HANDYMAN #7 IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. FINALLY!

Yeah, I know it’s long past the date I originally promised, but as John Lennon so aptly put it: “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”

I fervently hope to have the finished book to you in 2026.

Until then, here’s an excerpt:

          Ed ran down the back walk, dodging raindrops, arriving at the carriage house shaking the rain he had not dodged off as he entered the workshop. The dark room’s red light was not on, so he knocked and entered. Rex was bent over the small counter studying a piece of paper. He looked up and asked, “Papa, which one of these do you like better?”

          Ed looked and saw, in Rex’s handwriting, REX STEPHENS and REX BENTON. “Dad likes Rex Stephens. He says that sounds more like a name for a globetrotting photographer.”

          “Is that what you want to be? A globetrotting photographer?”

          Rex shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that if I ever get any credit for any photos I take, I don’t want the Kennedy clan to take any of the credit.”

           “Well, it doesn’t surprise me your dad picked my last name. He’s never been too fond of his own, especially after all those high school creeps went around calling him ‘Bent.’”

          “Do you mind? If I change my last name to yours?”

          “Of course not. I’m honored. But changing your name legally, I hear, can be a process and expensive. For now, why don’t you just use it as your…oh, professional name.”

          “That works,” Rex said, settling the issue. He reached for a manila folder and pulled out an issue of Natural Indiana magazine. “I needed to know what name to use for my entry.”

          “Huh?”

          “The contest!” Rex’s green eyes flashed with excitement. “This magazine is having a photo contest for amateur photographers. You have to be eighteen and a resident of Indiana, so I can enter.”

          Ed flipped through the magazine. He had vague memories of seeing it before, maybe at the dentist’s office, he thought. He found the information on the contest. “Two hundred fifty bucks for first prize,” he said. “Modest but not bad at all for a state magazine.”

          “Plus they’ll print the winning photo and the four runners up! And they’ll consider sending the winner out on a genuine photo assignment somewhere in the state. The theme of the contest is ‘Hoosier Dreams,’ and I’ve got the coolest fucking idea ever for a photo.”

          Ed grinned at his enthusiasm. “What’s your idea?”

          “It’s gonna be a picture of you.”

          “Me!”

          “Yeah!”

          “Why me? Why not your dad?”

          “Because Dad doesn’t go to work in jeans and work boots, and an old faded blue cap with frayed edges.”

          “I’ll let him borrow them.”

          Rex signed. “Get with the program, Pop. Look, when I think of a dreaming Hoosier I don’t exactly see Dad planting a FOR SALE sign in someone’s yard. What I do see are the hardworking men who cleared the forests for farmland and did all that other shit you had to do ‘way back when’ to earn a living.”

          “You’re gonna put me in the nineteenth century?”

          “No, no,” Rex shook his head. “Look: Grandma’s great-grandparents moved here from Kentucky to homestead, right? You’re a descendant of that same energy. The dream is just different. And,” he rolled his eyes, “if you’re getting all self-conscious, I’m only gonna shoot you in one quarter profile. You have a great profile, Pop, better than Dad’s. His face is kinda round, but you have some interesting angles.” He reached out and began tracing his finger on Ed’s face. “Yeah, definitely the right side,” he murmured to himself.

          Ed took a step back. “So are we going out in the rain and do this in the backyard?”

          “No. In a couple of days. The weather forecast says once this rain moves on we’re supposed to have clear and cool weather. You know, stay cool because of that volcano that erupted last year in The Philippines, kind of like another year without a summer.”

          “Are we getting back to the nineteenth century? That’s when that happened.”          

          “Yeah, I know,” Rex said impatiently. “Back when you were an infant.”

          “You wanna take my picture or do you want me to break your camera?”

          “Hee!” Rex let go with his usual sound of amusement. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. It was too easy. Anyway, all that… dust or whatever in the environment is making the sunrises and sunsets even more colorful than usual. So when there aren’t any clouds, we’ll do it.”

          “At sunset.”

          “At sunrise.”

          Ed sighed. “I gotta get up early? Do you know how early sunrise is in June?”

          “Aw, Pop, it’s for art.”

          “No, it’s for my wacko son. Have you gotten something planned in the yard, or what?”

          Rex jiggled his foot. “That’s the best part. We’re going to do it at Lost Bridge.”

          “Oh,” Ed said.

          Lost Bridge wasn’t actually lost in any real sense. It simply didn’t exist anymore. the Wabash River cut through Stratton County on its far western edge and made a turn to the south by the tiny farming community of Riverbend. At some point in the mid-sixties, INDOT (The Indiana Department of Transportation), rerouted the state highway near Riverbend through the town, building a more modern bridge over the river. The old rickety, somewhat dangerous back road bridge was removed, and barricades were installed on both sides. Ed began to understand Rex’s vision.

          “It’s perfect,” Rex said. “If we shoot it on the Riverbend side, you can stand by the barricade, looking at the sunrise, which comes up over farm fields, which ain’t lookin’ real good right now ‘cause of the weather. It symbolizes so much; the abandoned bridge site, the poor field conditions, and a man standing there, dreaming of something better for the future.”

          Ed nodded, impressed. Rex had given this a lot of thought and had the confidence to visualize what he saw. “Okay. I’m in, kid.”