Mouth Moths

Paul kept forgetting to raise his hand before he talked in class. Then it happened. One time he talked out, three moths flew out of his mouth. Mouth Moths! What could the cure be? How could Paul get rid of these small, white moths that fluttered out of his mouth each time he spoke out in class? Read more about Mouth Moths in the book Mouth Moths and More Classroom Tales due out in September 2006!

ANTA CLAUS OF ANTARCTICA IV

CHAPTER IV The distance across the vast, white expanse of Antarctica to Tierra Del Fuego is great. Yet Mr. Anta Claus had only enough time to take three bites of a licorice stick before the sleigh was passing over the round Tierra Del Fuegan rooftops.
He peered over the side of the sleigh. Each house was dark. All fires were out.
“Right. We seem to have covered this territory thoroughly, lads,” he called to the eight yaks. “Not a single sign of Christmas anywhere. So let’s turn around. About face! South Pole or bust! We’re through for another year!”
With a snort of approval, the colorful yak team executed a broad bank in the sky. But the instant they turned, they bowed their horned heads. The storm that had been brewing now blew full force. The head wind was terrific. It whipped the sleigh side to side like a kite.
Mr. Anta Claus, standing in the front of his sleigh, held the reins tightly. Pelting balls of ice nipped his cheeks. The wind pulled his black beard back sharply.
“Great bother, this!” he thundered over the howl of the gale.
Up front the yaks bravely forced their way through the flurry. But they made little progress. As the yaks pulled and the wind pushed, the sleigh remained at a standstill in midair.
“Get on, Blackback Yak! Get on, Purpleback Yak!” Anta Claus shouted. “I’m worried about you lads! We’re in a pickle! Can’t keep this up all night!”
The yak’s shaggy wool caked with ice. Icicles hung from their curved horns. Slowly the great beasts wearied.
Anta yanked on the reins. “OK, lads. You’ve had enough! We’ll turn about. We’ll fly with the wind. We’ll let it carry us where it will!”
With a twist of the yak’s heads the sleigh spun wildly around. Mr. Anta Claus toppled off his feet. The sleigh rocked like a toy boat in a bathtub, and now, with the wind shoving its backside, it whisked through the sky at a terrific speed. In a twinkle it hurdled over Tierra Del Fuego and across South America. North! That was the direction it sped. North, farther north, and more north still.

Spot U

ANTA CLAUS OF ANTARCTICA III

CHAPTER THREE In the hallway Anta Claus dressed for the journey ahead. On a row of hooks by the front door hung his black sleigh-riding outfit. First he stuck his skinny legs into pair of black trousers and tugged the wide, white belt tight around his narrow waist. Next he pulled on his black jacket with white furry fringe. In his haste he missed a loop while fastening the four large buttons up to his chin. A black, pointy hat went on his head and white mittens warmed his hands. With a swipe a mitten he batted the cottonball attached to the hat’s tip away from his face.
“Work, work, work,” Anta complained, while pulling on a pair of white, rubber boots. “Does anyone appreciate how hard I work?”
At last, his outfit complete, Mr. Anta Claus grabbed a large empty sack off the floor and left the warmth of the cottage. Snow swirled around him like confetti as he trudged down a path to the black barn. Against a fierce wind he yanked the barn doors open.
“Evening, lads,” he greeted the eight yaks, who stood in their tidy stalls, munching hay and flipping their short tails. “Bad news, I’m afraid. You’ll need to pull the sleigh one more time tonight. Be prepared for some foul flying weather.”
The yaks were magnificent beasts. Each boasted a fine pair of curved horns. Each one had remarkably long, shaggy wool hanging from its belly. What is more, each yak’s wool was a different color.
Mr. Anta Claus hitched his colorful team to the black sleigh in pairs--green and yellow closest to the sleigh, orange and red next, blue and purple next, and in the lead, a white yak and a black yak.
The yak team grunted at the cold as Anta led the sleigh outside. Puffs of steam shot from their nostrils. They swayed restlessly side to side.
Anta tossed the empty sack in the back seat of the sleigh and clambered into the front. He grabbed the reins in one hand and a long whip in the other.
CRACK! The whip snapped above his head.
“Get on Whiteback Yak! Get on Blackback Yak!” Anta Claus cried. “Get on the rest of you lads!”
In graceful unison, the colorful animals hurdled upward. Over the barn, over the cottage, away from the South Pole they flew.
And from the black sleigh, now high up in the fluttering sky, came a shout, a shout known all too well in the southern half of our planet.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Bury Christmas! Bury Christmas everyone! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Eeny, Meeny,Miny, and Here's Moe

Four agents from ITS the Iowa Test Site who, until the national test ban treaty is passed, go school to school checking for bad tests.

ANTA CLAUS OF ANTARCTICA II

CHAPTER TWO Last Christmas Eve, Mr. Anta Claus sat in his rocking chair before a crackling fireplace. Flickers of firelight lapped upon the braided rug and danced on the ceiling. Shadows darted in and out of the shelf-lined workshop walls. Whiffs of pine, gingerbread, and peppermint floated by.
Anta Claus, dressed in gray long johns, rocked thoughtfully forward and backward. His blotchy, red cheeks revealed his recent return from the outside cold. Steam rose from his stocking feet that stretched onto the hearth.
In one hand, the slender man held a stick of black licorice. In his other hand was an especially long list that he appeared to be studying with interest.
Now what was this? Anta Claus raised a black quill pen and dashed off a check mark on the curling sheet of paper. He nodded approvingly and did it again.
Fixing his spectacles more firmly on the end of his nose, he muttered, “Right. I got those and I got that. I got this and I got these. I’ve taken the toys from Tasmania and every strip of tinsel from Tahiti.”
With a broad stroke of his pen, he added more check marks to the list. “Now, I’ve collected the candy canes from Cape Town and the fruitcakes from the Falklands. Oh! Oh! Oh! Can’t let anything slip by.”
In the back of the workshop Mr. Anta Claus’s two trolls, Tis and Twas, worked frantically dismantling, crunching, flattening, smashing, and ripping apart the piles of decorations and toys Anta had collected that evening.
No doubt there was plenty of work left to do. Every shelf in the place was full. Stacks of dollhouses stood in one corner. A heap of remote control cars lay in another. Miles of colored Christmas-light strings rolled into bales, lined the back wall, while countless stars, plucked from the tops of countless evergreens, dangled from the ceiling.
Mr. Anta Claus stroked his black whiskers and took a bite of licorice. Without lifting his eyes off the list, he addressed the two trolls. “Make sure you fellows break those toys in little bitty bits. Don’t want any trace of Christmas left around here tomorrow.”
“We understand, Mac,” answered Tis, who was busy busting glass tree ornaments with a large nutcracker.
“Will do, Mac,” answered Twas, who was sanding the red stripes off a stack of candy canes.
“Right,” said Anta, returning to his checking. “Let me see now. I got this and I got that. I got those and I got these. I grabbed the mistletoe from Madagascar and the eggnog from Ecuador. And, Oh! Oh! Oh!, I completely undecorated Rio de Janeiro.”
So it went, on through the evening, check mark after check mark, until Mr. Anta Claus came to the last item on his list. Here he paused.
“Hmmm, Tierra del Fuego?” he pondered. “Now did I or did I not take all the fir trees from Tierra Del Fuego?”
Again he called to his helpers. “Hey, fellows! Have you come across any trees from Tierra del Fuego yet? I can’t remember if I took them this year.”
“Nope, Mac,” replied Tis, who was melting down a patch of plastic dolls in an enormous kettle.
“We save Christmas tree slicing for last, Mac,” answered Twas, who shoveled another load of toy guns into a jumbo meat grinder. They emerged from the other end appearing like hamburger meat.
“Great bother, this,” Mr. Anta Claus muttered through his whiskers. “I’d better fly over that land to double-check. Must be thorough.”
Leaning forward in his rocker, he peered out the workshop window. Snow fell. A stiff wind sent each snowflake into loop the loops before it could touch the ground.
Anta chomped on his licorice stick and rose from his chair. “Great bother, that too,” he said. “A nasty storm brewing out there.”
Then grumbling each step of the way, scratching his bushy, black beard, the skinny man strode from the room.

MERRY MARRY MARY

OH! OH! OH!

ANTA CLAUS OF ANTARCTICA I

CHAPTER ONE
In a small cozy cottage on the cold South Pole lived a skinny man with a bushy, black beard. His name was Mr. Anta Claus. Perhaps you have never heard of Anta Claus, for he has never traveled to the top half of the world where you might live. But far down south in the land of Tierra Del Fuego at the southern tip of South America the children know him well.
How many times have their mothers and fathers told them the tales of the man who lives on the bottom of the world? They have heard how Anta Claus rides around on Christmas Eve in his sleigh drawn by eight great yaks. They have heard how he enters their houses when everyone is asleep to collect all the Christmas goodies he can find. And those children know how he stuffs each trimmed tree, wrapped package and loaded stockings into his sack and hauls them back to his workshop on the South Pole.
“ANTA CLAUS HAS BEEN HERE!” is the familiar cry heard each Christmas morning, when Tierra Del Fuegan tots toddle downstairs to find their living rooms empty. No one has celebrated Christmas there in centuries. Now you know why.

Mouth Moths and More Classroom Tales Cover

Here's the wonderful cover for my next book due out in September 2006. Mouth Moths and More Classroom Tales is the third book of short stories about the classroom at the end of the hall at WT Melon Elementary School.

Winter Break

Wonderful Ones,
Most of you just started Winter Break! School is out for at least two weeks. I hope you all have a wonderfull time. See you next year in 2006!

All the best, Walter Teach Melon

MVP*:Magellan Voyage Project

Here's a map of some of the stops Adam Story made during his circumnavigation of the world in MVP*: Magellan Voyage Project! Check it out of your library!

WT Melon Definition: Anta Claus of Antarctica

Anta Claus of Antarctica: (noun): A skinny man with a black beard who lives in a small cottage on the cold South Pole with his two trolls Tis and Twas. On Christmas Eve Anta Claus rides around the Southern half of the world in his black sleigh drawn by the eight colorful yaks. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" Anta cried. "Bury Christmas!"
Read more about Anta Claus

Spot T

Bradley's Odyssey: Sequel to Apple Island or the Truth About Teachers

Chapter Two
The Earthquake
The floor shook; the ceiling shook; and the walls shook. Bradley stumbled away from the shaking drinking fountain. Trashcans tipped over, and dust rained from the swaying lights.
Burp! Burp! Burp! At last, the earthquake alarm sounded to state the obvious. The school was in the midst of a major earthquake.
Having been through umpteen earthquake drills, Bradley knew he should either duck under a desk or stand in a doorway. But how could he? With the world rocking around him, he could only stand in the hall, legs spread like a sailor on a tossing ship, trying not to topple over.
After fifteen seconds, the quaking stopped. Now Bradley had two choices, head for the playground or rejoin his class.
“I’d hate to miss all the action in the room,” he told himself, and he started back down the hall.
Ribbons of students streamed past Bradley as he fought his way to his classroom. He stood outside the door and listened. Something was terribly wrong. Not a sound came from inside the room. No one was laughing; no one was joking around. He put his ear to the door. Miss Smartt wasn’t even shouting orders.
Cautiously, Bradley opened the door. He took two steps forward and froze. His toes hung over the edge of wide, jagged crack that split the classroom floor end to end.
Bradley stepped backward and dropped to his knees. He peered into the chasm. Black smoke blocked his view, but a low rumble came from far, far, below. He looked from one corner of the classroom to another.
“Miss Smartt and my entire class are gone,” he said aloud. “This earthquake fault must have swallowed them.”
Again the walls rattled. The florescent lights swayed, and the water in the fish tank sloshed onto the shelf.
Bradley dove under one of the few remaining desks.
While the room shook, puffs of smoke rose from the crack. They exploded into dark mushrooms against the ceiling. Now amid the rumble and roar came a new sound.
Thumpety...Thumpety...Thumpety.
“Horses!” said Bradley.
Thumpety...Thumpety...Thumpety.
“And they’re coming this way!”
More smoke belched from the fissure as the galloping grew louder and louder. Suddenly two charcoal-black steeds sprang out of the crack. Their hooves pounded on the classroom floor. Steam shot from flaring nostrils. Their long manes whipped the air as they raised their heads and let out piercing screams.
Four black, marble eyes fixed on Bradley. The horse team pranced forward, drawing a shiny, black chariot into the classroom. In the chariot stood a figure dressed in black armor. A black helmet covered his head. The figure pulled the reins, and the horses stopped inches from where Bradley hunkered.
Bradley’s sweat turned cold. He peered upward. “I-I think visitors are supposed to sign in at the office,” he said.
The figure in black raised a fist. He thumped his chest plate that bore a gold letter F. Laughter boomed from beneath the helmet. “Visitor?” he said. “No, mortal, I’m no visitor. I belong at this school. I belong in every school. For I am Flunk, God of Failure, Forgetfulness and Hurt Feelings. I’m Lord of Losers, Laziness, and the Land of the Underworld. Tell me your name, mortal.”
Bradley gulped. “Bradley,” he peeped. “And I’m not lord of anything. I’m just a B-average student in this classroom.”
At the mention of this name, the horses reared. They scratched the air with their hooves. Their whinnies sent shivers up Bradley’s spine.
“Bradley?” the dark figure exclaimed. Again peals of laughter came from the helmet. “This is Bradley? This sniveling, scrawny boy in short pants is the hero, Bradley? This crawling creature, who the gods call the most cunning, courageous mortal on Earth, is Bradley? Tell me you’re kidding.”
Bradley shrugged. “Perhaps you have the wrong Bradley,” he said.
“Bradley Zimmerman? Room Nine?” Flunk said. “You’re the right Bradley, all right. Which means I created that lovely earthquake and hauled this class to the Underworld all for nothing.”
“You made the earthquake?”
“It’s all my fault,” said the god. “But my trip to the upper world has been a waste of time. I failed to capture the one mortal I was after--you, the great hero, Bradley.”
Bradley drew in a long breath. “Me? What do you want me for? I’m not great. I’m no hero.”
Again the dark god pounded the F on his chest. “Because according to the oracle, Intercom, you are a threat to my plan,” he said. “The Fates have let you escape this time, Bradley. But rest assured, we will meet again. And when that time comes I, Flunk, God of Failure, will not fail a second time to stop you.”
“But I wasn’t doing anything,” said Bradley. “I was just getting a drink of water.”
The black figure yanked the reins. A plume of smoke rose to the ceiling as the horses turned and leaped into the chasm, pulling the Lord of the Underworld behind them.
Bradley rubbed his eyes. “I must to seeing things,” he said. “Maybe I’ve been playing too many video games. I bet my teacher and class are out on the playground with everyone else.”
Bradley’s chair stood nearby. Grabbing his backpack off the back, he stood and stumbled toward the classroom door. In the doorway, he turned to watch the crack in the floor begin to close. Narrower and narrower it became, until it was a slit, until it was gone completely.

ELevator Family France

Here's the French version of The Elevator Family. Can you read French? Do you know what the title means in French? Party on every floor!

Bradley's Odyssey: Sequel to Apple Island or the Truth About Teachers

Chapter One
Too Hot To Hoot
Bradley’s arms stuck to the desktop. His armpits were sopped, and his feet squished in his sneakers. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, off his chin, and plopped onto his science test.
“It’s too hot to think,” Bradley told himself. “It’s too hot to read. It’s too hot to write. It’s too hot to hoot.”
The next question lay below the wet spot on his paper.
5) What planet is closest to the sun?
Bradley checked the thermometer attached outside the window. “It’s too hot to remember,” he said. “The mercury is going to burst out the top of that thing.”
He reached into his desk, tore off the end of a Mars Bar and popped it into his mouth. The next question read:
6) What planet is called the ‘red planet’?
“How should I know?” he said. “It’s just too hot to take a test.”
On the playground, ripples of heat rose off the asphalt. The effect reminded Bradley of a lake, which reminded him of water, which reminded him of the drinking fountain in the hallway--the tall cooler that shot out a high arch of H2O--which reminded him of his terrific thirst.
He folded his test into a fan and waved it before his face. “Would the teacher let me get a drink in the middle of a quiz?” he wondered. “Not a chance. So I’ll ask to go to the Boys’ Room. That might work.”
Miss Smartt, his teacher, sat behind her desk, grading papers.
“Miss Smartt? The Boys’ Room. I gotta go,” Bradley called out. “It’s an emergency. I can’t wait.”
The teacher raised her head. Instead of answering Bradley, however, she remarked, “Class, I’ve just been checking the spelling tests you took this morning. What happened? You all made many mistakes. Some of you missed every word. Let’s put on our Thinking Caps and try a little harder on the science quiz. OK? Bradley, make is snappy.”
Bradley hurried out the door. The drinking fountain stood halfway down the hall. As he hastened toward it, he heard the hum of its motor, keeping the water icy cold.
“It’s too hot to listen to teachers,” he said. “It’s too hot to try. It’s too hot to hoot.”
Once at the fountain, he pressed his bare legs against the frosty, metal sides. He pushed the silver button on top. A worm of frigid water spouted out. Bradley leaned over. He puckered his parched lips as if to kiss the cascading stream.
“I’ll drink the reservoir dry,” he said. “I’ll drink until my belly bursts.”
Closer and closer he drew to the nozzle. The water wet the tip of his nose.
That’s when the earthquake hit.

My Room

Wonderful Ones,
Here's where I sit every school day, listening to the goings-on in the classroom at the end of the hall. It's the holiday season and all sorts of exciting things are happening in the room. I particularly enjoy hearing the third-graders practice for the All-School Holiday Show. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!

All the Best, Walter Teach Melon

WT Melon Alphabet: J

J is for Jump Rope Rhyme:A common jump rope rhyme heard on the playground at WT Melon Elementary School goes like this:
When the tall teacher's ears are red,
Trouble lies ahead.
When the tall teacher's ears are white,
Things will be all right.

Door to the Classroom at the End of the Hall

This is the door to the third-grade clasroom at the end of the hall at WT Melon Elementary School. Three books tell about the adventures the student have in this classroom. Classroom At the End of the Hall, Math Rashes and Other Classroom Tales, and Mouth Moths, and More Classroom Tales.

Boy With His Head Down

Miles had his head down on his desk.
He was the meanest brute.
His head’s down on his desk so much,
It began taking root.

Slender shoots grew down from his ear,
And sank in the desk top.
Tiny buds sprouted from his hair,
Forming a flower crop.

We like Miles a lot better now,
But he can’t come to play.
His head was on his desk so much,
We water him each day.

Rocky, the Substitute

"I'm your sub and you are my subjects. Today we're not doing things your teacher's way. We're doing things the subway!" When all else fails, when a school can find no other substitute to sub in a classroom, it's time to call Rocky.

THE ELEVATOR FAMILY HITS THE ROAD lVX

A new Elevator Family adventure!

Chapter Fourteen

Honk! Honk! Beep! Beep!
The next morning the four Wilsons rose early, rolled up their sleeping bag, and deflated the air mattresses.
With a nod, Walter removed the HOME SWEAT HOME sampler from the wall. “Until the next excellent place we stay in,” he said.
While the twins pulled down the hubcap sculpture, Winona posted a new sign in the window:
SORRY
CHECKED-OUT
“I’ve talked to the other toll takers,” she said. “They’ve agreed to listen to any commuter who needs to talk during Rush Hour.”
The newspaper man drove by, shouting, “Extra! Extra! Read all about yourselves.”
The newspaper landed on the patio. Walter smiled at the picture of his family on the front page. The headlines read:
LOCAL “DUCK” GIRL
SAVED BY ELEVATOR FAMILY.
“Another page for the family scrapbook,” he said
After sweeping the patio, the Wilsons piled into the green compact.
Cat sat on the curb going, “Ruff! Ruff!”
“Come on old boy,” said Whitney. “Hop in!”
“You’re a member of this family now,” said Winslow. “We’ve packed your laundry basket and hubcap water dish.”
The dog sprang toward the car. He leaped into the back seat next to the twins and the giant panda.
As Walter revved up the motor, Faith’s white convertible pulled up to the gate. Faith was driving and her parents sat in back.
“We read about the Elevator Family in the morning paper,” Mrs. Harding called out. “Bravo!”
“We’re taking Faith back to New York with us,” said Mr. Harding. “We stopped by to thank your family for getting our family back together.”
“And what will you be doing in New York, Faith?” asked Winona.
“That’s another thing I have to thank you for,” said Faith. “You see, while I was staying on this bridge I studied it closely. I looked up, marveling at the girders and arches. It’s amazing, like a giant puzzle joined together with bolts. My father told me civil engineers design bridges. So next fall I’ll start studying civil engineering at the university.”
“Excellent choice,” said Walter.
“Maybe some day we’ll stay on a bridge built by Faith Harding,” said Winona.
With a wave of her hand, the Hardings drove off eastward.
By now Rush Hour had started. Gene, Jean, and Charlene were taking dollars from morning commuters.
Walter steered the compact over to Charlene’s Dutch door. He held out a dollar bill. “Here’s a small contribution to your Bridge-Buying Fund, Charlene,” he said.
Charlene pushed her hat far back on her head. “Farewell, Wilsons. I’ll miss you at this Toll Plaza,” she said. “Since you came here, drivers have never been more friendly.”
“We hope our friendship bridges a lifetime, Charlene” said Winona.
“Westward-ho!” Walter called out, and Cat went “Ruff! Ruff!”, and the green compact was on the road again. And as Walter, Winona, Winslow, and Whitney crossed the bridge, now the Wilson Family Bridge, they broke out in a song,
“There was a family, who had a dog.
And Cat was his name, Oh,.
C-A-T! C-A-T! C-A-T!
And Cat was his name Oh.”

2ndGraders #10

WT Melon Definition: The Grand Playground

The Grand Playground: (noun): It's a mile long and a mile wide and it's smack in the middle of Apple Island. It's where all the teachers play during free time. When the 1000 teachers from the northern half of the island left Apple Island, they built S.C.H.O.O.L.'s in America and put small versions of the Grand Playground beside each one.

Sarah's Shadow

It's impossible for a teacher to have on a projector without someone in the class making a shadow figure on the screen with fingers. Sarah made a shadow rabbit and was greatly surpirsed wihen the rabbit hopped off the screen.

THE ELEVATOR FAMILY HITS THE ROAD XIll

A new Elevator Family adventure!

Chapter Thirteen

Within a minute, the four Wilsons were charging down the riverbank, rolling the inner tubes before them.
About fifty yards upriver, the blue barrel bobbed in the water. Genie’s head appeared over the top. Even from this distance her screams could be heard, “Swim! Swim! Swim! I wanna swim with the ducks!”
Walter stood on the water’s edge. “The little tike sounds as healthy as ever,” he said.
“If we paddle straight out, I think we can reach her before she floats by,” said Winona.
“Geronimo!” the twins cried.
With inner tubes around their middles, the Wilsons leaped into the river. By the time they reached mid-stream, they were directly under the bridge. The blue barrel drifted toward them, only ten yards away.
Genie waved her arms, hollering, “Swim! Swim! Quack! Quack!”
All at once the barrel tipped. The toddler plunged into the water face first.
“Upsy-daisy,” Walter said, and he shot forward.
Walter vanished underwater. Genie was no where to be seen. For several silent seconds, the Mississippi River seemed to stand still. Then suddenly, like two fishing bobbers, both heads popped to the surface side by side. Walter held Genie by the armpits and heaved her onto his inner tube.
The girl clapped her hands and giggled. “I was swimming! I was swimming like a duck! Yes, I was.”
Walter spit out some water “You sank like a stone, kid,” he sputtered.
With Genie perched on the front of Walter’s inner tube, the Wilsons headed for shore.
Jean and Gene were standing there to greet them. Apparently, they had witnessed the rescue from the bridge. The instant Genie was within arm’s reach, they lifted her off the tube and smothered her with hugs and kisses.
“Genie and I were standing on the riverbank, watching ducks,” Jean explained. “When I turned, she was gone.”
“She likes ducks a lot,” Gene reminded them.
Sirens blared on the bridge. Ed and Fred’s vehicles appeared, blue lights flashing. The policemen rushed down to the river.
“Is the little girl hurt?” said Fred.
“Should we call an ambulance?” said Ed.
“I wanna swim again,” Genie wailed. “I wanna see more ducks!”
“We could put this kid on top of the ambulance and use her for a siren,” said Walter.
“I watched the whole rescue from the Missouri shore, Walter,” said Fred. “This state hasn’t seen such bravery in years.”
“Wilsons, you’re real Illinois heroes,” said Ed.
At that moment a van with a large 11 on its side stopped on the bridge. A man, carrying a TV camera on his shoulder and a woman holding a microphone, ran down the riverbank.
“We’re live on the banks of the Mississippi River,” the woman said into her mike. “A family floating in inner tubes, has pulled a small girl out of the river under the town bridge.”
The woman pushed her microphone toward the Wilsons who were patting themselves dry with towels.
“Please tell the world your names,” she said. “Where are you from?”
“We’re the Wilsons,” said Walter.
“And we’re staying at the Toll Plaza,” Winona explained.
The news reporter’s eyes widened. “The Wilsons?” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you the famous family who once stayed in an elevator at the San Francisco Hotel? The newspaper called you the Elevator Family!”
“That vacation was fantabulous,” said Winslow.
“It had its ups and downs,” said Whitney.
When the Wilsons returned to Toll 4, the phone didn’t stop ringing. Car after car stopped at the Dutch door, carrying people who wanted autographs and pictures of the Elevator Family. The UPS lady arrived to deliver gifts and flowers.
Mom drove up in his lunch wagon. “Business is business,” he said, and began selling catfish fried in Wilson World Famous Catfish Batter next to the patio. All afternoon Huckleberry raced up and down the riverbank, bringing more fish.
Around six that evening the mayor from the town across the river appeared. “Greetings Walter, Winona, Winslow and Whitney,” he stated. “Until today this bridge has been called the Bobby B. Bridges Memorial Bridge. But since no one on the town council can remember who Bobby Bridges was, we have elected to rename the bridge in your honor. From now on, Walter, Winona, Winslow, and Whitney, it will be called the Wilson Family Bridge.”
So the Wilson’s final evening at Toll 4 was not as peaceful as they had planned. The zebra-striped gate remained raised and every minute more reporters and tourists drove by to meet them.
“Guests are always welcome at our home.” Walter said to every one.

2ndGraders #9

WT Melon Alphabet: I

I is for the letter i: The place Spot often sits while he helps students overcome Writers' Block during Writers' Workshop.

Mistletoe

Read the story Mistletoe in the December issue of CRICKET. It's my nod to O'Henry, a favorite short story writer.

THE ELEVATOR FAMILY HITS THE ROAD XIll

A new Elevator Family adventure!

Chapter Twelve

At Rush Hour the next morning a line of cars a mile long formed outside the Dutch door. By now many commuters knew about Winona’s Advice Booth, and she was in great demand.
As Winona talked, Walter and the twins lounged on the patio, reading the newspaper and paperbacks.
Winslow’s book was about the Space Shuttle. “It says here sometimes seven astronauts live together in the small Space Shuttle living compartment.”
“Sounds ideal for a Wilson family vacation,” Walter remarked.
“I’m reading a book about the Rocky Mountains,” Whitney put in. “Did you know some ski areas have little cabins that move up and down the side of mountains on wires? Now those would be great to stay in.”
“Ruff! Ruff!” went Cat from his wicker basket, as if he agreed.
Right then the phone rang. Since Winona was busy talking to a man on a motorcycle, Walter rose to answer it.
“Hello, Walter,” said a voice. “This is Gene in Number Two.”
Walter looked out the window and gave the thumbs up sign. “What can I do for you, Gene?”
“Walter, I’m worried about Jean and Genie,” Gene said. “They went for a walk along the river this morning and were supposed to be at the Toll Plaza by nine. Could you check if you can spot them off your side of the bridge?”
“Just a sec, Gene,” said Walter. He hustled to the compact and took a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. Leaning over the bridge railing, he scanned the riverbank.
Back on the phone he reported, “No luck, Gene. I can see only the usual fishermen.”
A few minutes later Ed on his motorcycle and Fred in his squad car drove up to Toll 2. After a short talk, Gene closed his gate, and drove off with Fred.
“Doesn’t look good,” said Walter.
“I’m telling all my customers to keep an eye out for Jean and Genie,” said Winona.
Again the phone rang and Walter answered it. It was Charlene. “Have you heard the news?” she said. “Gene found Jean, but Genie’s still missing. Ed and Fred have organized search parties on both sides of the Mississippi.”
Walter hung up. “Yes, this is an emergency, family,” he said. “Little Genie has vanished.”
Whitney lowered her paperback. “Jean told us how Genie often wanders off by herself,” she said.
“And yesterday Genie had one thing on her mind,” said Winslow.
“Swimming,” the Wilsons said together.
Again Walter held the binoculars to his eyes. This time instead of searching the riverbanks, he checked the river. Almost at once, he spotted something in the water. A blue plastic barrel, floating on end, was drifting toward the bridge. Walter focused the glasses. Yes, inside the barrel stood a small figure. Genie. The girl appeared unharmed, but the barrel was wobbling and the smallest wave would tip it over.
“There’s no time to dial 911,” Walter called out.. “There’s no time to call the search party. Quick, man the inner tubes, everyone! We must rescue that kid ourselves!”

2ndGraders #8