Stephen Langdon

Excerpts from: “Burned at the Stake…and other Brilliant Ideas”

Stevie’s punishment, being less severe, merely sent him to his room. He was sitting there, inspecting his shoelaces, when Harry walked in.
“Cody tells me the fire was his idea.”
“He did? I mean, yes, sir.”
“So why are you here?”
“I stepped on bulbs. Sorry.”
Harry sat on the bed. “Okay, we’ll start with that. Even if you don’t know what they are, you know better than to trample my flowers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry frowned. “So tell me why it’s wrong.”
“The plants are your plants, Uncle Harry. Just like my shoes.”
An eyebrow rose. “That’s right. Just like your shoes.” Stevie had thrown his brand new sneakers in the trash because he couldn’t get the knots untied. He had heaped curses upon their heads, declaring, “Just for that, I’m never going to wear you again!” He felt certain they’d repented—the laces had drooped like whimpering ears.
“The real rub, Stevie, is that you have no self-control. You’re like a sprinkler without a shutoff valve [Harry loved farming anecdotes.] When there’s water, look out, here comes the flood! And then later, when the pipes run dry, the area is left parched in drought.”
Stevie pictured Uncle Harry getting squirted by a renegade sprinkler—followed by him peering into the end of a limp garden hose.
“Now, here’s what you need to do,” continued Harry. “Things out there suffer when you can’t control your wants. Plants can die from either too much or too little water.”
“How do I control the water again?” asked Stevie.
“You need a faucet,” Harry answered. “And the thing is, well…what do you suppose regulates the water flow?”
Stevie scratched his neck. In his mind he saw little toy army men hefting the hose around to different plants. An officer rode on the tip of the hose shouting out orders.
Stevie hesitated, then said, “Uh, my toys and me. We could play for a minute and then look around to see if anything got broke?”
Harry rubbed his head. “But you know what happens. You trample my flowers. You get yourself tied to a stake—all to the glory of unchecked play! First your shoes, and now your shoelaces—the result of being impatient and intolerant of life’s circumstance. Dagga-me-sneakers, boy! You need to control yourself, or others are gonna suffer!”
He looked at Stevie pleadingly. “My flowers already suffered, Stevie. I suffered. Your shoes even. Everybody suffers. You came mighty close yourself!”
Stevie’s brow wrinkled. “What in petee-lee-entlees should I do then?”
Harry cocked an eyebrow as the army men in Stevie’s mind dropped the hose. Everyone blinked.
“Are you…” Harry decided he wasn’t being mocked. He rose to leave. “You need to put a crimp in the hose, young man. Learn to slow down. You won’t gush all over everybody then.”
“I’ll try,” Stevie said. The army men sat on the hose now, looking despondent. The water flowed out in a measly trickle.
“You’ll be happier, Stevie. The world is a happy place if you don’t trample all over it. Learn to think about the consequences for once. And praying about it wouldn’t hurt you none. Listening to that quiet, still voice inside—God has a pretty good handle on things.” Harry looked kindly. “You do that and we’ll talk some more.”
Stevie nodded. “I will, Uncle Harry.” The army men moved aside as God, (a giant Uncle Harry wearing robes and sporting a long white beard) picked up the hose and began watering everything down nicely.

Reviews for Till the Streetlights Came On

A review by Lisa Phelps

            Till the Streetlights Came On is a wonderful, heartwarming story about growing up, lessons learned, friendship and spirituality. The stories are set in Monrovia, California during the late 1950’s and into the early 1960’s.

            In the beginning, we meet a visitor who has stopped by the old, Victorian house to see the home where he lived as a child. Looking out the window he sees several boys playing in the yard, one boy has a sleeping bag over him and is walking back and forth while the others are shooting at him with BB guns. He stands silently watching the “shooting gallery” game, remembering similar games of his own boyhood. The mother calls the boy into the house and the man asks him about the game and how he thought of the idea. The boy reveals a piece of paper with the game written in great detail that he found in the old house. Soon the man discovers an old box, a sort of time capsule of his childhood memories, hidden safely in the floorboards. Each item in the box has a story of its own to tell.

            The book is a collection of those fond memories of a young boy, told in great detail. The author, Stephen Langdon, has an easy writing style that makes the reader right at home among Stevie and his friends. The characters come to life and are often reminiscent of friends of the reader’s past. The use of sensory details puts the reader right in the midst of the activity, so much so, that you can almost smell the damp earth of the tunnels, or feel the water rising in the drainpipes. Written in the third person, the author zooms in on Stevie’s thoughts and feelings as he explores and discovers life. The story is light, but not without weight and engages the reader in a fun romp back to revisit childhood. Lessons are learned and are often dramatically told by this wonderful storyteller