Daddy was imaginative. He created two characters, “Speedy” and “Good,” a pair of spiders. He acted out their antics with his hands. It was a moral tale, like most children’s stories. “Speedy” was the mischievous one; “Good” was well-behaved. It sparked me to make a version of Speedy and Good by gluing pipe cleaner legs into walnut half shells and drawing on faces with magic markers.

One of the most beloved memories is of the marionettes. The first two belonged to my sister Janette and brother Michael. Geppetto was hers, Pinocchio was his. I loved them, though, possibly even more than they did, although admittedly, they are dear to us all. As a kid, Pinocchio was my favorite book - the real story by Carlo Collidi, not the Disney version. My father would read a chapter, then work the puppets, acting out the story and other adventures, making up a dialogue between them. He even made a wooden puppet stage and other props for them; memory tells me he borrowed some of the furniture from Janette’s Barbie Dream House. I remember how I protested when they had to go to sleep in their shoebox home at night, to have their strings untangled the following day. Later, they hung from the pole lamp with the colorful hobnail shades, and so needed less untangling.

Over the years those two acquired some peers: a pair of Mexican puppets Michael got in California, and a spaceman complete with green light bulb head that my father made as part of a Halloween costume. The puppet who wanted to be a real boy and his woodcarver father expanded their repertoire and came to America, winning new fans among the grandchildren. In the company of the new marionettes, they adopted names like “Alan Jerkson” and made appearances on a cardboard stage that once was a washing machine box, taking part in a parody of a show on the Nashville Network.