twelve O’ Clock
By Caitlin Martinez

Hello, my name is Ira Rodriguez, and this is the story of how I die.

I don’t know who he is, or what he wants, but he’s after me. I guess I should start at the beginning. It all started once I moved to the small town of Waukesha WI. You’ve probably never heard of it, unless you’ve lived there.

When we drove up to our house, I felt this weird, tingling feeling. I ignored it and stepped inside. Something was weird. I felt…watched. My mom must’ve noticed I was acting weird because she said to me, “Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine,” I told her. I don’t usually lie to my mom.

We unpacked a pretty good chunk of our things, before we decided to get some sleep. Our beds weren’t set up yet, so we just slept in sleeping bags.

I woke up late at night, and checked my watch, and saw it turn 12 o’ clock. I was about to go back to sleep, but I heard something. I could hear… breathing. Someone’s heavy breathing. I started to freak out, thinking that someone broke into our house, somehow. I grabbed my phone from my bag and flipped it open.

I searched all around my room, but I didn’t see anything. By the time I slipped back into my sleeping bag, the breathing had stopped. I was still a little scared, so I scooted my sleeping bag to the corner closest to me and waited.

I guess I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke up with a pretty bad headache the next day. But by the time I got on the bus, it was feeling better.

School was fairly normal…well…except for the janitor. When he walked past me (which happened a lot, actually), he looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was human or not.

On the bus, I got a call on my cell phone. I flipped it open to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Are you…Ira Rodriguez?” said a gravelly voice.

“Who wants to know?”

“So that’s a yes.”

“Who are you?”

“I’ve been looking for you for quite a while now, Ira.”

“Who is this?”

“I’ll be coming for you, don’t worry.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Until then, I’ll be watching you.”

“Wai-“

But he hung up.

The next day, at school, when I was trying to find my books in my locker, a note fell out. I picked it up. It said:

I’ve come for you.
At midnight tonight I will find you.
Wherever you are, I’ll be there.

After I read the note, the janitor came up to me. He didn’t say anything, he just stood there. “Umm excuse me?” I asked.

“You’re…your name is…”

“Ira.”

“Ira.” He echoed. Do you know what that means?”

“You mean my name? No, why?”

“Seen. It means seen”

“What are you trying to say?”

He glanced at the note.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have prevented this.

“What?” I asked, “Do you know who did this?”

“There’s nothing I can do now. I’m too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s my fault.”

“Wha-“

Then the bell rang.

“I’m so sorry.” He said and walked away.

I didn’t see him the rest of the day, but by then I knew. I figured it out.

Once I got home, I tried my best to act as normal as possible, but deep inside, I knew I was going to die tonight. I don’t know why, exactly, I just knew I would.

When I went to ‘bed’ (our actual beds still haven’t been set up yet), I planned my escape. I needed to go somewhere else, away from my family. Even if he knew where I lived, I didn’t want anyone else interfering and getting killed because of me.

The library. It was only a couple blocks away, and I could type my story. So at least people would know.

I changed into a t-shirt and jeans as quickly and quietly as I could. I took the note that I found in my locker. I looked at it for a while, but then I remembered I had to hurry. I stuffed it in my pocket grabbed a hairpin that was lying on the floor, to pick the lock.

I quietly ran downstairs and opened the coin jar. I grabbed a handful of coins to pay for the paper I was going to print. I hopped on my bike and rode. It felt like the longest bike ride of my life. My short, short life. It seemed to last forever. Being the last, I suppose it would be long. I parked my bike and chained it up.

Maybe my family could sell it afterwards. It didn’t matter right now. So I ran up the stairs past the statue of a fox and stopped at the door. I pulled the hairpin out of my pocket and picked the lock.

I’m not going to tell you exactly what I did to get in, because, you really shouldn’t break into the library. Once I got in, I started to lock it again, but then I realized it didn’t matter. He would find a way in anyway. If he wasn’t already here.

I ran to the computers in the back of the library, and turned one on. I opened up Word and started typing.

It’s almost midnight now and he’ll be here soon.

One. Two . Three. Four.

I hear him going through the door.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

I know that he’s not running late.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

He’s coming from behind the shelf.

He’s here now.

He’s right behind me.

Flash Fiction Contest Adult Division Runner-up

Flash Fiction Contest Adult Division Runner-up

Witness
By Alexander Plummer

It was a brisk autumn afternoon, and while Jack Blanco strangled his wife with a length of old piano wire, he noticed a crow sitting on the balcony railing of his upscale fifth-floor apartment.  It peered at him while his wife gurgled and clawed at his gloved hands.  Her feet drummed on the floor, knocking over the side-table with a crystal brandy snifter.  It shattered, and Jack gave her an admonishing shake as the crow cawed.

Her gurgles faded, her purple tongue stuck bloody between her teeth, and she went limp.  Jack checked his gold watch and held his position for another sixty seconds.  He wondered what to have for dinner.  Italian?

She stayed limp, and only then did Jack release the garrote.  He tucked the wire into his coat pocket, went out on the balcony, and took the fire escape to the street just as the bus arrived.  There was a crow perched on the bumper.  Wearing a hat he’d never worn before, hands in his coat, he paid the fare and rode the bus sixteen blocks.  Yes, he decided.  Italian.

He got off the bus and went down the alley to his left, where a man snored around a bottle of whiskey every day from five until eight next to his barrel fire.  As he walked, Jack removed gloves, hat, and coat, tossing them into the barrel without breaking stride as three crows cawed at him from the eaves of the building above.

Jack walked three chilly blocks to the shabby motel where he had taken pains for the past three months to arrange a sordid affair with his secretary, Joanna, every Thursday night after he left work.  This Thursday, he had dissolved two tablets of eszopiclone – the usual medication his tryst took every night – in her wine glass.  She had been asleep for two hours now and would be for four more.

A half-dozen crows sat on the roof of the street-facing building as he let himself in with his key.  Joanna snored in the middle of the bed, still naked.  He stripped down, slipped in next to her, and changed his mind.  Not Italian.  They would go for French.

His horrified call to the police five hours later when he arrived back at home was a masterpiece, and the subsequent investigation went as he expected.  He was a prime suspect – there had been no way to avoid that – and the detective was convinced he was hiding something.  The revelation of his affair with Joanna (at which he acted ashamed and reluctant to reveal) placated the investigator after he could find no other evidence.

After three months he was no longer a suspect.  That day, he took Joanna to his favorite French restaurant.  A dozen crows wheeled about the place.  There, he admitted to loving her, thanking her for her support after the death of his wife.  She reciprocated, of course, and he continued eating.  The bisque was excellent.

They were married six months later.  The wedding was attended by all of his business associates, Joanna’s distasteful family, and a flock of black birds perched on cars and soaring overhead.

A year to the day after he had strangled his wife to death, Jack Blanco laid in bed next to the new Mrs. Blanco and let himself believe he had gotten away with it.  Everything had gone as planned.  Everything.

Except the crows.

He’d ignored them but they hadn’t gone away.  They sat on his car every morning before he went in to work.  They perched on traffic lights at intersections.  They hopped on the window sill outside his office.

He bought a gun and shot one outside the suburban house he lived in with Joanna.  It fell like a sack of feather and he left its body to warn the others.  Joanna, six months pregnant, asked him what the noise had been.  He told her a car had backfired.

The next morning, the body was gone, and a legion of crows filled the front lawn in utter silence.  They formed a bubble for him to get to his car, closing back around him as he walked.

Jack mentioned the crows, exactly once, to his new secretary.  She’d looked at him, and then laughed nervously at a joke she didn’t understand from her boss.

Joanna gave birth to a little girl, and the crows appeared in house.  They watched him from doorjambs and the kitchen table.  They flapped inside cabinets while he poured coffee.  He opened the refrigerator one day and a flock of them poured out.

His co-workers started giving him strange looks, crows sitting on their shoulders.  Joanna asked him if he was well, often, his daughter in her arms and a crow on her head.  His boss suggested he take a sabbatical and spend it with his family.

Jack took a leave from work, but Joanna went to stay with her mother a few days later, lying about why she did so, leaving Jack alone with the crows in the house.  Raven black, they followed him everywhere.  They were silent, now, watching.

He considered.  Pills?  Too long.  The garage?  Undignified.  His gun?  Yes.

He opened his bedside drawer, and on top of his pistol there was a single crow feather, a piano wire wrapped around it.  Standing there, Jack Blanco started to laugh, and never stopped.

Joanna later told her friends, after Jack had been committed, that she thought he’d never really gotten over the death of his first wife.  Wearing diamonds on her fingers and gold in her hair his money had bought her, she sorrowfully recounted how his mind was broken and he’d never get out of the asylum.

When Jack Blanco died, ten years later, he was buried in the too-large cemetery behind the asylum.  As two orderlies in white covered his rough pine coffin with dirt, a crow perched on every tombstone.  The orderlies tamped the dirt flat, and the crows – a murder of crows – took flight.

Flash Fiction Contest Middle School Division Runner-up

Flash Fiction Contest Middle School Division Runner-up

To See But Not Be Seen
By Tom Schellhase

“Where to hide, where to hide…” I run down Sunset Drive. Finally, I am able to stop and catch my breath. Then I see the UVD, the “unmanned video drone.” I have been running for so long that I almost can’t move, but as one of the cameras swivels my direction, I force myself to duck behind an abandoned Toyota Corolla. The UVD continues on down the street but I realize it was a horrible idea to go down this street. It would never be safe. I need a way to get out fast. I just wish I had a way to leave so fast that the UVD wouldn’t be able to react…

Just as I had hoped, the keys are still in the Corolla’s ignition. The car is stubborn after sitting idle for over 15 years, but starts eventually. The UVD turns in the direction that it “heard” the noise come from, but I am already around the corner, having shut off the engine so I am just coasting down the next street.

My name is Tom and I am 28 years old. In 2014, something called the Second Great Depression hit, and the Shoppe Brothers Co., currently the world’s largest corporation that owns everything in the U.S. from the Mall of America to the Pick n’ Save down the street, overthrew the government of the U.S. and took control of everything imaginable. Then Shoppe Brothers put up cameras everywhere, and put cameras, locator chips, and microphones in our cell phones. Anyone who tried to rebel was either put in prison, or even killed on sight. They treated us as slaves. In two years, our population was cut in half, and now, 15 years from The Overthrow (as we call it), I am still in one of the many feared underground rebel groups that try to make things difficult for “The Big Brothers.” That’s the nickname that Americans gave to the Shoppe brothers. I have just finished a mission to blow up a train carrying $14 million worth of gold that was being shipped to one of The Big Brothers’ banks.  As I said, we make life difficult for them. We live our normal crummy lives, but in our free time we carry out missions against The Big Bro’s. The one crucial thing about our guerrilla attacks is that we don’t get recognized. We need to see but not be seen.

When I get back to HQ, located on the site that used to be the Merrill Hills Country Club, I return the gold that I stole to the boss, head home, and call it a day. The next day, my mission is to blow up the checkpoint at the border of Waukesha and Milwaukee so that the truck full of our militia storm team can launch a full out assault on the Wisconsin branch of the Shoppe Brothers Co., and prepare for the assassination of The Big Brothers. As I travel north off of Sunset Drive, the patrol thugs keep giving me distrustful looks. I start to wonder if the UVD got a look at me before I spotted it.

After these unsettling thoughts, I try my best to blend into the large group of commuters. Once I’m in the city, I duck into the old Sprizzo’s Restaurant when I see one of the guards watching me. I run through the kitchen out back, but unfortunately, even in the dirty abandoned kitchen of an abandoned restaurant, there is still a camera in the corner. I run to the alley behind it and jump into the tall weeds.  The weeds cover me enough so I can’t be seen, so I pull out my brand-new phone, rip out the surveillance chip, and call in the modified Chevy Suburban (we’d taken the surveillance devices out) to my location. Five minutes later the maroon truck pulls up.  I watch as the driver gets out and walks away without noticing me. I run up and jump through the window and drive away as fast as I can. Just as planned, there is a fake uniform on the passenger seat.

“Nice jump.” I jump out of my skin, barely controlling the urge to start screaming bloody murder. I whirl around ready to confront the attacker, only to find Megan, our techy. I had forgoten that she would be on this mission with me.

“Yeesh Megan, you scared me to death!”

“Thank you,” she says with a sly smile, “I do try.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. You want to get to work now?” Her job is to fuse the bomb. We are about three minutes away from the checkpoint and we pull over so I can change and so Megan can shove herself into a supply locker.  She puts the bomb in her lap. When we’re ready, we get back into the car and drive to the checkpoint…

Epilogue
On August 18, two “unknown individuals” blew up a checkpoint in between Milwaukee and Waukesha. Minutes later, thirteen various large semi trucks came through, according to witnesses, and didn’t stop until they came to the building of the Wisconsin HQ for the Shoppe Brothers. They launched a full-scale assault and overthrew it, taking all the weapons there with them.

Three days later, Jacob and Daniel Shoppe were killed in their mansion at five o’clock AM. This encouraged rebels all over the US to overthrow their states’ branches and soon all of the Shoppe Brothers Co. was gone, making way for previous political officials to form a new government, restoring order and removing almost all cameras from public buildings and streets.

Children’s Books for Hope

Children’s Books for Hope

Putting books in the hands and homes of children in need.

Again this year, Waukesha Reads partnered with Volunteers of Lake Country to collect new and gently used children’s books for the Volunteers of Lake Country Free Children’s Library located at Waukesha’s Hope Center. Over 1,000 books are given away each month to children in need in our community.

Over 1,700 books were collected this year for the Children’s Books for Hope project. A special thanks goes to the following organizations and business that collected books:

Allô! Chocolat
Avalon Square
Carroll University
Charles Z. Horwitz Planetarium
Girl Scouts (Brownies) of Waukesha
Sprizzo Gallery Caffe
Steaming Cup

Waukesha Community Art Project
Waukesha County Museum

Waukesha County Technical College

Westwood Health and Fitness

Thank you to all who donated! These books will certainly brighten the lives and minds of many children.

 

Dinner and a Movie

Dinner and a Movie

Sunday, October 28 at 6:30 p.m.
Marcus Majestic Cinema
770 N. Springdale Road, Brookfield

Join us for dinner and the original 1956 film starring Edmund O’Brien and Michael Redgrave.

You won’t want to miss this year’s opening act – a 1984 themed cabaret featuring Candace Decker and Phil Smith!

This is a ticketed event, with a cost of $20. Reservations are required by October 24 and seating is limited. Make your reservation today by calling Joan at (262) 524-3694 or by email to jquinlan@waukesha.lib.wi.us.

Sponsored by the Friends of Waukesha Public Library and Marcus Corporation.

Theme: Overlay by Kaira