Where are the people who rang the doorbell in my youth who wanted to save me then or at least claimed they did Moms and children in Sunday best with Watchtower in hand quick to assure me of damnation for celebrating a holiday or something or other the kids looked longingly at the toys they could see strewn on the living room floor who couldn’t answer the question of why did it go up from only 144,000 salvation is one hell of a money maker Or the clean cut young men in black pants and white shirts sent by the man dangling from the tree none of them could be convinced to talk through their hat and prophesy for me Moroni was too Italian a name for Pigtown anyway They all walked down the three marble steps dejected when they learned my soul was spoken for by the Church of Rome one holy (or so the priest told us in the silence of the sacristy) catholic apostolic That it was the Church of Rome through the intermediary of St. Jerome’s whose message filled my home with crucifixes on every wall scapulars hanging in the hall with bible versus TV to comfort me when I was alone (these came in handy for latchkey kids) who each week asked for more as they had from ancestors for generations before Only later did I learn that there were Quakers and Anglicans in my past a Jew who married a German lass The Greek Orthodox hold has seemed to last so it’s understandable that this theological morass Saw the missionaries who came with their message of being saved decide that I was destined for an ungodly end so they moved on down the street to piss off the rest of my neighbors
Anthony Roberts is a veteran of Baltimore and Afghanistan. He currently lives in New Jersey in a home with beautiful views and interlocking fields of fire.
He is the author of Pigtown and The Clearing Barrel.
You can follow him here.
This week on the Savage Wonder podcast…
This is one of those conversations I won't forget easily. I spoke the unbelievably honest, vulnerable and thoughtful Leilani Squire about her childhood as a Navy brat during the Korean War, her deep dive into nefarious activities during her early adulthood, her iron-willed classical dance training, and, ultimately, her highly disciplined and inspiring writing career as a poet and playwright.
Leilani is the winner of our inaugural 10-minute playwriting competition. About her play 15 DEAD SOULS, the judges said it was “poetic, touching, powerfully written. Earnest — which is good — but also not sentimental. Haunting and affecting.”
Leilani Squire is a writer, certified creativity coach, and works with active duty, veterans and their families to help them tell their stories through the written word. She is founder and CEO of the nonprofit Returning Soldiers Speak and an associate member of EST/LA where she is also part of their playwrighting unit.
Follow her here.
Most non-profits - especially non-profits in the arts - have a sugar daddy.
And we’re open to offers.
But there is something egalitarian about this organization. We want a diverse ecosystem of support - from veterans to artists, from veterans supporters to art-lovers. We don’t want to exist because one company thinks we should exist. We want to exist because all of you believe we should exist.
While we absolutely appreciate Substack paid subscriptions and/or acts of great one-time generosity, we’d like to offer the best way to support us. Be one of our monthly donors. Yes, we are busy. We work seven days a week to build a platform for veterans in the arts. That means:
— our Parlor on Quaker Avenue which provides low-to-no cost tickets and professional comedic theater each Saturday night
— our Savage Wonder Festival of Veterans in the Arts (year 2 to be announced in the somewhat near future!)
— Our ongoing free content like our podcast and this literary blog.
— And I’m not even getting into our impending full play productions or some very exciting micro-festivals we’re planning (I’m not being coy, trust me. We’ll talk about them a lot when everything is locked in!)
For the cost of one Dunkin Donuts cold brew each month, you can show us your support. I mean, you can show your support to the tune of one Buick each month and we won’t complain - but just buying us a cup of coffee each month - or half your Netflix subscription, if you prefer - shows us that you value the content being developed by veterans in the arts. So what do you say? Are we worth $5/month to you? $10? $20?
If we are, thank you. And if we haven’t earned that value for you yet, thank you for giving us the chance to prove it to you.
We build the VetRep platform with you in mind. It’s been a privilege. And we’re only getting started…