One of my most prized possessions is a copy of a painting by Charles M. Russell, the “cowboy artist.” It is called The Story Teller and depicts a scene inside a Plains Indian lodge. The lodge is barren except for a quiver of arrows, a few blankets, and a small fire burning on the bare earth. Six youngsters, ranging in age from five to seventeen, are seated cross-legged on either side of an old, shriveled man with long white braids. Their attention is total. They see only him with their eyes, hear only him with their ears. He is the storyteller and, at least for now, the center of their world. 

 

I don’t know if it is considered a great painting. Yet it has always had special meaning for me. In a sense, I am Russell’s storyteller and my young readers are the children sitting around the fire. 

 

Years ago, I taught social studies for nine years in a junior high school in the East Bronx in New York City. On some days, when the class was restless, I would declare “story time,” and tell adventure stories from history, such as Custer’s “last stand” and Sir Henry Morgan the buccaneer. 

 

After graduate school, I became a college teacher. Professors are supposed to “publish or perish,” write books and articles to gain promotion and tenure. I had no intention of perishing. I wrote four scholarly books, all well received in the profession. That was nice, and I was pleased. But I was not thrilled. I wanted to reach a larger audience, not as a scholar but as a storyteller. Actually, I wanted connect what I knew as a teacher with how I felt as a storyteller. So I began to write history for younger readers. I tried to write in the most interesting way I could, all the while remaining true to the facts. It worked. So far I have written more than forty books for young readers. Though now retired from teaching, I spend much of my time reading, listening to music – and especially writing more books.

Albert Marrin

• Website: albertmarrin.com/