Bear Stories: Rarely Told (And Probably Just as Well)

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© 2008 Donald Lee Shaffer. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 1/25/2008

ISBN: 978-1-4343-5917-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-6703-0 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Preface

History

(Early Bears Discover Humans)

Smokey The Bear

(The Real Story)

Bear Tails Of The Old West

Bear Tails Of The Old West

Bear At The Fair

Bear In The Air

The Millionaire Bear Affair

"Lack Of Food Forces Bears

Into Cities"

Little Red Riding Hood

Some Bear Over The Rainbow

Bears Discover America

The Night Visitor

Bear From The Far North

The Cub Scouts

The Bears Of Sherwood Forest

The Bear Of Menlo Park

Bigfoot And The Bear

A Daringly Rare Bear Spy Affair

Batbear

Short Cub Tails

Goldie Locks And The Three Bears

The Great Detective

Sigmund

The Bears Of Ireland

The Artist

Three Stories For Christmas

Oh, Heavenly Bear

The Boy Raised By Bears

Bear Spring

(A Bear Tradition)

A Bear At Yale

The Bears Of Summer

Beyond The Shadow Of A Doubt

The Once And Future Bear

A Bear At The Met

A Lovely Day

The Bear Of Liechtenstein

The Bear And The Jogger

Handy The Bear

Bears And The Lottery

A Bear In Hollywood

Hollywood, 1928

The Bear Inventors

The Old West - About A Hundred Years Ago

Bear And The Mall

Bearthoven

The Return Of The Great Detective

Robobear

A Close Encounter Of A Bear Kind

Bear And The Beanstalk

Cinder Ella

Mr. Bear Goes To Washington

The Polar Bear Caper

R.A.M. Bear

Madision Avenue Bear

Hansel And Gretel

The Great Detective

Mirth Of A Nation

The Boy And The Bear

Christmas And The Cats

The Very End

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

By: Fred F. Dunn

First I want to acknowledge the brilliant author of BEAR STORIES, the late Mr. Donald Lee Shaffer. Without his talent and wit, there would be no book.

I want to thank my sisters, Mary Johnson, Ruth (Jo) Burns and Margaret (Peggy) Jenkins for the three hand-typed homemade books found at Donnie’s home after his death. Without the salvaged books, there would have been no inspiration to fulfill Donnie’s dream of publication.

In addition to myself and my above mentioned sisters, there were ten other cousins who became Donnie’s only living relatives. I also appreciate the cooperation of those ten cousins: Mabel DeLong, Hartley Johnston, Robert Etter, Joanne Davidson, Thomas McCarney, Daniel McCarney, Robert Ferry, Jr., Kathy Hetu, Debbie Staeger and Pauline Duncan.

Mr. Michael McLaughlin and is wife, Linda were kind enough to allow me to use a fourth volume that was given to them by Donnie as a gift. Mr. McLaughlin was generous enough to handle all of the detail upon Donnie’s demise. His efforts are greatly appreciated by the fourteen cousins.

Mr. William (Bill) Fairgraves, Donnie’s close friend and confidant, has generously shared some details about the man, Donald Lee Shaffer, noted in the book’s foreword. Mr. Fairgraves had known Donnie since their high school days while playing in area bands.

FOREWORD

By Fred F. Dunn

IN MEMORY OF DONALD LEE SHAFFER

DONNIE

Donnie, the author of BEAR STORIES passed away in May of 2006. Part of the legacy he left behind is found in these talented, humorous and imaginative stories with hints of political and social issues, written in rhyme about bears. Three hand typed home made books were found at his home after his death.

BEAR STORIES - RARELY TOLD (And Probably Just As Well)

BEAR STORIES - SELDOM HEARD (And For Good Reason)

BEAR STORIES - FREQUENTLY FORGOTTEN (Except By A Furry Few)

A fourth book titled, BEAR STORIES - OFTEN OVER LOOKED (And Little Wonder) was given to a friend, Linda McLaughlin. Mrs. McLaughlin was kind enough to share those stories for this publication. The four books were condensed into the following BEAR STORIES book.

As one of his only surviving relatives of fourteen cousins, it was strongly felt that his unique flair of words must be shared. Therefore the salvaged 77 humorous entries are presented for your reading enjoyment.

In about 1956 Don was drafted into the Army and spent most of his time as a trumpet player in the band at Ft. Lewis Washington.  After he returned home, he went to work for Dick Bulling at his House of Music which evolved into the World of Music. Mike McLaughlin’s wife, Linda, is Dick Bulling’s daughter.  For many years Don did all the repair work on instruments plus giving music lessons.  He taught just about everything, Trumpet, Trombone, Tuba, Clarinet, and Sax. Flute.  Whatever they needed him to teach, he seemed to be able to master at least enough to teach the basics.

In 1961 Don was in the Trumpet section of the Teddy Armen Band.  This band won Eastern Regional Best New Band contest that was held by the American Federation of Musicians.  It was quite an honor to play with Teddy Armen.

After that he played just about everything that was going on.  Broadway type Shows, Floor Shows, Park Concert Bands. His close friend, Bill Fairgraves, recalls, I think it must have been in the early 1970’s that I had a call one night to fill in at the Pizza Pub in Edinboro, PA.  At the time, I was cleaning my horn and it was all apart.  I told the caller to give Don a call.  Don took the job and eventually became leader and stayed there for 30 years.  He just loved it.  He could sing and play with all the instruments.  He basically became an ‘Act’ so to say.  He just couldn’t go out and play in a trumpet section anymore.  I guess he didn’t feel like he was doing enough.   I saw him roll out backwards on roller skates playing a trombone.  One time I sent him a photo of a double bell trumpet.  He built one, and it worked.  After that, there was no end to it.  After he built a seven-bell horn, he started making strange horns out of PVC Pipe.  They all were playable. He was quite a brilliant guy and a good friend. I really miss him.

Donnie was also an extremely accomplished, artist, horn designer and teacher. The publication of this book is dedicated to his memory.

PREFACE

BEAR STORIES

By: Donald L. Shaffer

No one today takes the time to read poetry. People are always in a rush, never having a moment for a basic iambic pentameter. Never taking time for a stanza or two. Oh, I’ll pick up a trecet or quatrain on the way to work, they yell. Sure, I know how it is! But I can remember back when Shelly and I were Keats together. The pace was much slower then. You could have a verse or two at breakfast, maybe even a sonnet. A good nourishing sonnet would hold you for the whole day. We figured we ode ourselves that much. Today, these kids take those Flintstone verses and off they go. That won’t last them till lunch. And they wonder why; when these kids get to be thirsty, they have weak pentameters. Why their limericks can’t pass a high school physical. It’s like a cat trying to live on just one Chaucer of milk. A pretty Poe substitute for real verse. A person could end up with Tennysonitis in the elbow and that’s just, T.S. Eliot. After all, how much is your wordsworth to you? So have a couplet today. You won’t be any verse off. Have a breakfast of good poetry – first thing in the morning. That’s the way the prose do it.

I often get comments from readers asking me questions like: Why write about bears? Why do all of the stories rhyme? Why do you keep peeking in my window at night? The answer is exceedingly simple and yet as complex as the cosmos itself. Is it a search for the true meaning of life? — A desire to explain the intricate nature of man? — Or just too much time on ones hands? The precise answer is: Maybe. People often say, Get a life! They wonder why I don’t cultivate a more normal hobby like bowling or falling asleep while watching sports on TV with a beer in my hand. Believe me, I’ve tried. I find that it’s only a waste time and ends up making the rug soggy. It’s not that I WANT to write these stories, but I feel that have to come out, somewhat like an inflamed appendix. They are also an emotional release for tensions that, if not vented could cause someone to partake in road rage. So I suggest strongly that you read and encourage me to continue writing as a public service and self preservation because, as luck would have it, someday you might be in that car in front of me.

Why bears? Well you try to find a word that rhymes for Armadillo or Elephant. Why rhyme? Because it gives a euphonious sound to a string of words that normally be blatant nonsense. A saving grace to what would otherwise be mundane drivel. How often have you heard a simple ditty on the radio that has you singing the catch phrase over and over in the shower, and the mindless childish words drive you to distraction at work and causes you to make a zillion errors and gets you so distraught going home on the freeway that you almost caused a fifty car pileup? (Whew, I’m out of breath after that long sentence. Don’t worry, I’m okay now. I got carried away)

Well, we don’t aspire to such lofty goals but, merely wish to fill your daily humdrum existence with humdrum BEAR STORIES.

Donald Lee Shaffer

HISTORY

(Early Bears Discover Humans)

Many, many years ago, I don’t mean a few;

a really long time ago, a million years or two.

Human beings were not around; the earth was not yet theirs.

The planet was populated by — Yes, you guessed it — Bears.

Bears were living everywhere, happy, safe and free.

When did people appear? It happened quite suddenly.

Two bears named Fred and Clarence were out walking one day,

discussing bear philosophy to pass the time away.

They spoke of life and death subjects sad and funny.

They talked of many things but mostly of honey.

They were in the mood for something new, a different path to explore,

so they boldly go where no bear had gone before.

All the sudden their path was blocked. They could not believe their eyes.

In this woods where only trees belong, now a tall wood fence occupies.

"Would you look at this in the middle of the woods, someone had built a fence!

But who would do this and why? It doesn’t make any sense.

Who made this fence standing in the woods and why was it setting there?

To build a fence as good as this would take a clever bear."

It’s really odd, Fred said at last, "but what it seems to me is;

we may have stumbled on a major discovery.

Whoever built this fence must have something he wants to hide,

and I’m certain the answer to this puzzle lies on the other side."

They walked along the fence it seemed for quiet a length of time.

It went on for a block and was far too high to climb.

Suddenly Fred noticed a knothole in the fence that would afford

a view of the other side through this peep-hole in the board.

Looking through the hole Fred was amazed to see

the animals that built this fence and caused this mystery.

They were funny looking creatures — all their hair had fallen out,

and looked kind of dumb and stood erect when walking all about.

They wore silly looking clothes and they kind of looked like bums.

No claws, just goofy looking hands that had opposite thumbs.

"This is a fantastic discovery, let’s go and tell the other guys

about the creatures we’ve found. It will be quite a surprise."

Said Clarence, "What will we call them? We must give them a name.

Well, we saw them through the peep-hole, so we’ll call them the same."

Since that day they were discovered through that peep-hole in the fence,

the bears called them PEEP-HOLE and they’ve been called that ever since.

EPILOGUE

Peep-hole turned out to be a hostile lot, making war and such.

Killing themselves and others, they weren’t peaceful very much.

When they finally came out from behind their fence, they were ready for a fight.

They fought in country after country showing off their might.

Why did they do so much damage to conquer this world so immense?

They say, To protect what is ours. We did it for DE- FENCE.

E N D

SMOKEY THE BEAR

(The Real Story)

I suppose most people are certainly aware

of a character known as Smokey The Bear.

He’s the bear, I’m sure all would mention

as a spokesman for forest fire prevention.

But who is he really and how did he come to be

the world’s best known bear celebrity?

As with most great legend about whom we read,

the facts are hard to uncover indeed.

So we’ll set the record straight

and the real Smokey The Bear story we’ll relate.

Born to Bernie and Ida Thebear in a national park;

he was a cub on whom fame would soon leave its mark.

Smokey’s father’s job was to keep records of all the bears;

each bear’s relatives and which cubs were theirs.

He kept these records safe under lock and key.

and had to update the records constantly.

Since he had the only key to the records kept there,

he became known to one and all as the KEY BEAR

Soon he and his little bear cub were renowned,

as Big Key and Small Key to all the bears around.

So the cub became know as SMALL KEY THEBEAR,

and in the park there was no happier pair.

Small Key would wander through the park with his dad.

He was proud of his pop and the job he had.

But Bernie’s job of keeping records just melted away

when the park purchased a new computer one day.

And the census job for which he was hired

was done by a machine, so Big Key was fired.

So they moved to another park and started anew.

But the same thing happened at that job too.

For no sooner would he move and a new job begin,

he’d get fired. — The computer would take over again.

Thebear family kept moving from place to place,

but the Key Bear’s job, technology did erase.

Small Key, the cub, felt very bad

to see this thing happen to his own dad.

The cub sent a letter to the Forrest Service one day.

There were things the little cub felt he should say.

In his crud little way, he penned a letter,

hoping that somehow it would make things better.

"I’m Small Key Thebear, and it’s a terrible waste.

My parent, forced-fired a national disgrace."

Well in his small paw the writing was bad,

the Forest Service man couldn’t read the note pad.

I think it says: I’m Smokey the bear – It’s a terrible waste,

and then — Prevent forest fires – a national disgrace.

"Hey, I love this. Get me that bear today.

We’ll mount a campaign to save the parks right away."

So Smokey soon became known nationwide.

His posters covered the whole countryside.

Then Smokey was asked to do an ad for the nation,

to help the park in its forest conservation.

Smokey asked other bears what they knew about fires,

but none had the experience that research requires.

So Smokey did a survey on his own in the wood,

and he interviewed all the animals he could.

While doing the study one strange thing he learns

is; sheep run away from fires. (Because wool of course burns.)

A ram will run away from a fire as fast as the wind,

but a female sheep will protect her young to the end.

She’ll actually run toward the fire and try to stomp it out.

The only animal to do this – without a doubt.

(And this was before breeding of flame retardant sheep.)

It seems that a mother sheep’s love runs very deep,

so Smokey’s research came to this conclusion.

(Which worked out well despite some confusion.)

His report to the Forest Service read:

Only ewe can prevent forest fires, he said.

That’s great! the park people exclaimed with glee.

Let’s put it on our billboards for whole world to see.

Of course it came out different then Smokey had planned,

but it made him famous throughout the land.

So the moral of this story: If one can be found,

as down life’s yellow brick road we are bound;

fix your eyes on a star and dream if you would

and someday, you too may fall into something good.

E N D

BEAR TAILS OF THE OLD WEST

PART ONE

History relates

how the western states

were settled a long time ago.

Overcoming their fear

and weather severe

the pioneer numbers did grow.

The wagon train crossed

the land at some cost,

while carving out a new nation.

The lure of the west

gave the worst and the best

and romanticized each situation.

Soon the cowboy ruled

by the gun he was schooled.

His horse his only friend.

The country was rough

and the people were tough.

For danger could lurk ‘round each bend.

Who collected these stories

of pioneer glories,

and wrote them down with such care

so we, one and all

could read and recall

our past? It was done by a bear.

Beary loved the west

but what he loved best

were stories he heard on the trails.

For many years Beary

roamed the plains and prairie

collecting these yarns and tales.

He became quite renowned

and his stories were found

in newspapers coast to coast.

But most of his fame

came from the name

he used for the New York Post.

His editor was assumin’

their reporter was human,

so Mr. Meenott sounded better, you see.

When Beary wrote of the trails

he signed all of his tales;

Beary Meenott — On the lone prairie.

Me and Shorty McGee

By: Beary Meenott — On The Lone Prairie

A cloud of dust rose from the Texas road

as the Well Fargo stage came by with its load.

It was Shorty McGee in the driver’s seat

urging his horse team through the heat.

Then ahead in the road a figure appeared.

Here? Miles from nowhere. — That surely seemed weird.

A hold-up man about to rob the stage?

(Sticking up Wells Fargo was all the rage.)

Shorty reached for the gun he always kept there.

Wait! That isn’t a man — It’s a bear.

He pulled on the reins, brought the rig to a halt,

"That you Beary? Dog gone — Bless my salt.

What are you doing out here my friend?

I read the last article you penned."

Hi Shorty, how’s it going? asked Beary Meenott.

I was resting here. Boy it surely is hot.

Jump aboard, said Shorty, "you can ride for free.

I got a long way to go and I could use the company."

Beary pulled himself up as he grabbed the stage door,

Shorty, did you know you had a hole in the floor?

"Yep, I picked up Mrs. Patterson and her really fat kid.

He must weigh as much as any horse ever did.

The kid stepped into the coach and the floor broke in half.

He looked so surprised, I just had to laugh.

She was kinda mad and wanted to sue.

I said, ‘It’s just a stage your kid’s going through.’

Beary, I see you don’t carry a gun."

No, not since my paw was shot by one.

"Oh, I’m sorry Beary, I didn’t know.

Your father was shot a long time ago?"

Not my father, he wasn’t shot, said the bear.

My paw, my right paw. See the scar it left there?

Since that happened, I don’t tote a gun.

Shorty nodded and looked up to the sun.

It’s hot, said Shorty, "it must be a hundred and ten.

I wish I had shorts and not these long pants, my friend.

But, when we stop at Indian Pass near the boarder,

I’m taking a knife and make them shorter."

You mean your pant legs you’re going to shed?

Yep, I’m CUTTING THEM OFF AT THE PASS, Shorty said.

Beary wrote down the phrase.

He found that it always pays,

to write down Shorty’s quips with a pen.

Maybe, just maybe some day,

in some other way,

the phrase can be used again.

"Did you hear what happened in town last week?

Some folks named Cartwright bought a ranch near the creek.

Traveling ‘cross the country, all their money got spent,

so they arrived in this town without one red cent.

All Ben and his sons had to their names

was a valuable painting. (So the family claims.)

It was an Italian painting by the master Cannosea

of a bunch of flowers and was called, ‘Da Rosa’.

They hoped that if they hocked it, they might get enough

for a down payment for their ranch and stuff.

They took it to a pawnshop in town one day,

and showed to the pawnbroker to see what he’d say.

The pawnbroker said it was a work of art

and gave them enough money to make a good start.

Ben Cartwright and his sons it seemed succeeded;

for their painting gave them just what they needed.

When they named their ranch, people were shocked;

calling it ‘Pawned Da Rosa’ after the painting they hocked.

A pretty dumb name, you’ll have to agree.

I’d call it ‘Hocked Flower Painting’ if it were up to me."

Beary tried not to laugh

on Shorty’s behalf.

The man’s ideas were weird to the core

but he copied it down

because he had found

Shorty was a BONANZA of western lore.

"A strange thing happened one day.

I was driving this coach in the usual way.

I was going down the road to the county seat,

and this little kid runs into the street;

right into the side of my coach he ran.

(You can’t stop a stage quick, try as you can.)

Well for being so careless and being so bold

his head hit the stage and was knocked out cold.

I jumped from my seat; I thought he was dead,

but he was okay, just a bump on the head.

He was little Ronnie Reagan, I’d seen him before.

His family lived over the Borax general store.

But when he came to, it was worse then I feared.

He was acting strange and talking real weird.

He said, ‘This was bound to happen, you see,

an astrologer told me this was going to be.

This accident will start me on my road to fame,

and being a thespian is now my one aim.’

So he went to California to be an actor, no less.

People do that when they get ‘stage struck’ I guess."

Could have been worse, Beary said, "if he were wishin’

to go to the capital and be a politician."

"Them buzzards are flying low

near the wagon. They let you know

the West isn’t tamed as of yet.

So if you ever have a showdown,

with a gunfighter in town,

don’t ever let them see you sweat.

Hear ‘bout the gun fight up Box Canyon way?

Sheriff’s posse and rustlers fought it out the other day.

It was the Hogan gang, but the posse had them cold.

They ambushed the crooks by the bend in the road.

The sheriff had Hogan’s rustlers on the run.

Some crooks didn’t have a chance to draw their gun.

They captured the gang and old Hogan too.

As rustlers, they were pros, but now they were through.

The sheriff locked them up without any bail

and put the champion professional rustler, Hulk Hogan, in jail."

Beary spent most of the day,

just scribbling away.

Getting it all down was a feat.

They may not be true,

but, fiction will do,

when you’ve go a deadline to meet.

"The gang at the saloon the other day,

had a greenhorn from Boston way.

He wanted to be a cowboy, and for a start,

he bought a cowboy outfit, just to look the part.

He got spurs, a ten gallon hat and the rest,

to try to fit in, out here in the west.

He bought a Dachshund dog, when they asked him, ‘Why?’

he said, ‘I just wanted to be a regular guy.

I hear cowboys sing the same song all day:

(Get a long little doggie) is what they all say.’

Some ranchers, north of here got this brainstorm, you see,

to pool their resources and form a cattle company.

They couldn’t decide on a name for their spread,

so they combined them all and the fence sign said;

"Welcome to the Flying W. Triangle T, Triple E

Lazy J, Bar M, Double X, Circle C."

Wow, it sounds like they have a lot of steers.

"No, not many survived the branding, I hear.

Now you won’t like this story, Beary, you can take my word;

it was the darnest thing I ever heard.

Some hunters in the hills got into their head,

instead of cooking their game, to boil it instead.

They liked poached eggs and sausage for their breakfast menu,

so they figured a six-foot sauce pan would do.

They thought, if an egg taste good, so should a bear.

But they broke a law of which they weren’t aware.

‘That’s illegal,’ said the sheriff. ‘and the law must prevail.’

It was a case of BEAR POACHING, and he threw them in jail."

Beary put away his pen

with a satisfied grin.

He’d written enough today.

This story telling feast,

will sell well in the East.

He might get a raise in pay.

The stories now told

on the stage coach they rode

into the sunset’s fading rays.

Beary loved the West,

but what he loved best,

was the plethora of western clichés.

E N D

BEAR TAILS OF THE OLD WEST

PART TWO

(Me and Dusty)

The western sun was settling over the land,

the shadows played on the sagebrush and sand.

The scene was deserted, save for one figure there,

who seems to look a lot like a bear.

He was cleaning some fish he caught in the creek;

enough fish to last most bears for a week.

Beary was here to write his short stories

about the West, it’s trials and its glories.

But his reporter’s notebook was unusually bare.

He hadn’t found one story he could write in there.

With his newspaper deadline approaching fast,

this assignment, he feared, may be his last.

He had interviewed some oilmen who were extremely rude.

(There’s something about oilmen that is definitely crude.)

There wasn’t much in a story of guys digging a hole.

He could have gotten that much interviewing a mole.

If those oil people want to make a decent pay,

they’d have to sell over six barrels a day.

That’s enough to keep all of the worlds lanterns lit.

(Unless they come up with another use for it.)

So here, surrounded by sagebrush and sand,

as the western sun sets over the land,

sitting there, by the camp fire, we see,

Beary Meenott on the lone prairie.

Now Beary was quite a cultivated bear,

a connoisseur with epicurean flair.

He was cooking a special sauce for some fish.

Salmon al la Meenott his specialty dish.

Beary sniffed the air, there was someone near,

but he knew who it was and had nothing to fear.

The bushes rustled in back of the bear,

Come on out, Dusty, I know you’re there.

Can’t fool you, said Dusty coming out of the night.

Beary could have said it was his scent, but, he was too polite.

Dusty was a prospector, he worked the land.

He knew this country like the back of his hand.

Smells good Beary. You cook better then fair.

Sit down Dusty, I’ve got plenty to spare.

"Thanks, Beary, I was hoping for an invite.

I had no idea where I’d be eating tonight.

This is great grub, and not just because it’s free."

Thanks Dusty, you sure are complimentary.

Really, how do bears learn to cook so well?

I was the general’s chef for quite a spell.

"That’s right; you were General Custer’s cook.

You wrote the best selling ‘Frontier Cook Book’."

"I was east getting it published and when I got back,

I saw Custer was planning an attack.

I saw his plans and view them with scorn,

and warned him to stay away from Little Big Horn."

Dusty said, "he should have listen to your tip,

the score was Indians one thousand – Custer, zip.

If you don’t listen, that’s the price you pay,

heck, even I had twenty bucks on the Indians that day."

"So he never made it back to the fort,

he got Siouxed without going to court."

As the northern prairie wind rolled some tumbleweed by,

Beary put a couple more fish on to fry.

A silver moon rose over the peak of the hill,

and a billion stars, the night sky did fill.

"Say, Beary, your cousin, Wyatt Bearb — Did you hear?

He became sheriff of Tombstone this year."

"Really, how did Cousin Wyatt decide to become

the sheriff of Tombstone? That seems kind of dumb."

"They offered the sheriff’s job to Wyatt,

so he thought about it though — ‘Why