The Nativity Scene

[This short essay was originally accompanied by a photograph, lost somewhere in Virginia's many the boxes of ephemera, perhaps years ago when she moved from her Palo Alto house to a old folks' home in the area.]

When the Huntley-McKinnon family home in Wadesboro, NC, was dismantled, one of the treasures discovered in the Plunder Room was this Nativity Scene. Emily Toy Huntley McKinnon probably assembled the group during the thirties, for the principal figures were molded in Germany and the price for sheep, pencilled on the underside, was 2 for 5 cents. It was a mobile scene, like the early Mystery Plays, travelling from 3 Brent Street to the second grade of Wadesboro Elementary School and the Wade Mill School, both long gone, and to the Primary Department of the First Baptist Church. This depiction of the Holy Babe with Mary and Joseph, the wondering shepherds, and the wandering Wise Men carries a provenance of many small hands touching and holding.

Perhaps it was the interest of children in one of the players--the donkey--that accounts for his absence when the other pieces were found carefully wrapped and packed away. His spindly legs, tiny body, and greyish coat that actually felt fuzzy, must have seemed irresistible to children and at some point he became too crippled to stand. Our cousins Connie & Bill McKinnon found the new donkey, who instantly slipped into his role and is now resting after the journey. Soon he will carry Mother and Babe on the Flight into Egypt.

When Virginia and Andrew Mann were working on the photograph, there seemed a certain mystery involved in the placement of the figures. At some angles the Wise Men were deep in conversation; at others their attention was drawn to the Baby Jesus. The position of the Angels was especially difficult. It seemed to us that the Angels should hover, but these particular ones remained earthbound, the smallest one insisting on center stage and apparently moving slightly when the shutter clicked.

When the figures are reassembled each year they renew their relationships to one another and to our childhood memories of celebrating Christmas. We hope that this card is one that Emily would have enjoyed sending. It is sent to wish you a happy Christmas, 1987.

[Paragraph breaks added for the sake of readability.]

That Was Georgetown in 1950

[December 30th, 1990: Virginia had a letter to the editor published in response to "Is There a Klepto in the Stacks?" The original article is archived on The New York Times website. Virginia's letter was composed as follows...]

To the Editor:

In 1950, when I lived in Washington and possessed a Georgetown public library card, my eyes were opened to the imagination and strategies of those who shelve books in libraries.

My first surprise was in finding Margaret Mead's "Coming of Age in Samoa" in the "Adventure" section, and my second in finding Havelock Ellis's "Studies in the Psychology of Sex" not on the shelves at all. When I made an inquiry, the librarian motioned me to follow her into the closed stacks. There on a secluded shelf for the most-often-stolen books was Havelock Ellis cheek by jowl with "Robert's Rules of Order."

Oh, well, that was Georgetown in 1950.

Virginia Mann
Stanford, Calif.

The Cowgirl

       My first memory of myself before I started school as a six-year-old is set in my grandfather's bedroom. He has struck out for his daily constitutional and I am sure he will not return before lunchtime. I will not disturb anything in his room. When I leave, my image will disappear from his mirror.
       I am standing in front of his bureau with my pistols pulled, wearing my cowboy outfit, practicing the tone of voice in which I will rid the earth of "one more yellow dog". But I am perfectly harmless. My six-shooters do not even have caps. They have been cast off by my two older brothers, as have the chaps and the red bandanna around my neck. I have left my stick horse outside, as he has come to seem ready for pasture. I try different positions for my elbows, different stances for my boots, old ones I found in my brothers' closet.
       I am tired of being the little sister playing with dolls. I want to go alone into the woods. I am not afraid. I can take care of myself. I am looking straight into the mirror--but something moves and I hear a snicker and giggle before the door shuts. I hear my mother, my aunt, and our cook whisper, "Don't let her see us."
       They have vanished from the hall before I can see them eavesdropping. I have been taught that eavesdropping is not polite, that it is sneaky.
       I run upstairs to get rid of the ridiculous clothes and the pistols. I will never again let myself be made fun of. I go outside and find my stick horse. I say goodbye and put him out of his misery.

[Recollection by Virginia McKinnon Mann. December, 2006. Photo (below) by Philip Howard.]

We Children

When we were middle-aged children

(Our father had died young),

We lay on Grandfather's grass

(Mostly weeds cut back)

And watched for shooting stars,

Not guessing we were born right

For the best starry shower of the century:

Not much pollution then either

And no cloud cover in all of Anson County;

But knowing how fortunate we were

Puts the icing on the cake

After the last crumb is eaten.

My God, how we smacked our lips!

[Written by Virginia McKinnon Mann in December, 1993.]



[Photo via San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives.]

The Joy of Poetry Book

One of the joys of reading poems

Is starting anywhere in the Book,

Two-thirds to the end or one third

Any which-a-way:

Also, no need to preheat the oven.

[Written by Virginia McKinnon Mann in December, 1993. Merry Christmas!]

[The above does not appear to be a poetry book, although I'm not sure what it actually is. Still, I think it fits Virginia's poem, at least aesthetically. Via Miami University Libraries on Flickr.]