Spidercamp

Terry Gross

Terry Gross is the host and co-executive producer of Fresh Air, one of NPR's most popular and long-running programs. She has a friendly, warm manner that makes me absolutely not give a damn who she's talking with - if she's on the radio, I will listen. Her voice has been described as sensual, sexy, delicious, and even intoxicating. The best description I found was that of cultural critic Greil Marcus, who says Terry's approach is "eager, but not naive." An empathetic and curious interviewer, she is always courteous to her guests, and I've never heard her sound disinterested in anything. Sometimes, she giggles.

Terry was born in 1951 and grew up in Brooklyn. She earned a BA in English and a Master's degree in communications from SUNY at Buffalo. After grad school, Terry briefly went into teaching, but felt "totally unequipped" for the position and was unable to work happily within the school system. Then she was fired anyway, which left her to fall back on a job at Buffalo's public radio station, where she had been volunteering.

That was 1973, the beginning of Terry's long career in radio broadcasting. In Buffalo she began producing and hosting several programs focusing on the arts, public affairs, and women's issues. She helped host a very popular feminist program which discussed such still-taboo topics as childbirth and menstruation.

Only two years later, she joined the staff of WHYY in Philadelphia as a producer and host of Fresh Air, which was then only a local program, broadcast live daily. Ten years later, in 1985, a weekly half-hour edition of Fresh Air was nationally distributed by NPR. Because the show was so awesome, it was soon expanded to an hour, and then three hours, aired five times a week. This was popular but an impossible pace to keep up, so the show was scaled back down to one hour. Fresh Air is now distributed to more than 400 stations nationwide, as well as in Europe on the World Radio Network. Terry's charming voice is heard by nearly four million people each week.

Terry never interviews anyone without first arming herself with extensive research. In the beginning she did all this research herself, but now she has a staff to help her dig up information which may have gone overlooked by most media. It's not all up to the assistants: Terry reads at least one book a day, as well as countless periodiocals, and stays up-to-date on new movies and music. "I don't think of myself as having any tricks... the main thing I try to do is know the most I can about a person and their work. I think the more you know about someone, the more you genuinely care about who they are, the more likely they are to trust you with the story of their life." This approach has earned her three decades' worth of unique conversations with authors, actors, artists, political figures, and interesting people you might otherwise have never heard of. Between Fresh Air and her frequent guest-hosting of NPR's All Things Considered, she has conducted more than ten thousand interviews.

(An outstanding moment, one of many: Terry's open discussion of pornography with Hustler publisher Larry Flynt prompted him to give her the most unusual compliment of her career: "You really did a terrific job on those questions about the genitalia," he told her after the interview.)

Hardly a face for radio, she's remarkably cute as a button for a lady in her 50s. Her pixie haircut, smart-girl glasses, and frequent interviews with gay guests often make people assume she is a lesbian, but she is not.

When asked her opinion on her own wonderful voice, Terry is sweetly self-deprecating: "Early on I was sure - and I am still sure - that I was able to stay in radio in spite of my voice. In my early days in radio, when I was really nervous, I think I sounded a little bit like Minnie Mouse doing a feminist program."

While doing this research, the best thing I found was a transcript of Terry's interview with William Gibson (http://tinyurl.com/42pva), which is bound to be so lovely that I actually haven't read it yet - I'm saving it, like the last piece of cake.

http://www.lectures.org/gross.html
http://freshair.npr.org/about_fa.jhtml
http://talentdevelop.com/briefqu.html
http://wupa.wustl.edu/asmbly/bio/Gross
http://dir.salon.com/mwt/feature/1998/06/cov_22feature.html

Eurotard

(Sometimes I just love the world. Sue me, it's a factual.)

Eurotard is an Atlanta-based company which manufactures specialty dance and fitness garments for athletes and dancers. "Ballet, Jazz, Ballroom, Liturgical, Swing, Modern and Square Dancing; Gymnastics, Skating, Cheerleading, or Entertaining; Whatever your passion, Dress for Success, Style and Comfort with Eurotard." (...liturgical?)

The origin of this company's name is not explicitly explained on its website. I assume the concept is simply "European" + "leotard," but I don't care because I am a terrible person as well as a child and it's a hilarious word.

Eurotard's line of clothing includes leotards, tights, aerobic wear, "cover-ups," gymnastics uniforms, cheerleading outfits, and ballet shoes. They offer sizes for adults as well as children.

Not only does Eurotard provide apparel for everyday dancers and gymnasts, but also for professional sports teams, including the Atlanta Hawks, the Atlanta Falcons, the Sugar Bowl, and the Atlanta Para-Olympics. (I am not kidding or making fun in the least - this appears on the site's "About" page. It seems more than a little crass to clothe the disabled in tights that say TARDS on the label, but maybe I'm overreacting.)

The website suffers from several irritations, not the least of which is the constant flashing assortment of prancy ladies. Also their catalog is broke. Also, maybe I can't count in European, but I think there's something seriously wrong with their size charts: the height and weight parameters are wack; people who need an XL should not be shorter than those who need L.

https://www.eurotard.com/index2.htm

Roy Sullivan

Roy Sullivan was a forest ranger in Virginia who is recognized by the Guinness Book of World Records as being the most lightning-struck (stricken?) person ever recorded in history. Over a 35-year span, he survived seven separate lightning strikes. (The last one didn't kill him; he took his own life, supposedly over a love gone wrong.)

* 1942: The first lightning strike shot through Roy's leg and blew his big toenail off.

* 1969: 27 years after the first incident, Roy's second strike burned off his eyebrows and knocked him unconscious.

* 1970: Another strike burned his left shoulder. By this point, people were already starting to call Roy the "Human Lightning Rod."

* 1972: Roy's hair was set on fire; he had to dump a bucket of water over his head. This convinced him to keep a container of water in his truck at all times, just in case.

* 1973: Another thunderbolt ripped through his hat and hit him on the head, set his hair on fire again (the water came in handy), threw him out of his truck and knocked his left shoe off.

* 1976: A sixth strike left him with an injured ankle.

* 1977: The last one got him while he was fishing, and sent him to the hospital with chest and stomach burns.

Roy was born on February 7, 1912, and his astrological chart reportedly does show a prominence of "lightning planets." I could find no other biographical information on the man, except the fact that he never did understand what was up with all the lightning. The average person's chances of being struck by lightning vary due to location and personal habits. Estimated chances of being struck (once) are estimated at one in 600,000. The Guinness World Exhibit Halls have two of Roy's lightning-singed ranger hats on display.

www.theatlantic.com/issues/95nov/almanac.htm
http://www.exploratorium.edu/ronh/weather/weather.html
http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa072400a.htm
http://www.stariq.com/pagetemplate/article.asp?PageID=1895

hummingbirds don't sing

Sure they do.

Most people think hummingbirds make no noises at all. Untrue. Of course they all hum - you can hear them coming from several feet away. Their wings hum at 80 beats a second during regular flight, 200 beats/second during highspeed dives.

Most species of hummingbird (there are lots) have been observed to twitter and give static-like chase notes. Aside from this, though, there are some hummingbirds with actual songs, often very complex arrangements of notes, sort of like a high-pitched canary. To hear a recording, visit http://www.learner.org/jnorth/spring2001/species/humm/Update021501.html.

The mexican wedge-tailed sabrewing hummingbird engages in a lek courtship ritual. 15 or so males congregate in a bush and sing to attract the ladies. A hummingbird may sing for over a minute without pausing. Different songs are used to signify interest in a female and defiance towards another territory-invading male.

Their songs are a mixture of gurgles and squeaks, which sounded to one researcher like "a buzzing insect caught in a babbling brook." Steve Howell, in his Guide to the Birds of Mexico and Northern Central America, described it as "a loud, prolonged, gurgling warble interspersed with squeaky chipping, starting typically with hesitant, nasal, reedy, insect-like chippering which may go on for minutes before breaking into full song."

The only common American species known to sing is the Anna's. Most American hummingbirds do not sing but do have a series of specific squeaks. The ones without proper songs rely on their gorgets for courtship displays, and to threaten territory intruders.

There has not been a great deal of research on hummingbirds. They're small and quick and a bitch to catch, and the babies require feeding every ten minutes round the clock, due to their crazy metabolisms. Banding isn't a workable option, as their legs are too small to accommodate even the tiniest bands; plus, they are so lightweight, any band would upset their balance and interfere with flight.

So, it took quite a long time for hummingbirds to be investigated as thoroughly as other species. It wasn't until the early 90s that a hummingbird's brain was mapped. The coolest thing these scientists discovered was that hummingbirds' songs are learned.

This is not the case with most animals. Only humans, whales, dolphins, bats, and some birds are known to have the ability to learn vocalizations. If you take a kitten away from its mother, it's still going to say mew mew. Most animals can figure out what noises they're supposed to make without any parental help. Baby hummingbirds, taken away from their parents, would still know how to chirp, but they're also capable of learning a whole world of complicated combinations of sounds.

Vocal learning has been repeatedly demonstrated in two bird orders, Passeriformes (specifically, the oscine songbirds) and Psittaciformes (parrots), and, most recently, the Trochiliformes (hummingbirds). These three groups are widely separated from one another on the avian family tree, but their brains are quite similar. The same areas that control song learning and song production in songbirds and parrots are also present in the brains of hummingbirds. It was found that the songs of green hermit hummingbirds living in Costa Rica are different from those of the same species living in Trinidad. Weird.

http://www.wbu.com/edu/hummer.htm
http://www.mschloe.com/hummer/huminfo.htm
http://www.wvu.edu/~agexten/wildlife/hummer.PDF
http://web.missouri.edu/~multgord/wedge-tailed.shtml
http://www.amnh.org/naturalhistory/media/1000_media.html
http://www.amnh.org/naturalhistory/features/1000_feature.html

lek

Lek, n. Where boy birds display their flava for the ladies.

Some birds' courtship rituals are one-on-one. The mockingbird prefers the direct approach, choosing one female and dancing just for her, face to face. Many birds would rather increase the odds of getting some featherplay by pooling their resources. During mating season, the males of a species will gather in one communal area and commence to singing, strutting, preening, beating each other up, and generally showing off for the girls. Each defends a small display territory of his own. The more dominant males usually dance toward the center of the area, and the wallflowers hang back.

Depending on the species, the lek may be a clearing or an area thick with foliage. It is usually quite small. The lek is not used for feeding, nor for the actual mating. Once a pair is decided, the birds retreat to a more private area for their mutual satisfaction.

In a lek mating system, no permanent pair bonds are formed, and no paternal care will be given to the resulting offspring. Often, after mating, the male goes right back to the lek for a little more.

"Lek" is also used as a verb, as, "The sage grouse leks in display."

http://www.zoo.ufl.edu/be/pages/glossI_L.html
http://www.nhm.org/birds/guide/page050.html
http://www.virtualmuseum.ca/Exhibitions/Birds/MMMN/English/glossary_data.html

ILC Dover

ILC Dover is a privately-owned manufacturing company which lives at One Moonwalker Road, Frederica, Delaware. They make spacesuits. ILC has been putting US astronauts in space jammies since the Apollo program (that's 33 years). So far, in the whole history of manned spaceflight, there have only been about 80 spacewalks which required suits. Over the next four or five years, as we and Russia build the international space station, more than 150 walks are planned - and they all require pressurized pants. So, over the past year, ILC has tripled its sewing work force. Which isn't so easy; their space station programs manager says, "You don't find people out on the street holding signs saying, 'Will sew spacesuit gloves for food.' " The plant employs about 450 people; half do space-related work. They come from a wide variety of seamstressy backgrounds. Some used to make suitcases, some used to make wedding gowns. ILC's shuttle manufacturing trainer says the ones who have craft-related training, and those used to completing difficult and meticulous projects, do best. The space suits are made up of modular arm, leg, and torso units in mix-and-match sizes. Custom-fitted boots and gloves are made using laser scans of plaster casts of space guys. On Earth, the suits weigh close to 300 pounds, but in space they ain't nothin. Last year, the company had about $20 million in space-related sales. They also manufacture gas masks for the Army, air bags for landings of unmanned space vehicles, airship fabrics, and containment bags used in pharmaceutical manufacturing. Other products from their website: * Chemturion (TM): Your Suit of Armor in Hazardous Environments * Vapor Guard: The Ultimate in Odor Containment * The ILC Model 19 Cool Vest is a completely portable cooling garment worn to aid in maintaining worker comfort and safety in extremely warm environments for extended periods of time. Through the use of a centrifugal pump, chilled water is circulated throughout the series of passages within the vest. The unit is machine washable and costs $285. Suggested Applications: foundries, forgeries, theme park characters.

www.cnn.com www.ilcdover.com

Pyrophone

A pyrophone is a musical instrument dependent on flame for sound. There have been many variations on the pyrophone's construction, but generally it consists of a console hooked to a keyboard connected to a series of glass or metal pipes, sometimes as many as 300, rising up into a rough pyramid. Think of a pipe organ drunkenly lurching off in all directions into the sky, with flames shooting out the top. Look, it's beautiful: http://artists2.iuma.com/IUMA/Bands/Large_Hot_Pipe_Organ/

In some pyrophones, the flame is applied in a very controlled manner, through a precise computerized mechanism; in others, pyrophonists (?) apply the flame by hand, using propane torches and gas cylinders intended for hot-air balloons. The sounds which result may range from dependably clear, steady tones to more discordant, unpredictable noises, described by one reference as "a menagerie of whoops, shrieks and moans." Probably ghastly - but wouldn't you like to hear it? (I searched for an online recording but could find none.)

In one variant, the flame is not put directly into the tube. Rather, it heats a piece of metal, which is placed into the tube at a specific point. The heat source is removed, and an exchange of heat begins within the tube. This exchange causes a vibration of air within the pipe. The vibration lasts several seconds, which allows a player to make other sounds simultaneously. The resulting harmonies are often described in organic terms, usually as animal noises ranging from slight shallow breaths to terrible screams.

References to a "burning harmonica" or "chemical harmonica" have been traced back to the late 1700s. A century later, physicist Georges Fredric Eugene Kastner published Les Flammes Chantantes (1875), a description of his pyrophone, or "fire organ." Most later references to fire music take Kastner's prototypical pyrophone as a starting point.

There are not many modern pyrophones. They're cumbersome and difficult to control. Air flow and pressure fluctuations within the pipes tend to extinguish the flame. But of course those crazy kids at Burning Man found it worthwhile: http://www.trailertrashman.com

www.skellington.com/bm00/bmfire.html
http://www.deadmedia.org/notes/16/162.html
http://www.windworld.com/emi/articles/pyronw.htm
http://perso.club-internet.fr/orguafeu/english/fireorg.htm

chivaree

A chivaree (also "shivaree") is an old custom of harassing the hell out of newlyweds on their wedding night. I had always thought of it as being an Appalachian tradition, but it is far more widespread, cropping up under different names in most regions of the US.

On the evening after the ceremony, the married couple goes home (or to the in-laws' house, or the honeymoon cottage). As soon as they turn out the lights, the neighbors go crazy. Surrounding the house, they cause as great a commotion as possible, banging on pots and pans, playing any musical instuments they can get their hands on, and of course yelling and yelling. There are records of people bringing shotguns and dynamite to a chivaree, for maximum disturbance.

If the chivaree takes place on a wagon train, the troublemakers will jostle the honeymoon wagon back and forth. This delights me.

The noise-makers will not go away until the couple makes an appearance, and this, I'd imagine, is where the filthiest comments and catcalls come in. In literature, brides are often depicted as being notoriously un-fond of the chivaree, and this is likely why.

The couple may shoo away the neighbors, or invite them in for treats. Sometimes the chivaree-ers may bring their own treats, turning the event into a late-night potluck. From what I have read, when the party is over, it is OVER - there is no double-chivaree, no sneaking back to surprise the couple again just as they are about to slip into bed or each other.

"Chivaree" is a corruption of the French "charivari," which one source translates as "erotic music," referring to sexy tunes played to stimulate the bride and groom. Babelfish is pretty sure "charivari" just means "hullabaloo." There's a rumor that the French term originated from a late Latin word for "headache." Who knows.

The term was most likely borrowed from French traders and settlers along the Mississippi River. The chivaree was a well established practice in the US by 1805 - here's an account dating from that year, detailing a New Orleans version of the event:

“The house is mobbed by thousands of the people of the town, vociferating and shouting with loud acclaim... Many are in disguises and masks; and all have some kind of discordant and noisy music, such as old kettles, and shovels, and tongs... All civil authority and rule seems laid aside.”   (http://www.bartleby.com/61/27/S0352700.html)

"Chivaree" / "shivaree" is a term which is especially common along the Mississippi River, and to the west. This forms a dialect boundary which runs north-south, dividing western usage from eastern. Which is odd, as must dialect boundaries separate northern from southern use.

Other terms for the same thing:
belling - used in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan;
horning - from upstate New York, northern Pennsylvania, and western New England;
serenade - used chiefly in the South Atlantic states; and
callithump / callathump - ?


http://www.bartleby.com/61/27/S0352700.html
http://www.eyrie.org/~pi/Stories/pinocchio.txt
http://home.earthlink.net/~momb/Valleys22.html
http://webpages.coastaccess.com/wald/famlif.htm
http://www.weberpl.lib.ut.us/roughdraft/RDspring00/lang_books.htm
http://projects.ghostwheel.com/dictionary?define=chivaree&Submit1=Search+Dictionary

Cellucotton

During World War I, the Kimberly-Clark company (then a smallish manufacturer of printing papers) supplied the U.S. Army and Red Cross with a new material for making bandages - Cellucotton, a thin, absorbent material made from processed wood pulp. It was five times as absorbent and half as expensive as cotton. Lots of it was needed, as this was a war in which one of every two soldiers was wounded or killed.

Kimberly-Clark sold it to the Army at cost, as a gesture of goodwill and good press, but as soon as the war was over, they decided to find a way to make mad money off the tons of Cellucotton now filling up their warehouses. Kimberly-Clark had never before attempted to market a product to the public.

In 1920, K-C came up with the idea of marketing disposable sanitary napkins. By "came up with," I mean, "stole the idea from WWI nurses who improvised pads out of Cellucotton or gauze." Before this, women had used and re-used cloth rags, and so had their moms, etc. Expecting them to change such a private habit was a big deal, and the change would not come easily. Also, disposable products in general didn't yet exist. There were no throwaway paper plates, cups, napkins. This was a whole new product category, and many people didn't trust the idea.

The product was first called "Cellunap" - Cellucotton + napkins. Gross. It was soon changed to "Kotex" - cotton + textile.

There were still decades of battles in store for Kotex - magazines were adamant about not advertising such a vulgar product, and stores were reluctant to stock it. When ads were accepted, they were worded so vaguely that readers didn't know what was being marketed to them. It was a struggle just to get people to talk about such products. No one seemed to think women would have any interest in buying Kotex pads, and for a long time, they didn't.

K-C spent years honing their marketing and stressing the convenience of their new inventions. Tampax tampons came on the market in 1936. K-C launched an enormous campaign to inform school boards about Kotex, and to persuade teachers to talk to their female students about feminine hygeine. Somehow they convinced the Ladies' Home Journal to publish an article about menstruation - can you imagine the euphemisms.

Even the dreaded moment of purchase was made easier - women were assured they would never have to ask for Kotex by name, as each drugstore would place a pile of pads (individually wrapped, unmarked, discreet) beside a coin box. Women could deposit 50 cents, take one, and scurry away. (And keep in mind, this is 50 cents of 1930s money - ridiculously expensive, especially as these pads had no adhesive, no bells no whistles - these were simply wrapped rectangles of gauze.)

It wasn't until the mid-40s that most women would be using disposable, commercially-made pads and tampons.

K-C currently holds about 30% of the almost $1 billion U.S. sanitary napkin market.

Another by-product invention born from Cellucotton was Kleenex. Its marketing began in 1924, and it ran into social taboos as well. People blew their noses into handkerchiefs - it was a deeply ingrained habit, and you couldn't expect them to welcome a scratchy square of paper (this was pre-lotion, pre-ultra) over a linen hankie. K-C gave up and marketed them as "cold cream removers" (Jean Harlow and Helen Hayes officially endorsed them) for years before people realized how nice it was to throw snot away, rather than keep it in pockets.

In the 60s, Kimberly-Clark tried to sell paper dresses, and the world laughed and laughed. But disposable diapers were immediately recognized as great.

http://www.kleenex.com/history/
http://www2.h-net.msu.edu/~shgape/morello.html
http://www.snopes2.com/business/origins/kotex.htm
http://www.kimberly-clark.com/aboutus/cellucotton.asp
http://www.paperhall.org/inductees/bios/98/sensenbrenner.html
http://www.hpmd.com/hpmd/WQUOTES.NSF/66058b6dc9734354852568f80060e116/cd10ff1875bee4f2852562ad0068b276?OpenDocument

Gary Paulsen

Gary Paulsen was born on May 17, 1939, in Minnesota. His dad was a professional soldier who spent most of World War II away from home, and his mom worked long hours in a munitions factory. When they weren't around, which was often, Gary spent his time trying to earn money for clothes and food by setting pins in a bowling alley, and selling newspapers to drunks in the local bars. When his parents were home, they were wasted and abusive.

All Gary had was literature, and even that was an accident. One night, walking home from the bar, twenty below, he stepped into the library to warm his hands, and the librarian offered him a card. " At that point, very few people had ever given me anything. Both my folks were drinking and it was a rough run. And then she said, "Do you want a library card?" So I said yeah. She handed me a card with my name on it - my name - which was amazing to me. And then she asked if I wanted a book... pretty soon I was reading two books a week. She'd give me westerns and science fiction and every once in a while she'd schlepp in a Melville. It saved me, it really did. I still read like that, like I tell kids, like a wolf eats."

Gary was a crappy student; he failed 9th grade and squeaked out of high school with a D- average. Not surprising - he ran away from home when he was 14, and was mostly focused on earning enough for food.

He was a farmhand, an engineer, a construction worker, a ranch hand, a truck driver, a sailor, a carnie. It took him a while to figure out that on top of everything else, he was a writer. He was working as a satellite technician for an aerospace firm in California when he realized it, and he walked off the job and never went back. He spent the next year proofreading a magazine by day (a job he landed with an impressing, entirely fake resume) and working on his own words by night. For the next year, every night he wrote something and brought it in to work the next day for criticism.

He left California, went back to Minnesota, and rented a lake cabin where he could work in quiet. By the end of that winter, his first novel was done. Which was great, but he screwed it up. He figured that since he was now an Author, he should join an artists' colony, so he moved to New Mexico. He got married and spent the next six years becoming an alcoholic, neglecting his marriage, and not writing.

In 1973, Gary pulled it together and moved back to Minnesota, to work. This time, he was not in search of greatness, just enough money to keep his family afloat. They lived in a converted chicken coop with sketchy electricity and no indoor plumbing. Most of their food came from their three gardens. They made their own cheese, butter, and ketchup. They were so far back in the woods that his son spent five hours on the school bus each day.

Gary wrote a few boring nonfiction books which sold, but he was only averaging $3,000 a year. Writing fiction paid off, and he enjoyed it more, but he was hit with a libel lawsuit for one of his early novels. Winterkill is about an alcoholic family, and his family recognized themselves, and sued. Gary won the case, but it left him bankrupt and bitter, and he swore off writing, supporting his family by trapping beavers.

Gary had always loved dogs, and now got interested in dog racing, which would later become a huge presence in many of his books. He wanted desperately to run the Iditarod, but knew the cost of entering would run into thousands of dollars - money he certainly did not have.

Then he received an unexpected phone call from Richard Jackson, an editor who'd read Gary's books but never met him. He asked what Gary was working on, and Gary said NOTHING, never intending to write again. Richard took a ridiculous chance and agreed to give Gary the money for the Iditarod, in exchange for editorial dibs on whatever Gary might (eventually) write next.

So, with Jackson's money, he ran the Iditarod in 1983, and again in 1985. He suffered an attack of angina and was forced to give up the sport, which saddened him but was ultimately good for his work. He came back to writing. "I started to focus on writing the same energies and efforts that I was using with dogs. So we're talking 18-, 19-, 20-hour days completely committed to work. Totally, viciously, obsessively committed to work, the way I'd run dogs... I still work that way, completely, all the time. I just work. I don't drink, I don't fool around, I'm just this way... The end result is there's a lot of books out there."

There are about 175 of them, most geared toward young readers, though many adult readers may not realize it. His prose is like Hemingway's, elegantly simple words framing complex ideas and people. Totally accessible to kids, equally interesting to adults with taste. I have never been disappointed by one of his books.

Gary's wife is Ruth Wright Paulsen, an artist who has illustrated several of his books. They divide their time between a home in La Luz, New Mexico, and a boat in the Pacific.

http://falcon.jmu.edu/~ramseyil/paulsen.htm
http://www.trelease-on-reading.com/paulsen.html
http://www.ipl.org/youth/AskAuthor/paulsen.html
http://www.randomhouse.com/features/garypaulsen/about.html
http://www.scils.rutgers.edu/special/kay/paulsen.html#Biography