John Hoppenstedt wins Snowbird memoir writing contest

When we decided to challenge our more than 2,000 members to participate in a memoir-writing contest, we expected a larger number of Snowbirds to respond than actually did. Rules were drawn with care, an independent judge recruited, and we reported news of the event on the organization’s Web site and in area newspapers. We were at first disappointed when only two of our members submitted entries. After newspaper columnist Bill Campbell returned the entries with his decision, however, we could see that what lacked in volume was more than made up for in quality. We received two memoirs, each a story of persistence and hope.

Campbell awarded first place to John Hoppenstedt for his story, Son of Jonathon Livingston Seagull, in which the author recounts an experience with a flock of seagulls. One of the seagulls reminded him of the 1973 best-selling novel, Jonathon Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, hence the title of his entry. Campbell said Hoppenstedt “painted a beautiful picture in a most clever way.”

Hoppenstedt and his wife, Barbara are Snowbirds from Bloomington, Minn., and have stayed in the same Miramar Beach condo for the past 20 years. It was from that condo that Hoppenstedt witnessed something that inspired his story.

The second entry was authored by Diane Likhite. She tells an amusing and heartfelt story centered on her sister and an unfulfilled dream in a memoir entitled, Stalking Natalie. Diane and her husband, Vivek, are Snowbirds whose year around home is in the Chicago, Ill., area. To read her entry, visit www.waltonsun.com.

Tom Mahar is the information officer for the Walton County Snowbirds. He can be reached at tkmahar@aol.com or 267-5441. This is his last column of the season.

Son of Jonathon Livingston Seagull

By John Hoppenstedt

I met Jonathon Jr. quite by accident one morning about three years ago as he and his pals were playing games along the front of our rented condo in the Miramar Beach area. Just like his famous father, Junior was enjoying the challenges of flight and also, I believe, the competition from his peers.

The morning started like most others when I rose early, retrieved the Daily News from the back walkway, made a pot of coffee and took a steaming mug out on the deck to see what the day may have in store. Our unit is on the fourth floor of a five-story building and faces due south about 100 yards from the shoreline. When the winds are just right the pelicans and gulls like to use the drafts to enhance their flight and soar along and just above the eaves of the building. But this morning was different.

I walked through the doorway, took a couple of steps, and there they were. I was mesmerized. Junior was leading a small group of five gulls that were hanging, as though suspended, like a huge mobile with invisible strings reaching skyward.

The winds were light from the southeast and it was just enough for them to hang suspended, with feathers ruffling, but not a single flap of a wing. The group was at eye level with me and about six feet from the building. It seemed like forever that they hung there, neither moving forward or backward, but I am sure it was just seconds. One gull in the rear apparently lost some momentum so he aimed down to gain some speed and then bounced back up in formation. Still, not a single wing flap. They seemed to have no fear of me, which I assume comes from their proximity to so many people on the beach.

All this time I was eyeing Junior and he was watching me with beady little eyes. After a few seconds the gulls started to give up the competition. One by one they peeled out of the formation and headed off to the beach. Junior was the last to go and he landed exactly 90 degrees from his start point without flapping a wing or giving up an inch of headway.

After witnessing this display I know that Richard Bach, the author of the Jonathon Seagull novel knew exactly what he was writing about. I wonder if Junior saw the movie.

“Stalking Natalie” or “My Version of Julie and Julia”

By Diane Likhite

Sandy, my multi-talented sister, decided that, due to the economy, this year's Christmas present should not a commercial gift, but rather something homemade or regifted. Since I truly have no talent for making anything (except for homemade CDs), and I hardly ever part with things, (ask anyone), my gift to her is this nearly true story:

My sister, who not only is a musical performer, but also a songwriter, painter, and writer, wrote a beautiful Christmas song about 25 years ago called “This Time Next Year”. It's all about how next year maybe we'll go to Vail and do  something different for Christmas, but this year, we'll just  stay home and do the things we love to do. It's a beautiful, thoughtful, sentimental song which the choir she was in in Chicago sang every year. She thought someone like Natalie Cole could really sell it. Shortly after thinking of Natalie as the one to sing it, Lionel Cole, Natalie Cole's nephew, moved across the street from us in Evanston. He attended Northwestern University, and I think he knew my boys. Sandy suggested maybe we could give the song to Lionel, who could in turn give it to Natalie to consider. However, we never knew Lionel that well, and it just never got done. He moved at the end of the spring, and we never saw him again. And, of course, we never ran into Natalie, so the song just continues to be sung by the Edgewater Singers in Chicago.

Now comes chapter 2. My husband and I went to Biloxi yesterday to stay at the Beau Rivage and do my second favorite activity — gambling (line dancing being number 1). He was somewhat reluctant to go, not liking my activity as much as I do, but he grudgingly went along. We thought there was a possibility that we could even see Natalie Cole perform there, even though that wasn't the reason for our trip, and the casino didn't comp that for us. We got to see The Village People and Gloria Gaynor free in November, but Natalie Cole is bigger than that, and we're not really big spenders. Anyway, we thought we'd go to the ticket booth and see if they'd comp us after all, or, God forbid, we could actually buy tickets for $39 each. We'd decided that yes, we could spend the money and wanted to see her that much —  but we did ask at the VIP lounge if they'd comp us anyway. Sure, they said, and gave us $65 tickets, right up close. We were very excited. Natalie Cole free.

The show was fantastic! This was, bar none, the best performance we've ever seen. We've been disappointed in Steve and Edie, The Mama and the Papas, and other performers who somehow were just not the voices that we loved so well on records and CDs. But Natalie was so incredible. She has a terrific range and versatility. She sang solidly for two hours, slow and low, high and energetic, emotional and fun-loving. She has it all. Plus, she just had a kidney transplant a few months ago. She didn't talk about it except to say it had been a difficult year in many ways. She sang “Unforgettable,” of course, with the big screens on the side showing her dad singing to her as a little girl. She also sang “Smile”, which was a song Charlie Chaplin gave to her father to sing. I just bawled. Her rendition of everything was fresh and unique. “Fever” was great, “This Will  Be An Everlasting Love” was unbelievable. (I've used both those songs for line dancing.)  Then she sang Christmas ballads at the end, including “The Holly and Ivy” and “My Grown Up Christmas Wish” which were other tear jerkers. She mentioned that she's learned several new Christmas songs lately that she'd never known before. That's when it clicked. I never got Sandy's song to her.

Well, I couldn't just barge on the stage at the end, now could I? However, I did know where the VIP room was, and that it had a special elevator to the top floor for celebrities. I didn't think of it last night, but this morning I went there early to see if she'd checked out yet. She hadn't. I was in luck. I asked at the desk if I could leave her a note; it was OK, I'm not just a fan, I explained; I know her nephew. (Know; knew, recognized across the street, what's the difference?) The VIP czar looks at me sceptically, but gives me paper and pen. So I sit there at 6:30 a.m. and write a two-page letter, explaining that  I'm the sister of a songwriter who has written her this special Christmas song. I leave my cell phone number, in case she wants to call me. I know, I know, what am I thinking? Natalie Cole will want to call a nutty stranger about her sister's song??? Anyway, it all seemed rational at the time, (Did you know they pass out drinks free at casinos? Including Bloody Marys at 6 a.m.) and I leave it at the VIP desk with the cynical lady who promises she'll deliver it (with only a small smirk). Then I go back in the casino to do my duties there, which include giving them all my money, but checking periodically to make sure Natalie's not checking out yet. I don't really consider that stalking, do you? Vivek finally comes down and meets me for breakfast, points out that she'll never call, so I go back to the VIP lounge to add my e-mail and regular address to the letter. I have a little more money to give to the casino, and Vivek goes back to the room, but with instructions to go by the VIP room to see if Natalie has come down yet. It's now 10:30 a.m  Shouldn't she be leaving? He actually goes in and asks the czar at the desk if Natalie has come down yet. She says, “Oh, you must be that white haired lady's husband. No, Natalie hasn't come down yet.”

Now here's where it gets weird. I check through the windows of this VIP lounge a few more times, pack up our bags, and once more we pass by the VIP lounge to leave about noon. Looks like Natalie just isn't leaving. Then I see her by the counter, reading my letter. She turns around, sees me, and whispers through glistening tears, “Diane, right?” I nod, can't even speak. She says, “What a beautiful letter, and I'm sure Sandy's song must be the perfect one for me. Give me her number and I'll call her right away.” I'm sure Sandy has heard from her by now, and is faxing the song to her.

OK, OK, so that last paragraph never happened. Natalie didn't ever come down, (probably still in her nice, plush room at the top), and she probably threw my unopened letter in the waste basket (if that b.... at the desk even gave it to her), and Sandy doesn't have a fax machine anyway, but wouldn't that have made a nice Christmas gift for my sister? Instead, she's getting this crummy story about what might have been. Of course, we could have waited there all day or two (but it was getting a little embarrassing), and she might call or write yet (but I'm not really counting on it, and neither should you, Sandy). But this is a story of HOPE, and I think that's the important thing here, not the fact that my boys are reading this thinking, “Mom is more of a kook than we realized; we've got to put her away.” Let's all remember this story of hope this Christmas. Maybe Natalie will call me ... or Sandy ... or even you. I know Julia never called Julie, but she should have, don't you think? I sang her (Natalie, not Julia's) songs all the way home today, for three hours. But I wasn't stalking. I was just trying to give my sister a nice gift that I'd created.

Postscript: Sorry to report none of us has heard from Natalie yet, after nearly two months. But being positive people, we're still hopeful. You never know.