: About Me

My name is Jeffrey David Luchsinger, but you can call me Jeff. I've spent the majority of my life involved in various aspects of the arts. I used to be a jock in high school, playing all the major sports; football, basketball, and baseball. Of course I really stunk at all of them. But, I cracked a vertebra at one football practice, thus ending my professional athletic aspirations. (I was too small anyway)

As I wandered the halls of the high school looking for some way to occupy my after school hours, the drams teacher asked me if I would like to be in the spring musical. He said he needed bodies to fill out some scenes. So, I said what the heck. Besides, that's where all the pretty girls hung out! Seriously, though, that's when I found out what my true love was. After a couple years following high school I picked up the guitar. It served my need for artistic expression between the occasional community theater productions. Following auditioning and getting a place in a college summer repertory theatre I was asked by the director to enroll in the college theatre arts program. Of course I said, "yes! " I convinced myself I was to become the next Brando! Oh, well.

After three and a half years I earned my B.A. degree in Theatre Arts from Viterbo University in LaCrosse, Wisconsin in 1979. Too afraid of New York, and not wanting to leave a love behind, I hung around for a year. There really wasn't much going on, though. It was difficult to even find a job. That's when I heard from my mom. She asked me to come out to Tucson, Arizona. She had the room, and best of all; she was working at a Hollywood studio location site, "Old Tucson." John Wayne held a controlling interest in the place.

My mom told me she got free tickets to the studio every week in her paycheck, so I could get in free. But, here's the clincher; she told me they had stuntmen who entertained the tourists. And during the winter season the tourists slowed down, but the movie studios moved to town. It was cool enough to shoot in the desert in the winter season. She added that the studios always hired the local stuntmen to do their stunts and fill in any minor character roles they may have. I thought, if the Duke could start that way, why not me? I was on the road in short order headed for the Arizona desert and the "Old Tucson," location studio and what I was certain would be my destiny.

Oh, the many ways a man can delude himself. I spent the summer at the studio. After filling out an application I just sat back and waited. I mean, after all, my destiny called me here. It was certain to happen! A couple of days later they told me they would like to hire me, but because of my theater degree, I had too much experience. Too much acting experience to do an acting job? They were afraid that as soon as the first studio came to town I would be whisked away by the Hollywood machine and they would be stuck having to train another stuntman. I didn't tell them that was what I was hoping for. They added they had all the stuntmen they needed for the tourist season. I spent the remainder of the summer hanging out at the studio hoping someone would quit, or at least they would see my determination. All the while I was learning all I could about the job from a distance so if I got the call, I'd be ready.

Sure enough, the call came. Toward the end of the summer a position came open and I was called to the audition. It was brutal. As I donned my pads in the morning, I started to wonder just what I was getting myself into. Adrenalin overcame the fear. I hit the audition site with complete confidence.

They pounded on me all day. Contrary to popular belief, stuntmen actually do hit one another. I wore a leather vest so when my partner opens his closed fist just before he slapped my shoulder the sound reverberated throughout the studio. It's how well I was expected to react to the "punch, "that they were looking at.

I also got kicked. My partner "pulled his kick by slowing his foot just as it made contact with my stomach. It was my job to flex my stomach muscles and roll over on my back from all fours while "selling," the kick. During the remainder of the day I reacted to being "shot;" and I rolled off a perfectly good roof and fell to the ground. A dug up area of sand broke my fall.

When I got home I soaked in a hot bath counting my bruises, as well as thanking God for allowing me to survive. But, my desire wasn't dampened at all. I would be the best stuntman they ever saw. The call came the next day, and the day after that I was in training to be a real Hollywood stuntman. Look out world! Here I come!

Two and a half days later, they laid me off. It was the end of the tourist season and they couldn't justify having so many stuntmen on their payroll. I left Arizona for Wisconsin by the end of that week.

A few days later, with my car struggling to get along on only three of its four cylinders, I arrived at my parent's home in Wisconsin. I sat around for a few months wallowing in the recession of the time. I filled in on a part time basis at the restaurant where my mom worked. I was able to get the job because it was how I worked my way through college. Not to mention the fact that my mom was the head chef there.

I didn't have to spend a lot of time in Wisconsin before opportunity came rapping again. My brother, living in Texas, told me if I wanted to get out of the Wisconsin Winters, he could get me a job and I could live with him until I could afford a place of my own. I was on a plane almost immediately. The car, as faithful as she was, died.

I remember this time with probably the most clarity because it was right around the time John Lennon was killed. Sure enough, when I arrived in Texas I had a place to stay, a job, and a car. The car was a rebuilt VW bug. My first car was a VW bug. It was a living metaphor for starting over. I was sure this was going to work.

The next few years are a kind of blur of activity. I continued playing the guitar, or rather looking for the music I heard in my head without success. I was working as a psychiatric aide with teenage drug abusers, and truly mentally ill kids. And, I was in graduate school getting my Masters Degree in General Clinical Psychology. In what little spare time I had I started doodling cartoons. I think I was looking for the funny side of the blur of activity surrounding me.

Around this time, nearing the end of my studies, I got married and had a beautiful son. As he started to crawl around I found it necessary to coral that boy against the wall with pillows and cribs and strollers. That boy was a Houdini, a master of the escape. I must have put on five miles a day chasing him around.

There were times I couldn't find him. That flush of panic many parents have felt flooded my senses. All kinds of nightmarish fantasies went through my mind when I saw all the pots and pans on the kitchen floor. I opened the cupboard under the range where they were stored and, sure enough, there he was! Laughing, he crawled out and came after me. I lost my balance and lay down on my back in the kitchen when he belly flopped on top of me.

I kept drawing cartoons, primarily for my son. He got a kick out of them. He was good for the old man's ego. I used to draw a face on his lunch bag when he went off to daycare. But I didn't always draw a cartoon on his lunch bag. Sometimes we would leave for daycare a bit early so we could have lunch together and after that, I'd drop him off and headed for my three to eleven shift at the nut house.

After about a year, I blew out my back. I suffered three ruptured disks in my back in three successive years. Each blow out was followed by a major surgery. I was done. But, looking at the positive side of things, I could stay at home and spend all day raising my son for a long time to come. It was a trip too. I really didn't mind the pain as long as I could look into that face on a daily basis. I started to reconsider my destiny. Maybe my destiny was to raise this boy.

It was during this time that I took up writing. I looked for a job I could do at home. A job where I could sit when I had too or even just lie down to get the pressure off my back. I tried to write for a local newspaper. They wanted someone to cover sports and city council meetings. It went pretty well for a while. So well, I thought I might be on the road back. But, it wasn't to be. My back continually got worse. I ended up having to quit because I couldn't leave the house to cover the news. My back was pretty well keeping me prisoner at home. My exercise at this time consisted of getting out of bed to the recliner after crawling to the bathroom. For the longest time I walked, hunched over a cane. I think this was about the time I had my last back surgery.

Not to be defeated, I took a correspondence course in writing for children. I thought I could write when I wasn't in pain and at the same time raise my kids, using them as inspiration. I didn't count on the difficulty of getting published. I did, however have a poem and some of my cartoons published.

After about five years, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl! Now the fates have arranged it for me to guide two incredible lives. I set about this in a very serious manner. I was going to be the best dad ever. I wanted them to have the best possible chance. But my baby girl would throw me a few curves.

She was born with colic. I don't think she slept for the first three months of her life, she cried constantly. I didnt sleep much either. But, I hung in there doing everything I could to ease her pain. I just kept telling myself that this wasn't going to last forever.

It didn't last! I was right! I looked forward to sleeping for the first time in months. That's when she started doing, "The Schiz!" My Masters Degree in General Clinical Psychiatry paid for itself in that diagnosis. My professors would have been proud. One day she was standing in her playpen and, looking at me, not using her hands, she pulled the sides of her mouth down while clenching her gums. The muscled on the side of her neck contracted. She looked like a Cardassian from Star Trek: The Next Generation. With absolute fear I asked God, "What now?" If it wouldn't have been so funny looking, I would have succumbed to the fear. I kept a camera nearby because I knew when she got older she'd never believe she was doing that. But, every time I picked up the camera to get a shot of it, she'd stop and look at me as if to say, "What?" I eventually got a picture of about a half of a "schiz." She just looks like she's smiling.

The "schiz," turned out to be nothing. I don't know what it was, why it started, or why it stopped. I was afraid to investigate the phenomenon. I think I was just so relieved it had stopped. Just between you and me; I think she just wanted to scare me. I swear! This little girl wasn't even a year old and she already knew how to push my buttons. Raising this one was going to be a trip!

My feelings were confirmed the day she uttered her first word, "Mitsubishi." I figured I was just watching too much TV. My long awaited rest period was over. I figured I should start paying more attention to my baby angels and less to the TV. Come to think of it, maybe that's what she was telling me with "The Schiz." It wasn't long after that, she said those celebrated words, the words all parents long to hear, "Mommy," and, "Daddy."

Those babies are now seventeen and twelve years old. They are well on the path to their adult lives. I couldn't be more proud of them. I suppose I sound like a proud parent, but then, I am. I told them once here recently that I hope I will become half of the person they already are. I meant that, too. They're great.

Chronic pain is a difficult thing to have to deal with. Not just for the sufferer, but for those people around him. Eventually my marriage succumbed to the stress. Following the divorce I dove into the community theatre scene with both feet for about the next five years. I burned myself out. I guess I missed it more than I thought. I kept drawing cartoons for the kids, mainly during their birthdays and holidays. It still seems to bring smiles to their faces. There's nothing like being able to make your kids happy.

I dug out my guitar, too. The search for that elusive music in my head began anew. I joined a Christian music group and played for the church for a year or two. I learned quite a bit. But, they weren't willing to incorporate my compositions into their music, so I left.

I continued to write music while sitting at home. It kept me off the streets. I also had mountains of song lyrics without music. I always seemed to have problems getting the two together. That didn't last long.

My brother and I decided to get together and start playing music together. We call ourselves "The Grangers," and you can check us out at: http://www.shinysite.com/bobwall/. We had both been playing music for thirty years, but the idea of playing together never came to mind before now. He gave me some great tips on songwriting, and as a result I've been able to make beautiful music. I found the music in my head. Now it gushes out at times. I'm enjoying myself. Listen to the samples of the tunes, if youve a mind. Let me know what you think. We've released a CD and will soon start working on another one.

Well, let's see. I'm doing theatre when I want too, I'm playing guitar and I'm playing the way I always heard it in my head, I draw cartoons to use on the web site and everything else I can think of, what's left? Oh, yes, my writing. And now with this incredible site, I can realize that dream, too. Pain or no pain, this is the life!

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Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Fantasy stories for children

26 of 75

A POSITIVE SPIRIT Faith gently swayed through the pre-dawn on the porch swing. Her feet reached over the edge of the porch and back again just as they seemed to point the way to freedom. Her hair swept down over her face, covering it with protection from the outside world by focusing her concentration on the misery at hand. The old farmhouse loomed over her emptiness, confining all her worries to within constant reach. A faint, grating screech seized her breathing. Faith suddenly stopped the swing with her toes. She sat, frozen, scanning the gray dawn air for any sound at all. The screech ...

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