Betsy loves Larry.

#1. I was introduced to my first author the day I was born. His name was Larry Callen and he wrote me a letter about the family I had just joined.

#2. Larry is my uncle, my mother's oldest brother. On childhood birthdays hence, he wrote me a letter. I loved his letters because they were typed and they arrived by post. That seemed special and noteworthy, I was drawn to them. And I liked how he addressed them to me.

#3. When I was seven my Uncle Larry sent me a big box for Christmas. He lived in Maryland then and it arrived on Christmas Eve by post. Inside the box was my own set of Children's Encyclopedia. I was awestruck.

#4. Larry always carried a small notebook and pen in the top pocket of his shirt. If his shirt didn't have a top pocket, he would wear a cardigan that had two pockets, one would hold his words, the other his pen.

#5. In between time's ticking, he raised four little ones, built a career in publishing, and brought words to life for children. I include myself here, because he brought words to life inside me. He published his first book, Pinch, in 1975. Many others followed including Sorrow's Song, If the World Ends, Who Kidnapped the Sheriff, Dashiel and the Night, Contrary Imaginations, The Muskrat War, Xavier's Fantastic Discovery, The Just Right Family. Larry did all sorts of writerly things like being a founding member of the Children's Book Guild, hosted annual conferences, and a plethora of SCBWI activities. He was in a writer's group with Phyllis Naylor and collection of distinguished children's writers. He would introduce me into his circle as his niece, the writer. I always smiled when he said that.

#6. After reading a draft of an evolving first novel, he sent me this comment on the title page "I wish I could have written this."

#7. Several drafts later, I received a small rectangular box in the mail. Inside the box was white tissue paper and inside the wrapping was a bookmark with the names of all the Newbery Award Winners and the dates of their honor printed upon it. At the end of the list, Larry had typed my name.

#8. This generosity nurtured me as a writer and a human being, and I feel grateful. He introduced and mentored me into the writing heart and, thus, the art of kind living.

#9. In his book, Sorrow's Song, there is a character named Sorrow who can't talk. She was his favorite character. The narrator is a character called Pinch Grimball. Pinch and Sorrow are best friends. There is also a character called Zoo Man. Zoo Man buys animals. I'll let Larry share the rest:

You can tell about grown-ups if you study them. Some of them yell pretty good, but if you wait out their yelling, they will sooner or later start saying please do this or please do that. Then you can decide if you want to or not. Other kinds don't say a word. They just look at you, and you know if you don't do what they are thinking, there's going to be a problem. My dad's pretty much like that. But the Zoo Man was somewhere in between. You could tell he wasn't really a mean man. Mean men are the worst kind. My dad says they are like a wagon with a cracked wheel. If they don't get fixed, they are going to do somebody harm sooner or later . . .

"What you kids doing out of school?"

"We are on our way," I told him.

He looked at Sorrow . . .

"Is he telling the truth, pretty girl?" he asked.

Sorrow Nix is as good a friend as I ever hope to have. She is so smart, I don't even like to think about it. She knows words I never heard of. But Sorrow can't use words the way most people can. Sorrow can't talk. I don't know why she can't talk. That's just the way it's always been.

She looked at him. It was always hardest when she tried to talk to someone for the first time. She smiled. She nodded her head. Bu he kept looking at her, waiting for her to say something to him. Finally she got tired of being stared at and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. She searched around for a pencil and started writing.

"We are on our way," she wrote.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. "Cat got your tongue?" He was smiling. Sorrow looked up at him and smiled back. Didn't bother her any that he didn't know she couldn't talk.

"Gimme your hand," he said. She did, not knowing what was on his mind. He started squeezing it hard in his big hand. Sorrow looked up at him. If she could have cried out, she would have. Instead she only moaned and tried to pull her hand back. There were tears welling in her eyes.

The Zoo Man dropped her hand. His big arms plopped to his sides. He looked at her and pulled his fingers to his face like he was praying. I could hear him breathe into his hands.

"Can't you really talk?" He looked at her. "Lord child, I'm truly sorry. I never would've squeezed your soft little hand so hard 'less I thought you were trying to make fun of me. He looked at Sorrow. Now it was his turn to have watery eyes.

He opened up his arms and moved closer to her. He wanted to give her a hug. But she backed off. She wasn't too keen on being hugged by strangers who went around squeezing girls' hands. When he saw that she wasn't going to let him hug her, he stopped.

"What's your name?" he asked.

At first she didn't do a thing. Then she slowly pulled out her crumpled brown piece of paper and her pencil and wrote her name.
"Sorrow's no name for a little girl," Zoo Man said. He looked at her for the longest time. Then his eyes dropped to the ground like he was thinking of something. Something sad. All of the sudden his head popped up and he stared her straight in the eyes.

"I never knew a person who couldn't talk in my whole life. You seen a doctor about it?"

It was kind of funny. Not to him, but to us. Sorrow knew she couldn't talk. Maybe she would like to, but it didn't bother us too much. She never told me it did.

#10. Larry published weekly newsletters. The day he died he published his last newsletter, it was his 959th. He died this past January 12. He was 80 years old. I received it three days after his death. The newsletter was dated January 14. Larry left me with his words.

#11. One of the articles in his newsletter is titled, "Polite Rejection." He had recently finished a manuscript titled "Grandfather, Grandmother" and sent it to his long-time publisher, Little Brown. He wrote,"It bounced back with a polite letter of rejection. I'm going to send it out again soon."