“THE LOST BOOK,” available now on Amazon

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“The Bay Ridge Bears!!”



Good Morning, from the Sunshine State!

2024 - the bears 10th Anniversary!

Although these characters had been in my head for much longer, this September is the 10th anniversary of the publishing of my first book, “The Bay Ridge Bears.” I recently, reread this book - with some trepidation. It was intended to be a children’s book. I thought the story and illustrations might now be outdated. Perhaps I’m prejudiced, but I fell back in love with the simple beginnings of these characters. My teddy bears, or teds, were first introduced as characters in bedtime stories created by a Poppa Bear, for his cubs.  The first three books were introduced by Rusty. However, the teds developed a life of their own. By the fourth book, “Yellow Hook,” their story began without an introduction. It was also the first in the series of Far Country Tales. My newest book, “The Lost Book,” continues references to the Bible. It’s a fine line combining fantasy with faith, and I’m no C.S Lewis.  This book was a challenge, as I started it a few months before moving, with the bears, to Florida.  It took me a few years to get back into the discipline of writing, There are so many lovely distractions here.  I’m working on combining my first five books into a hardcover edition - hopefully by year’s end. 


More importantly, this year will also be the 70th anniversary of the publishing of “The Fellowship of the Ring.”  The first book of the trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings.” This trilogy is considered to be the greatest literature written in the 20th century. Absolutely!  J.R,R. Tolkien‘s exquisite stories, poems, songs and languages are incomparable.  He was a genius.


This July is also the  120th anniversary of my English grandfather’s dramatic arrival in the USA, which is his story in “Johann’s Letter.”


My Books:

Child of the 60’s

Days in the life

11/22/63 was my sister’s 16th birthday, and we were planning a party! So glad it was a Friday.  Susan left for high school, carrying a corsage box of red roses. When I left for school, Mom was already getting things organized. Balloons and streamers in the living room, cake mix on the kitchen table.  Peaches in the fridge, heavy cream, mixing bowl and beater blades were chilling in the freezer. All was right with the world.  While in school, an announcement was made that something had happened and we were to pray, and not turn on the TV. We had recently gotten through the drama of the Cuban Missile Crisis. A nun had told us that if we were attacked, we might have to leave from school by bus and never see our parents, again. When I told my mom, she was disgusted and advised me that no one was going to take me away and if anything happened she or Dad would get me. I believed her!  So now this unknown drama. Walking home, my friends wondered what had happened. Some boy thought the TV might blow up if we turned it on. I ran home. Mom was so busy that she hadn’t turned on the radio or TV. We sat in the living room, stunned, watching what had happened. Susan walked into the house. Her rose corsage drooping, covered in tears. My friend, Denise, came by. We went outside watching people walking home, in a daze - so sad. The worst was my father. I ran to him, and we walked back home. Denise would be back for cake. We were planning a party that night, relatives and friends were still coming. Susan wanted to cancel it, but Mom decided to have a subdued gathering. It was nice but very low key.

So, that was November of 1963. And, just like that, it was February!  My sister, excitedly told me that The Beatles were coming to America. Having an older sister, I was the only one of my friends who knew about this. We sat on the living room floor, listening to a transistor radio of their arrival, with a bowl of potato chips. Even Mom got excited! Dad was a bit indifferent. In the Spring of 1965, around the re-opening of the World’s Fair, I along with a few other girls, were sent to the principal’s office because—-our bangs were too long - OMG! Some of the girls were crying. I repeated to Mom what one of the nuns said, “What would your parents do if they knew you were sent to the principal’s office.”  She advised me to tell her that this parent was going to get tickets for her daughter to see The Beatles! What? It was supposed to be a surprise- she had filled in a coupon in The Daily News and sent a money order for 4 tickets. They were $5 each, and that was considered high! I was stunned. After that, nothing mattered, except checking the mailbox. Then, one day, on my way home from school, in the mailbox was a small envelope containing 4 blue tickets. When Susan came home from school, we both screamed and hugged Mom. All four of us saw the Beatles at Shea Stadium in August - you couldn’t hear them because of the screaming. (The following year Susan and I went. Mom and Dad waited for us in the parking lot.) Mom had made me a bright red skirt and matching jacket. No doubt, I thought I would meet Paul. Anyway, there I was, sitting in the  bleachers at Shea Stadium, with my fabulous family, peering through a pair of new binoculars, screaming my head off with my sister. My bangs were too long, and my skirt was far too short for The Sisters of Saint Joseph. It was wonderful!

Across the Street

9/11/2001

    Exactly one hundred and two years after my grandfather sailed to Canada, I too was traveling over the water, on a ferry. It was September 11, 2001, and I was being evacuated from downtown Manhattan.

    It was such a beautiful Tuesday. Not a cloud in that sunny blue sky. And so warm. I wore slacks and a pink and black sleeveless sweater to work, no need for a jacket, yet. Tuesday, and the farmer’s market would be set up across the street. Across the street. How many times did I walk across the street. Listening to concerts. Shopping in the stores. Meeting my sister for lunch. That romantic dinner, on a snowy December night. And so many meetings. All, across the street. 

    That month it was two years since my sister passed away. I called Mom and asked if she needed anything from the market across the street– just tomatoes. Why had I already slipped on my high heels? Now, I’ll have to change back to sneakers before I sneak over to the market. One quick check of my emails before I dash… 

     The lights went out for a moment and the building felt as though it dropped and then rose up again. I thought it was an earthquake. My co-worker’s office faced across the street, but he had his back to the window and could not see it. He told me not to worry, that it was probably a sonic boom. As he spoke, I stared out his window. He turned around and looked. Across the street, red flames from the mouth of hell were pouring out of the windows. We took an elevator to the lobby and waited. Some stood outside talking, oblivious to the bits of metal that drifted down to the ground. Some in the lobby planned to go back upstairs to their offices. And then someone shouted, “Run!” There was chaos as we tried to get through the few revolving doors. Shoes were left behind, in the scramble to get out. My co-worker and I stood on Broadway as a fighter plane zoomed very low, over our heads. My 6’ 2” companion dropped to his knees. I didn’t, and with gallows humor said, “I hope it’s one of our’s.”  

     People were streaming in every direction on Broadway. I couldn’t get my bus. The trains were shut down. I thought of walking across the bridge, but it was far away and with all the confusion, wasn’t sure it was safe. I stayed with my co-worker. We ran with a group from Broadway to the ferries. I asked him to hold my hand. I thought I would be separated from him and trampled. We ran over grating, and I worried about catching the high heel of my shoe. Strange how the mind works in the midst of terror. As a group, we made our way to a pier. It got overcrowded and started to sway. We were ordered to back up. Then the ferries pulled in and we were back on the pier. The crowds were thick as they rushed to get aboard the boats. I couldn’t find a way on. Someone leaned over the rail of a ferry and pulled me up and on to the boat. I don’t know how he did it. I didn’t get a chance to thank him. My one thought as I was being lifted up was that I would loose my shoes, and why didn’t I leave my sneakers on that morning. 

    As we sailed, the sound of wailing filled the air. It was all that you could hear. It drifted across the water. People holding each other and crying. Some had dropped to the floor and were being cradled in the arms of strangers. They all had loved ones who worked across the street. I never experienced such massive heartbreak, it was all encompassing. My companions and I were fortunate, not having anyone left behind, across the street. They all lived in New Jersey and were going home. I lived in Brooklyn and was deciding what to do. A couple of them invited me to their homes. I decided to use the hotel reservation I had booked for a manager. I knew he would not be flying in to use it. 

    Someone shouted, “Look!” Out over the water we could see the other tower fall. My mind could not comprehend that there were people in it. I couldn’t allow myself to accept that. Many ran to one side of the boat and it almost capsized. My mind was numb. I remember thinking, I escaped the attack and now I will drown. I couldn’t swim. I spent the night in New Jersey. The next day the bridges reopened and I was able to travel home. Family and friends greeted me. I was in good shape. The next day I went out to lunch and shopped. I was fine. Friday, it hit me. I couldn’t get out of bed til noon. I felt as though all the nerves in my body were shaking. That night I finally watched what had happened and what it looked like across the street. I fell apart and sobbed for hours. 

     My company, wisely, moved us out of downtown for sixteen months.  We returned to our home at One Liberty Plaza, staying until 2017, when we relocated across the street to 4 World Trade Center.  After the attack, I would not have believed that I would be working on the 54th floor of the Trade Center and that it would be such a happy, sometimes hysterically funny, and unforgettable experience!

Downtown Girl

16 months working in an old warehouse in Chelsea. A home decor diva’s TV studio was also there, constantly blocking access for us. And then, one day, we went to a meeting in midtown. Our president took the stage wearing a jacket that was in the cleaners on 911. The ticket was recently retrieved from the rubble that was his car. The way he informed us that we would be returning to downtown, was priceless - he sang this song! 

My Sister, a Baked Potato, and a Future President

A World Trade Center memory:

It was in the early 1990’s, a day I wasn’t able to have lunch with my sister. She decided to eat at a favorite place, the Food Court, in the lower level of the World Trade Center. The food was good, inexpensive, cafeteria style. She ordered our favorite - baked potato with everything. The potatoes were football size and tended to roll as you carried your tray. So, there she stood in a light beige suit, balancing the potato and beverage on a tray, looking for an empty table. It was always crowded. You had to move fast whenever someone got up to leave - you had to pounce.  She spotted a table of businessmen. Three had stood up, the fourth one was still sitting. She maneuvered herself into an empty chair, opposite the seated man. (She hadn’t looked up - she was too concerned about not spilling her food.) One of the men standing asked her if she knew who she was sitting opposite. With typical New York cool, she glanced at him, and replied, “Of course, it’s Donald Trump.” She was shocked and embarrassed, apologizing for barging in on a meeting and offered to leave.  He told her to stay put, that he was leaving, and told her to ”enjoy that baked potato.” As he got up, she heard him remark to his companions that she was “one classy lady.” She certainly was that, and beautiful, and my best friend. When she got back to work, she set up a three way call with Mom and I and said, “You’ll never guess who I had lunch with!”

Excerpt: “The Lost Book”

Prologue

   Cool wind burst through the casement shutters of the Tudor cottage, rippling pages, cancelling the light.  It snapped her out of a daydream, as she got up from the table with a start.  She pushed back wisps of her long hair, locked the window, added wood to the fire and relit her candle.  Fall was slow walking toward her home.  The sun was gradually setting earlier. The leaves were turning, and so was her mind. How she hated the onset of the cold dark days.  No matter how many years marched on, this season would always bring her back to that time, reliving the losses she suffered during the plague….

   But, that was a lifetime ago.  She remarried and had a very comfortable life, with a man who loved her and her children.  She was now the grandmother of a healthy little girl, named for her.  Although there was new joy in her life, the cold weather brought back a melancholy that she could not shake.  Perhaps, the reminder of her own mortality made her purchase a diary.  (She had never written in one before.)  There was something that had lately been haunting her.  A story, or recollection, from her grandfather that she needed to record for her granddaughter….

   She sat at the large wooden dining table, head in hands, and gazed at the blank diary.  Half an hour went by.  She was unaware that she was being watched.  

An Elizabethan diary is accidentally picked up by the bears, along with another surprise, when they leave “Yellowhook.”  Back in the present, they join the search for a missing horse, who evolves from a runaway to a leader. The diary is a glimpse into a dismal past, and a warning. There’s also a Cockney hamster..

Johann’s Letter


“Johann’s Letter” is the true story of my Grandfather, Frank Cooper, set in a bearie tale. Rescued from a London slum, during the time of Queen Victoria and Jack the Ripper. Placed in an orphanage at age 2. Sent to Canada, as an unpaid farm laborer, at age 12. And his escape to Brooklyn NY, at age 16, to find members of his family. 

Johann’s Letter Images

“Yellow Hook”

Trudye Hunnisett

Her mother’s quick English wit was disarming, and hid her true feelings about the occupying army encamped on her property.  Her cooking became renowned. So much so that many meetings amongst “visiting“ military officials were moved to their farmhouse’s elegant dining room. 


No one minded the sweet little girl who seemed to be around whenever there was a meeting. She was treated very kindly. Her mother realized that their attentions might change toward her beautiful daughter as she got older. To keep her safe, she wisely instructed her to play the part of a younger girl. And it worked.


No one would have suspected that the child now gaily preparing for a tea party with a pet squirrel, was actually fifteen. 


Trudye was a natural born actress. 


And no one, including her parents, would know that she was eavesdropping on the soldiers conversations and sending messages to the patriots. 


Trudye was also a natural born spy!

Excerpt: “Yellow Hook”:

Bodies of American soldiers were washing up all along the shore. The feeling of disgust rose in the two men. 

“To think, Doctor, that we two fought for the Crown in their French and Indian War. And, how were we recompensed for our efforts? Contempt from their soldiers, more bloody taxes, and more interferement in our lives.

To think, Doctor, that they could treat our brave young men (their colonists) like animals, leaving them to rot in the hold of their stinking ships. No, I take that back, they would never treat their prized horses or pets dogs in such a manner. 

To think, Doctor, that some of our closest friends and relatives could side with the enemy and spread propaganda just to dispirit those who were risking their lives for liberty. To think, Doctor, that all of this misery and horror was caused because a group of people demanded their God given rights.

I thank God that he granted us this victory, but I fear for my son. I’d rather not know his whereabouts than learn that he was imprisoned, because, so help me God, I would kill the first redcoat officer that crossed my path.” 

About those bears

Is there anyway who doesn’t love teddy bears? If there is, I don’t want to meet him.


My bearie tales are for everyone, no age restrictions. My teds are not cute and childlike. They are strong, intelligent, funny, loyal and adorable - but then, I’m prejudiced. These characters are not a memory from childhood, but sprang up when I was in my 20’s and received Winnie, as a Christmas gift. That started the march of teddy bears back into my life. 


Winnie was named for Winston Churchill. I was watching a documentary about the Prime Minister. My next bear became his father, Randy (Randolph).


One day as we were leaving for a vacation in England, my sister asked me what the bears would be doing while we were gone. That started the bearie tales. My mother became interested and questioned how they were able to go off on their adventures. The logical choice was a secret world they entered through the wooden bench, that opened for storage. It was my old toy box. I still have it. 


As time went on the stories and characters grew. The horse family cracked up my sister and mom, especially  their names: Tony and Joanie, and their boys- Vito, Guido and Baby Earl. They both thought that I should write these stories.


Decades late, after they had left for heaven, the time was right and I wrote my first book.


My dad passed before these characters had a life of their own. However, he might have been the instigator. My mom said that when she was expecting me, for some reason my father was getting anxious. She was calmly crocheting a sweater for me and he asked her to show him how to sew. She laughed and gave him a choice of baby bibs to cross stitch. He picked the bibs with teddy bears. She said he did a great job. I wish I had them. I wish I could have seen my blue-collar worker dad embroidering. 


My teds are a tribute to my funny, intelligent and loving family: Russell (Rusty), Mildred (Millie) and Susan (Susie). They made me who I am - they have a lot to answer for....

Hey, it’s me, Andy! You can contact us at:

bayridgebears1@gmail.com

What’s her name’s Author Page:

Links to purchase books, plus news on latest projects.

Cheryl’s Author Page

What’s it all about:

Merry Christmas!

Ciao, from THE BEARS!


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