TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, Harper Lee's magnum opus, turns fifty today. I have fond memories of my young son and I, taking turns reading chapters to each other every evening one summer. We loved it, like legions before us. I have a theory about why she never wrote another tome. When you write a novel, you put most everything you have seen, heard, smelled, experienced into that first novel. While some writers like Joyce Carol Oates are prolific, for others, that's all she wrote; one has to live and experience more: she may have said all she wanted.
Nevertheless, Mockingbirds play a large part in American culture. Early in American history, Mockingbirds were once popular and kept as pets. President T. Jefferson had one named Dick. The American lullaby, Hush little baby don't say a word, mamma's gonna buy you a mockingbird... was part of the Mockingbird craze. Called the American Nightingale, Mimus polyglottos prefers to nest in maple, sweet gum and sycamore trees. As an observation, the birds are out after midnight practicing their songs. I can tell the city mockers from the farm ones. The city ones make police car and emergency vehicle calls. I think they are my favorite bird, today anyway. Postscript ~ Harper Lee's sister was on the CBS Sunday Morning show, and said the aforementioned reason I postulated, was correct.
