The Keillor Reader: Looking Back at Forty Years of Stories: Where Did They All Come From?

The Keillor Reader: Looking Back at Forty Years of Stories: Where Did They All Come From?

Garrison Keillor

Language: English

Pages: 400

ISBN: 0143127187

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Stories, monologues, and essays by Garrison Keillor, founder and host of A Prairie Home Companion

The first retrospective from New York Times–bestselling author Garrison Keillor celebrates the humor and wisdom of this master storyteller. With an introduction and headnotes by the author, along with accompanying photographs and memorabilia, The Keillor Reader brings together a full range of Keillor’s work. Included are the “Pontoon” monologue, in which twenty-four Lutheran pastors capsize a boat as a parasail and hot-air balloon maneuver above; the Alaska adventures of professional wrestler Jimmy “Big Boy” Valenti; a new version of “Casey at the Bat”; an imaginative memoir of life at the New Yorker; and a set of precepts for life, “What Have We Learned So Far?”













and he remembered everything he saw and he knew so many giants. This man was a giant himself. He was the guitar player of the twentieth century. He was the model of who you should be and what you should look like. You could tell it whenever he picked up a guitar, the way it fit him. His upper body was shaped to it, from a lifetime of playing: his back was slightly hunched, his shoulders rounded, and the guitar was the missing piece. He was an artist and there was no pretense in him; he never

and that’s enough. That was the true spirit of the University, the spirit of professors who loved their work. That was the heart and soul of the place, not the athletic teams, not the architecture. The University was Mary Malcolm, a native of Worthington, who studied in Paris with Nadia Boulanger and came back to teach music theory for forty-three years. She had perfect pitch and could write down on paper anything you could hum or plunk on the piano. It was Izaak M. Kolthoff, a Dutch chemist who


in his hand as he died?” Diana whispered. “Dad touched everything in this house,” said John. “You’re sitting in his chair. What’s the problem?” He took a forkful and held it to his mouth, smelled the sweet uncomplicated sauce—it reminded him of when he was in sixth grade and his mother had the school send him home every day for lunch. She fed him her spaghetti and they had grown-up conversations. She told him how much she had loved her one year at the University of Minnesota. One year was

was okay by Bernie, he supported her in all that she did. They had four daughters, Susan B., Elizabeth Cady, Willa, and Betty. Bernie was a good dad and good husband, and the rest of the time he was a cement contractor. He had fourteen trucks pouring concrete. One winter when the concrete business slacked off, Bernie thought he’d maybe go ice fishing for a week with the old gang, play poker and tell some stories, have some laughs—though Jackie thought it was dumb beyond belief and gave him a hard

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