Alexander Ulyanov has arrived home from Saint Petersburg for winter. This winter was not as harsh as before, the temperature was closer to zero degrees than ever before. Snow was coming down only hard enough to bring down a small child. There were even some people wearing only two layers under their coats as if it was spring already. He was greeted by his father, his mother, and young Vladimir outside their home in Simbirsk. Alexander has been studying biology and recently won a gold medal for his essay which also got him elected into a scientific society. Both of his parents were beaming with joy as their son is following in similar academic footsteps as them. His father, Ilya, was a math and physics teacher who never found a stable place to teach and his mother, Maria, was an elementary teacher up until she had children. Vladimir was following in similar footsteps in school by achieving high grades and test scores toward his career interests at the age of 15.

They all sit down for a heartwarming plate of pelmeni that the whole family can not live without. Alexander, Vladimir, and their younger sister Olga are the first ones to make work of their delightfully delicate dumplings due to the fact that they treat just about everything as a competition. Their parents beamed with joy seeing their whole family together enjoying a meal and eager to hear about Alexander’s studies.

“Sacha, what is your verdict?” asked Maria.

“This was some good pelmeni mother, it is way better than the slop they feed us in Saint Petersburg” exclaimed Alexander who is known as Sacha among his family.

“I know how much you love pelmeni and what better day to have it on than today” replied  Maria.

“I’ve been tempted to conduct experiments on my food and maybe register a new species one of these days” Alexander joked.

Everything for the Ulyanov family had been working like clockwork. The parents are successful scholars, their children are all on their way to being successful scholars; life was perfect for them. The family appeared to be a production line of the smartest, hardest working Russians ever seen. They were a very faithful family and blessed to have the opportunities presented to them thus far. With the family together to share stories, continue their competitive nature, and eat tasty dumplings time passed by very rapidly. Before they knew it, Alexander had to catch a train for the day trip back to Saint Petersburg.

Everyone was returning to their daily lives and all was normal in Russia. Alexander got to his classes which consisted of either biology or zoology studies which is what he was becoming an expert in. At one point he was getting more involved with a student organization in Saint Petersburg called The People’s Power. Aside from his interests in natural sciences, he kept up with Russian politics and supported more power to the bourgeois and workers of Russia. He lived in a society where anyone that was not a monarch or friends of a monarch had no influence on the country despite the fact that they were the heart and soul of Russia. Alexander and many students wanted to change that and they looked up to a movement called the People’s Will party that were successful in assassinating Tsar Alexander II. They wanted to keep the momentum that the People’s Will got from taking down Tsar Alexander II and improve Russia for the people that truly deserve to be its leaders throughout the century and beyond.

People’s Power wanted to be taken seriously and not just as some students who had an opinion on the Monarchy. Alexander believed that they have the ability to change and would do so by sharing his beliefs in Marxism. He looked up to the work of Karl Marx and went to the extremes by reading Das Kapital which was banned in the country. More needed to be done rather than only reading, documents and books from people who have an ideology he is interested in. Alexander started attending and hosting illegal debates with fellow anti-Tsarists around Saint Petersburg to gain support. He became the organization’s most prominent member over the course of the year, becoming the face of it and Marxism among his peers. Giving speeches and spreading influence was not sufficient enough for the People’s Will according to Alexander. He wanted to do something drastic to take down Tsar Alexander III and was going to take every measure that his death would be undeniable.

Alexander set up a meeting with his comrades: Petr Shevyrev, Pakhomiy Andreyushkin, Vasili Generalov, Vasili Osipanov, and brothers Bronisław and Józef Piłsudski to discuss the Tsar’s assassination. The first order of business was addressing the Tsar’s agenda for the upcoming year and they found the perfect opportunity. Tsar Alexander III would be visiting churches throughout Saint Petersburg on the anniversary of his father’s assassination. The group thought to get him as he passed through the main street of Saint Petersburg because it would cause pandemonium and make escaping very easy. Osipanov suggested shooting from the rooftops, but the idea did not sit well because the sound of gunfire would lead the police and guards straight to them. Bronisław suggested bombs as they could drop them from the shops and disappear among chaos on the ground. He added on that the bombs should be laced with poison to assure no survival of the Tsar if the blast is not enough. Alexander volunteered to create the bombs as chemistry was one of his numerous scientific specialties. Petr, Pakhomiy, Generalov and Osipanov volunteered to position themselves on the rooftops to drop the bombs. The Piłsudski brothers wanted to provide reconnaissance and relay messages to and from Alexander who will be on the ground. A plan was in full force for the People’s Power and one step closer to bringing down the monarchy.

Alexander could not sleep on the last night of February knowing that in a few hours he could be considered a hero along with his comrades. He left his room early in the morning and snuck into a church to pray as he still has not lost his connection to religion like most of his peers. After looking seeing a hint of sunlight permeating the glass, he was out and heading to the meeting point behind a hotel. It was not long before bells were ringing and the vibrations felt for miles out just as Alexander met with the group to go over their plan again. A revision was made and two of the bomb droppers were reassigned to be on the rooftop across the street in case the Tsar’s carriage was closer to one side of the street than the other. Everyone was getting into position, but Bronisław and Józef got very busy when the operation was slowed down. They pulled Alexander aside to let him know the police had detained everyone except for Petr. Alexander ordered them to get him down to the ground, they was a major change of plan. Petr hurried into the alley behind the sandwich shop where Alexander and the Piłsudski brothers were to get filled in. No one was safe anymore, but they still had to get the job done or else they would lose their window of opportunity. They could hear the carriage and numerous footsteps moving closer to their position, so Petr just ran for it and tossed the live bomb inside the royal carriage before running as fast as he could. It worked, the damage was done, bodies were strewn across the street and sidewalks. Time slowed down, it was quiet despite the people running and screaming after what they had witnessed. No one saw where Alexander or the Piłsudski brothers went or what became of them after the assassination. This was not what Alexander wanted, no one from the People’s Power was deemed heroic. If anything they were hanged for the crime they committed and someone equally as terrible as Tsar Alexander III took his place. Russia shrugged off the assassination after Tsar Nicholas II took place and life returned as if nothing

Many years had passed since that fateful day in Saint Petersburg and the Ulyanov family has seen better times. Ilya had passed away, Vladimir and a few of his siblings were exiled or imprisoned for participating with groups similar, but less violent than People’s Power. Tsar Nicholas II feared for his life as both his father and grandfather were killed by revolutionaries, so he did everything in his power to crack down on people. Vladimir under his alias, Lenin, worked carefully and secretly across Russia and Europe to start a movement in Russia. He knew that more needed to be done besides acts of terror or else Tsarism will continue living on in Russia.

Lenin was spearheading several movements against the monarchy, weakening it and strengthening his Bolshevik movement. While Lenin was the face of the Bolsheviks, the working class of Russia, it was a combined effort that he and his advisors worked on. The Bolsheviks were the creation of Vladimir Lenin, Alexander Bogdanov, and Yuri Petrenko; men who believed that they can do what others before them dreamt of. Lenin met Bogdanov in Geneva after he finished reading one of his own papers and from then on they traveled Europe and Russia for support. On their travels they met Yuri at the University of Tartu in Estonia who was a biomedical professor by day and Marxist advocate and supporter by night.  He had a personal collection of banned books by Marx and Engels as well as copies of Lenin’s speeches from Geneva, London, and Munich.

Several months had passed as the movement kept growing and gaining momentum as the fought the government more fiercely. In one attack, they were able to oust Tsar Nicholas II leaving the government very vulnerable because the provincial government could not defend itself even if it tried. Lenin, Bogdanov, and Yuri wanted the final push on to take Russia and they got it on October 25th. Russia belonged to the working class, just as the Bolsheviks wanted. Inside the Winter Palace after the takeover, Lenin was getting ready meet with the entire Bolshevik board when Yuri pulled him aside.

“This was one major step in giving the people the Russia they deserve” stated Yuri.

“We have more work ahead us, but yes. You are correct” replied Lenin.

“So many before us tried to achieve this. I just wish our mother and father were here to see this, brother” said Yuri as Lenin’s seriousness was replaced with joy.

    I became passionate about the topic of cigarettes when my sister made a lasting exclamation to me soon after she had graduated college. She alerted me to the fact that many of her friends now smoked, as in a significant >50% margin of her friends. My sister has never smoked a single cigarette in her life and she certainly wasn’t aware any of her friends had. It really is quite interesting to learn why these young people, in their early to mid twenties, had chosen to take part in an activity that is the number one cause of preventable death in the U.S.

Further, these students were not some high school dropouts that wouldn’t understand a statistic if it hit them in the face. These people were college educated engineers, biologists, chemists; a group of people that believe strongly in the sciences. Yet, they take part in this statistically extremely harmful vice. Their answer for why they partook was also unsatisfactory. Nearly all of them simply answered that they smoked so that they could fit in with their college friend group. These otherwise objective people gave in to simple peer pressure? These adults would throw away 14 years of their life so they could be “with it”? They went on further to say that they felt lonely in a strange environment and wanted to be able to fit in, but that still doesn’t seem like a firm answer. The old saying, “If all your friends jumped off a bridge” comes to mind, would a person really risk everything that comes with cigarettes just for other people?

This phenomenon flabbergasts me, how the tobacco industry uses advertising, propaganda, and the addictive power of nicotine to keep 18% of our population hooked on cigarettes. Even with a plethora of medical research behind the toxicity of cigarettes and a history of ever more stringent regulation, people continue to smoke. They are a huge drain on the medical system, incurring billions of dollars of extra medical aid spent on dying smokers and those affected by secondhand smoke. I am extremely disappointed  that people in this day and age are dying from these “death sticks”.

As a legal adult, I can admit I have smoked a cigarette before and can also proclaim that  for all the hype and pressure around them, cigarettes are a dull disappointment. It was at some lame bonfire party where people were drinking and smoking but I was there because friends had invited me. I was having an enjoyable time and someone offered me a cigarette. I thought, “hey, why not, just one to try it out,” so I lit it up and tried it out. I put the cigarette to my lips, inhaled deeply, and exhaled in a cloud of smoke and coughing. I continued this regimen until all that remained was the stubby orange butt. My forehead wrinkled and I my eyes bore into what remained of the cigarette. That was it? That was all that it offered? For all the hype, for all the people that smoke, for all the damage it causes to society, I was expecting so much more. I tossed the butt, disappointed, and later that night gave my thoughts to my friends at the party who smoked regularly. The same answers seem to come back, “Its cool”, “It helps me relax”, “I do it cause everyone else does”. The same unsatisfactory answers that so boggle my mind, given to me by my peers.

        These, among other reasons, is why I am so interested by the history behind cigarettes, their advertising, and their place in popular culture. How so many people could be convinced to smoke is almost as enthralling as knowing why hundreds of people would willingly drink arsenic laced kool aid. Understanding how the tobacco project has indoctrinated such a large portion of our population through advertising, propaganda, and false science. I am hoping that through this project I will get a better understanding of the motivations behind cigarettes and better ways to go about ridding them from our culture.

The gray grass is not dappled with the snow;

It’s two banks have not shut upon the river;

The two lines of wet ink shined in the early morning New England sun. Robert reread the lines in mumbles through the his lips until he caught onto the rhythm. With light taps on the cover of the Old Testament beneath the sheet of paper, he found the meter in the poem. He always considered the feeling the words left to be more important than the meaning behind them. In the words of Edgar Allan Poe, Robert thought to himself, “Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.” Robert had made a practice of memorizing poets and their works. He would lie and tell his grandfather it was for tests or school assignments, and at first it was true. But he fell in love with poetry, and soon it became less about high marks and more about listening to the beautiful complexity of each stanza.

Once he was satisfied with the sound of the two lines, his focus shifted up to the horizon. In the distance, mills and factories defined the skyline. It seemed like a new six-story building was rising up every other day. He ran his fingers through the fresh dew on the grassy Massachusetts countryside, while letting himself indulge in fantasies about the coming months. Yesterday, he had proposed to Elinor. She said no of course, which was what part of him expected, but Robert had to try. Elinor was beautiful and brilliant; she could have any man she wanted. Initially he had tried to resist the feelings. She was out of his reach and he wanted all of his attention to be on writing. Robert couldn’t afford to give her the life she deserved anyway. He wasn’t a law school student or apprentice in an architectural firm. He was an aspiring poet. But loving her was no longer a choice he could control. She had wandered into his crosshairs, and now the chase was on for her hand. Young Robert, only nineteen years old, knew he needed to build a life around Elinor. Even though she didn’t understand, she respected and admired his intense desire to write. When he dropped out of Dartmouth to focus on writing, it didn’t help their chances of engagement, but it did show that he was bold and daring; another trait she admired. His entire family--aside from his mother--was stunned. They would sigh and say “I don’t know how a man with such a bright future could leave such a promising opportunity.” The worst reaction was the long, disappointed stare from his grandfather that made him reconsider every choice he ever made. In the end, he was confident in his decision and was sure Elinor would see that too.

Robert could see the dust trail of a buggy coming up the road. He flipped open his pocket watch. “Oh shoot!” He folded the paper and tucked it into the book. The thick copy of the Old Testament wiggled beneath his arm as he sprinted up the hill back to his grandfather’s house. The dust cloud was creeping up behind him and he was barely able to make out the outline of a man driving the horses. Once he reached the house he climbed up the stairs and flipped open the book to a marked page.

“Robert come downstairs! We need help unloading the wagon!” His mother called.

“Just a minute Ma!” He called back down the stairs. In the mirror he tucked in his shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow. Before he made his way downstairs, he grabbed a broom from the hallway closet.

She kissed him on the forehead. “Now go help unload.”

“Just finishing up my chores.” Robert grinned a little too wide and leaned the boom against the doorframe.

“Wait-” His mother grabbed his back belt loop. A tinge of fear ran through his spine. She tucked a loose end of his shirt into his pants. “I saw you running up the hill.” She whispered. It turned into a chuckle when she saw the fear in his eyes. “You’re just lucky your grandfather’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be.

“Robert, did you memorize that verse I asked you to this morning?”

“Yes sir. I-”

“Repeat it back to me.” The elder man stopped cutting into his ham and put down his fork and knife. He glared across the table at Robert.

He cleared his throat. “Timothy 5:8 But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.”

“Do you understand what that means?” The old man’s eyes were still fixed on Robert.

“Well I-”

“I’ll tell you what that means!” His fists were balled on either side of his plate. “It means that you need to be spending your time working or doing something of value with your life instead of writing these!” He threw a folded sheet a paper at Robert’s chest.

He choked on his words. “How- How did you-”

“If you’re going to go to such lengths to sneak around, you might think to not hide the evidence in my Bible!”

Robert’s grandmother rested her hand on the old man’s arm. “Remember what the doctor said, if you let your temper get too high, you’ll start feeling sick again.”

Robert hid the rage in his eyes by staring at the bread basket in the center of the oak table. His cheeks were hot and flushed, but it would be more embarrassing to stomp away upstairs like a child.

“All I am asking is that you start taking steps to become financially independent.”

Robert was silent.

“This poetry isn’t going to feed a family Robert. This is why that nice girl Elinor won’t marry you.”

Still, he was silent. He could feel his mother’s sympathetic eyes on him.

“Father can we just eat and discuss this later? Mother and I worked very hard on this meal.”

His grandfather went back to cutting his ham. “Robert, after dinner you and I need to have a talk.”

“Yes sir.”

After he helped his mother clear the table, Robert lingered in the kitchen.

His mother emptied his hands and added the plates to a stack. She sighed “You know your grandfather is waiting for you.”

“I know Ma, that’s what I’m avoiding.” Robert cracked a slight smile.

She tried to look serious, but he could see the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. She pointed towards the door. “Go.”

Robert entered the parlor doors to find his grandfather taking a shot of whiskey in his favorite armchair. His tie was loosened and his shoes were kicked off to the side. “Take a seat son.” The old man gestured to the armchair across from him.

Robert hesitated before sitting down. Trying to have a reasonable discussion while his grandfather was drinking was just as likely as a reasonable discussion when he wasn’t drinking.

“You want to be a writer?” He took another shot. “A poet right?”

“Yes sir.” Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Tell me this: why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?”

“Uh-” This isn’t how he expected the conversation to start. “I love writing and I think I’m good at it I suppose.”

“You ‘spose?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

“No matter what you do in life Robert you can’t just ‘suppose’. You have to know.”

“Yes sir.”

“So tell me again Robert, why do you want to be a writer?”

“Because I’m good at it.”

“That’s better.” The old man handed Robert the glass bottle of liquor. “Here take a swig.”

He downed a shot and felt the warmth of the alcohol spread in his stomach.

“I don’t ‘suppose’ you’re going to give up on wanting to be a writer and see reason?”

“Honestly, no sir.” He could feel himself beginning to lose a little inhibitions. “I’m going to be a writer.”

“You know when I was your age I wanted to be a preacher.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t afford seminary school so I used my savings and bought a farm.” Robert’s grandfather looked across at him.

“You’ve told me this story.”

His grandfather raised his eyebrows and tipped the bottle to his lips. His eyes squinted as the whiskey flowed. “I’ll give you one year.”

“Huh?”

“One year to try your hand as a writer.” He slammed the bottle on the side table. “But after a year if you’re not a success, you get a farm out in the country and get that girl to marry you.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded.

Robert stood up to shake his hand, but he waved it away.

“What are you waiting for?” His grandfather pointed up the stairs. “Times ticking!”

Robert took the poem out of his shirt pocket. After the fifteenth draft, he lost count. Two weeks after his grandfather’s deal, he read over the words of ‘My Butterfly’ one last time before sealing it in an envelope. He carefully addressed it to The Independent and made sure his name was legible. He pasted a stamp in the upper corner and kissed it for good luck.

“Here, let me too.” His mother took the envelope and kissed the seal three times. “For extra good luck.”

He laughed. “I think it’s ready now.” Robert dropped the letter into a box outside the postal office. As he watched it slide in, an all too familiar feeling crept inside of him and tugged at his heart: hope. He had done this several times before; walked down to the post office with his Mother, kiss the envelope, and watch it slip away from his hand into a box probably full with dozens of other submissions. This was a weekly occurrence, almost routine now. Then comes the waiting; the weeks spent twisted in knots of anxiety. The waiting to hear back with either a letter of rejection or offer to publish, was the worst part of the process. He was tired of obsessively checking the mailbox. This time he would receive neither of those, but instead a check of fifteen dollars and a spot for his poem in the November Issue of The Atlantic.

Historical Fiction

Charles Bronson

    Walking down a the narrow street of eastern london, my breath feels heavier than usual. Im not sick or afraid but rather excited. You see the pain in your knuckles from beating your opponents face, cutting his face up so bad you can barely recognize who he is, brings thrill, rush and excitement. Getting cut or a broken rib only adds to the thrill. I had finally reached the end of the street, Johnny had told me to turn left and go past the Chinese Fish Market. I had lived most of my life in Northern Europe and basically spent my twenties in prison, now I'm thirty one and making shit money robbing and fighting. Dont get me wrong I fucking love this shit. Personally I thought prison was fucking great, it was an opportunity and place where my thoughts and ideas could roam wild. Having to suffer these loud cars and crying babies on the street. Thoughts can't even make it out of the factory. Ah bloody hell, what I had to deal with prison guards in the loony bin I think I can deal with people screaming at the top of their lungs trying to make people buy their overpriced apples that taste like shit. They thought I was crazy people screaming to the top of their lungs and old people asking for money. I reminds me a little of prison inmates pleading and screaming their innocence.” HAHAHAHAHAHA”, I can only imagine what people are thinking of me. Walking around in a tank top with sun glasses in mid january. Rubbing my hand against the wall I can feel the creases and the dents between each brick. My fingers run up and down against the wall trying to find the biggest pump without looking at the wall. Using only but my sensory sense. One step after the other I hadn't realized it but I was at the end of the street. I turned left and made my way through Downing street. People freezing layering clothing one piece after the other. I found that very amusing for some reason it reminded me of a Michelin Man. Stepping on the hard concert with my converse that had been sitting in a bin for about fourteen years felt tighter and and worn out, I could feel every rock as if I was walking bare foot. I had just steped into the market, London had been doing good for itself people were walking in and out of stores and women looking at me in disgust I chuckled as I kept walking. The people made me feel sick. A man in one particular store wouldn't stop staring. Sitting outside of his store hands crossed and an apron placed under his arms. I decided to blow of some steam off and scream “What the fuck are you looking at”. “AHAHAH”. Fuck Fuck Fuck!!

I had made it to the last store I turned a right and I was in paradise. Old people looking for treasure in buckets of opportunities. Michelin women asking for money. I stood for a second to take in the beauty. My face would act on its ownand soon I had a grin on my face stretching from ear to ear. The smell of fresh gasoline painted my head with the different colors of spilled gasoline makes in the streets. I loved all of it, from the rusted pipes to the coal staind bricks. After a good chuckle I began walking again Singing my arms as if I wear a character from those Chaplin films. boy was he funny. I reached the street the bar would be on. I walked a block or to befor my heart began to pound again and my stomach felt like it was ten steps behind me. My mind once again was speeding up and creating images of my destroying his face in. “HAHAHAHA”

Every other step there were cracks on the street. Weeds had been growing next to the wall. I could see the Irish looking pub from a couple of streets down and my feet began to walk at a faster pace. befor I knew it I was walking on homecoming traffic Cars began to swerve and pull over A man pulled over and got out of his car and before he could say anything I turned around and started heading towards his car. “FUCK YOU” that was enough to keep him in his car in utter awe. As I kept walking I stepped back onto the street and began to make my way to the back of the bar. “Charlie You're late”

“Fuck You”. “Ya ya, Just make sure you fucking make my money”. I walked into the bathroom took my shirt of along with my glasses. I looked into the mirror. “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING LOOKING AT”. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” I banged my head against the mirror and pulled the door open. Walking In the hallway I could hear the announcer promoting the fight. I. “And in this corner the the Mean English Charles Bronson”.

Whether it be childrens books or magazine covers, illustration is incorporated into our everyday lives more than we think. Illustration is a broad field and can be used in various areas of work giving you the option to work alone or for a company. Acrylic, oil, and pen just scratch the surface of the many mediums used in the illustration field. Edward Gorey is a widely known twentieth century illustrator born in Chicago, Illinois. He experienced success at a young age when his cartoon was published in the local newspaper where he grew up and even more when he went to Harvard University. Known for his book “The Unstrung Harp,” his small but very intricate pen and ink drawings create a dark and whimsical universe. Many refer to Gorey’s work as macabre, a word he wouldn't agree with. But however you describe his work, there is no doubt his creativity is boundless, even when thinking he spends many of his days by himself inside with his many cats. Gorey finds a sense of comfort in making bean bags while watching “The Golden Girls” on TV, or when he makes the white toast with cinnamon to  offer to anyone who comes over for a visit. These little things make it  easy to think due to his introvert characteristics that not going out much could stunt his creativity. Even though Edward Gorey was considered a “recluse” throughout his life, his lack of leaving the house did not result in him living anything but a fulfilled life.

Edward Gorey was considered a very melancholic man. Even in his college years at Harvard University with Frank O’Hara, a famous writer, poet, and art critic he was known as the quieter of the two. Although O’Hara and Gorey were known for throwing the best parties in Mower Hall, Gorey was still the mellower of the two, usually opting to stay in the dorm when it came to social gathering. Gorey was later asked about this time period in his life and he replied “All of us were obsessed. Obsessed by what? Ourselves, I expect.” College often makes people feel older than they really are due to being in a different environment than they were previously. Gorey being “obsessed” with himself could've been a blessing in disguise, giving him crucial time to develop his quality of work and brainstorm ideas for potential pieces. Many of the drawings he did during this time were later refined and used in his published books. Drawing was where Gorey felt most solace.

    Edward Gorey’s inspiration could have easily been influenced by the TV shows, books, movies, and plays he watched. He was known to never miss a New York Ballet performance or an episode from the ABC Soap Opera series “All my Children,” two things Gorey took very seriously in his life. If he wasn't making an appearance at the theater in his long fur coat and white sneakers or sewing hacky sacks while watching the TV, he could be found at the movie theater, by himself. Alexander Theroux, one of Gorey’s close friends said in an interview; “Edward was one of the few people I ever knew who did exactly what he wanted”, “he went his own way.” Edward Gorey went against the grain and did as he pleased, as long as it made him happy, he would do it without exceptions. He absorbed all the arts and culture he immersed himself in and used it to feed the creativity that showed prominently in his work.

Gorey’s personality and lifestyle choices showed and contributed to his art. Besides his six cats, to whom he felt closer than his friends, a different side of Gorey would emerge at the ring of a doorbell. Theroux would talk about his visits with Gorey and how although he would talk to him in a quiet melancholic tone, the minute a fan would ring the doorbell his personality would lighten up immediately. “You never knew what Edward would show up. He had many sides” says Theroux. It was easy to see that Gorey’s mind was always going, always in one place and then another. "He would sew beanbags while he watched television," Theroux says of Gorey's eclectic habits. "He went to the movies almost every night. He could segue from reading a book on Wittgenstein to watching The Golden Girls. He was curious about everything, which is a great virtue in a person. He needed to have a lot of movement in his mind, a lot of water going over the stones in his mind." From what Gorey displayed, his creativity and art was often similar to this. The small characters and creatures he was known for in his books would radiate his personality.

Edward Gorey was a recluse but liked the satisfaction of knowing others enjoyed his work. He enjoyed it so much he even had himself listed in the New York phonebook, open for fans to call him anytime of the day. "He was a very poor hermit," says Theroux. "Goth people would flock over there — and he would say, 'We've got customers.' They'd say, 'I love your work!' and start gushing, and he'd say, 'Thank you ... now what?' But he was always very accessible, and people would always stop over to see him.” Gorey seemed to be torn between having time to himself to draw and sonder yet craved the recognition of the hours of hard work he poured into his work. Being alone seemed to make Gorey happy, it was a time for him to solely focus on the world he created in his books and in his head although he also wanted to feel connected with his surroundings.

    Gorey’s life decisions showed his creative independence strongly. Shortly after returning from World War II, Gorey enrolled at The Chicago Art Institute, which he later dropped out of during the first semester. Shortly after, he began his degree in French at Harvard University. His dear friend Theroux described Gorey as “a true free spirit; a curious, kind and adventurous soul,” "Edward was one of the few people I ever knew who did exactly what he wanted," he says, "He went his own way." Gorey displays how independence and trust in oneself can be beneficial when you have ambition and desire. It was easy to see that even though he went “against the grain” and did what others may have been hesitant to do.

Whether it’s admiration for his writing lines, or drawing lines, Edward Gorey is truly an idol for people in a creative line of work. His creativity shows us that it is not just about experiencing a bunch of different things but about immersing yourself in things you enjoy even if you are the only one doing them. Gorey's work has inspired many artists we see today. Whether it be the whimsical scenery of Tim Burton movies, or the dark humorous characters in Lemony Snicket, Gorey’s life was dedicated to his work which gave him the opportunity to live his life and many others through his books.

NPR Staff. "The Life of Edward Gorey, Told by an Old Friend." NPR. N.p., 19 Feb. 2011. Web.29Jan.2015.<http://www.npr.org/2011/02/20/133869853/the-life-of-edward-gorey-told-by-an-old-friend>.

“The Life of Edward Gorey, Told by an Old Friend” is a piece written by the MPR staff with collaboration by writer Alexander Theroux who not only wrote a book about Gorey shortly after he died, but was one of his very close friends. Through out the article Theroux talks about Edward Gorey’s fascination with pen and ink and the creepy “melancholy” that can be seen through his work. We learn about one reason for his work being strictly in black and white due to the difficulties of publishing colored books in the 1950’s. Theroux also shares more personal things about gorey like his favorite phrase; “I dont even know” and the joy he found in sewing beanbags while watching Tv soap operas like “All my children”. This article clearly honors Edward Gorey’s life and gives us an insight on him on a more personal level.

Lumenello, Susan. "Edward Gorey." Harvard Magazine. N.p., Mar. 2007. Web. 29 Jan. 2015. <http://harvardmagazine.com/2007/03/edward-gorey.html>.

In Harvard Magazine’s article on Edward Gorey we are given a more personal look into the early years of edward gorey’s life and the small quirks that makes him the eccentric artist that he was. The article talks about Gorey being born and raised in chicago, illinois and briefly covers his draft into World War II. We learn about his college roommate Writer, Poet, and Art Critic Frank O’Hara and the huge parties they would throw at Harvard University Together. Gorey came up with many of his drawings during his time at harvard which he then years later would refine. It also briefly talks about how he would have 6 cats at a time and the raccoons that he graciously allowed to lived in his attic.

Society of Illustrators. N.p., 2012. Web. 29 Jan. 2015. <http://www.societyillustrators.org/

Awards-and-Competitions/Hall-of-Fame/Past-Inductees/2012--Edward-Gorey.aspx>.

The Society of Illustrators is a 114 year old organization that has been devoted to appreciating the history of the always growing field of Illustration. In this piece about Edward Gorey we learn about his earlier successes like having a comic piece in the local newspaper at only 13 years old and about his impact on the beginning on the graphic novel moment. After the Army, Gorey enrolled in the The Art Institute of Chicago and then into Harvard. Through out his illustration career, many of his books have been translated into as many as 15 different languages.

Dery, Mark. "Nightside Is Growing like Weeds." The New York Times. N.p., 2 Mar. 2011. Web.29Jan2015.<http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/arts/design/06gorey.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0>.

In The New York Times “Nightshade is growing like weeds” they strictly talk about goreys career as an artist and very little on his personal life. Through out the article he is described as the “master of macabre” a word Gorey himself said he hated being described with. We learn Lemony Snicket's envy for Edward gorey and how he considered himself to be a “complete rip off of Edward Gorey” at the time him was writing his well known book “A series of Unfortunate Events”. This article also talks about the “obvious debt” Tim Burton owes to Edward Gorey, whether he admits it or not.

Edward Gorey. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Jan. 2015.<http://www.nybooks.com/books/imprints/classics/men-and-gods/>.

New York Review Books is an accredited online book review site that talks about various fiction and nonfiction novels and writers. On their brief article about Edward Gorey it talks about a him being more of a writer than an artist. The article talks about Gorey being known how hand letting his type and his talent in capturing snippets of “his whole little personal world”. Near the end of the article it talks about the enormous library gorey that is now in possession of San Diego State. The University is know to hold 25,000 books from his personal library along with an impressive collection of Gorey’s books as well.

September 12, 1962

Dear Mr. President,

I am honored that you have called upon NASA in this time of need.

To be quite frank, your speech yesterday took me by surprise. As the director of the Space Task Group at Langley Research Center, the Apollo missions will be under my jurisdiction.

Though it came as a surprise, I ensure you NASA will do its best to fulfill your wish. We will start the Apollo program immediately.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 14, 1962

Dear Mr. Gilruth,

I apologize that I did not inform you about the Apollo program before my speech at Rice University. I did not want the Soviet Union to intercept the message and I wanted the United States’ citizens to be the first to know of my space endeavors. I wanted to reassure them personally, rather than risk the chance that the public would hear of the Apollo program through rumors or espionage.

The Soviet Union’s achievements are great, and in order to prove the United States is a country of equal military, political, and nuclear power, we must utilize all of our resources. By sending a man to the moon, the United States will accomplish something so great the Soviet Union will have a hard time performing something better.

The United States is competing with the Soviet Union, not only in the nuclear and space arenas, but also in the economic and political arenas. The US is using the space arena as a platform to show the USSR that capitalism and democracy are better than communism. We must send a man to the moon to demonstrate our superiority. I appreciate your enthusiasm in the Apollo program and I look forward to working with you throughout the process.

Sincerely,

President John F. Kennedy

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 18, 1963

Dear Mr. Gilruth,

I am beginning to worry about the urgency of the Apollo missions. Today USSR sent the first woman into space. In doing so, they once again surprised the United States’ citizens. Though we can not to do anything to hinder their progress, we must do something to reassure the American people.

The Soviet Union’s technology is advancing greatly and rapidly and I am concerned about the speed at which we are advancing ours.

With each grand achievement of the USSR, the more frightened and unassured the American people are growing. I hate to rush you, because that could lead to mistakes, but the American people need to know that the United States of America is not falling behind in this new age of space.

Sincerely,

President John F. Kennedy

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

May 20, 1963

Dear Mr. President,

We are on track to start testing prototypes of instruments and designs in the near future. We plan to send them on space flights for the Saturn Program. The Apollo designs will be ready for testing this time next year.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

November 22, 1963

Dear Mr. President,

It is with great sorrow and regret that I am writing this letter. It is disheartening that your dream could not be accomplished in your lifetime. It was an honor to be able to work with you on the United States’ space program.

I will forever be personally indebted to you for strengthening my position as director of the Manned Spacecraft Center at NASA. Additionally, your efforts in making the United States the world’s leader in space technology will never be forgotten. I will do everything I can to progress as quickly as possible with the Apollo program. The program’s trials are scheduled to begin on time in May.

I assure you, your promise to land a man on the moon and return him safely to Earth by the end of the decade will not be forgotten. I will do everything in my power to realize your dream.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 24, 1964

Dear Mr. President,

Today the country is still mourning your death. President Johnson was sworn in the day of your death and he established a committee to investigate your assassination. The Warren Commision, as it is called, has been examining your case since it happened ten months ago. We are reminded of our great loss everyday in the newspaper and on television as the Warren Commision informs us of their progress. Today they officially concluded that a man named Lee Harvey Oswald was responsible. Oswald had been a suspect since it happened and he was killed two days after you, before he was able to stand trial. All of this is truly saddening; Oswald should have been tried and he should have had to serve his punishment.

On a more optimistic note, about four months ago NASA launched its first of many tests for the Apollo program. On this mission we tested the boilerplate model. On subsequent missions, we plan to test this further, along with micrometeoroid satellites and lunar modules.

Your death has given us even more drive and purpose. We refuse to have all this effort and passion go in vain. Though the United States of America and NASA are still grieving, we will continue to strive for greatness.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

April 3, 1966

Dear Mr. President,

It has been a while since I last sent you a letter. Three years after America suffered through a national tragedy, we are still sorrowful. Though President Johnson is offering great support to the US citizens and NASA, we miss your unwavering encouragement and attention. Despite this, we continue to progress.

Since I last sent you a letter, the USSR has achieved great things. One Soviet cosmonaut has performed a spacewalk, spending 12 minutes outside of his spacecraft. They have also landed a satellite on the mood. Additionally, today, they sent a satellite into lunar orbit.

Their accomplishments haven’t gone without return, however. On June 3rd of last year, Ed White performed America’s first spacewalk, and just six months later, an American spacecraft took close up images of Mars.

We are still working hard to land a man on the moon. With four years left, we are well on our way.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 16, 1969

Dear Mr. President,

Today NASA launched Apollo 11. This mission is the accumulation of eight Apollo missions before it, as well as all of you hard work. We couldn’t have done it without your initial proposition and drive. Once again, I owe this success to you. I look forward to writing you once the mission makes further progress.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 20, 1969

It was a success! Today, at 20:18 UTC, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin stepped on the moon. They planted a flag to show the world that America is the world’s leader is the space arena.

Robert R. Gilruth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 24, 1969

Dear Mr. President,

I am very happy to report that the three astronauts who traveled into space eight days ago have landed safely in the North Pacific Ocean.
 

I am sorry that you are not around to see the relief and happiness on every face in America. We have finally accomplished the goal you came up with about eight years ago. It is with great honor that I have been able to realize your dream.

Sincerely,

Robert R. Gilruth