There's a special magic about Mark Little.
He's my son and that makes him special. And he's your Daddy and that certainly makes him special.
But there's a special magic about him that you won't find in all sons or all Daddies, and if I tell you something about him,
maybe we can figure out just what his magic is all about.
He was a quiet and thoughtful little boy. Not the type that would organize a softball game,
but the type that would learn his school lessons with ease.
He was thrilled when he brought home from the first grade a small book his teacher, Mrs. Shaffer,
had made for him and his classmates. It was made of two small sheets of paper stapled together to make eight pages, and she
had DITTO'D (that was an old-fashioned way of making copies) some drawings of a rabbit and a simple little story and the name
of the booklet was "The Rabbit Ran." There were only about a dozen different words in the story.
But the important thing was: Mark could read it all by himself. And he's been reading ever
since.
He was born in Deasrborn, Michigan, on July 21, 1961, and we moved to Mansfield, Ohio when
he was five. We lived in a three-bedroom house on Yorkwood Road, but later finished the basement and that's where Mark had
his bedroom.
Mark and his brothers, your Uncle Steve and Uncle Dave, all liked music. For years we bought
season tickets to the Mansfield Symphony concerts at Malabar High School, three blocks from our home.
Mark and Steve took piano lessons. Later, Mark took violin lessons and played in the orchestra
at Appleseed Junior high school and then at Malabar High school, and when he was in college eh taught himself to play the
classical guitar.
Steve quit taking piano lessons because he got bored with the simple little pieces, but later
he taught himself to play the piano, and taught himself very well.In high school he played slide trombone in the marching
band,
Dave took only a few lessons, but taught himself to play the acoustic guitar and electric guitar.
Then he got a good buy on a used keyboard and brought friends out to the house to jam with soft rock music.
All three boys went to Mansfield's Ranchwood Elementary School. It was a nice neighborhood
and a number of the boys' friends were sons of doctors.
Mark always liked poetry. In about the second grade he learned about pollution; that was in
the 'sixties when Americans were just beginning to talk a lot about the environment. His class was assigned to write about
pollution, so Mark wrotehis very first poem:
"Polution is bad. Pollution we have had.
Now we have too much, and soon we can't do
such a thing as living."
They built a new shopping mall, Richlan Mall, west of Mansfield, and it had a sunken lounge
with benches for resting. Next to the lounge was a pet store, and the boys always insisted on stopping there to look at the
pets. One day as we rested in the lounge Mark and Steve (Dave was too young) borrowed some pencils and used the blank side
of some adverising papers andbegan drawing pictures of rabbits. They told us there was a prize for the best drawing.
Then we looked at Doktor's Pet Store. It was nearly Easter, and in the window was a sign "DRAWING
FOR A FREE RABBIT."
I about the second grade Mark learned about the Americn Indians, He really got interested,
and began making Indian drums and peace pipes. I told him about flint arrowheads, and that people are still finding them today.
Later that day I found him digging a hole in the back yard. He was confident he was going to find some arrowheads,
All three of the boys went through the Cub Scouts (you had to be eight to join) and Boy Scouts
(you had to be eleven). The Cubs were organized as Pack 107 and met at Ranchwood School. For seven years, from the time Marked
jopined the cubs until Dave went up to Scouts, I was the Cubmaster, and for much of that time their mother was a Den Mother.
Cub Scouts age eight and nine were considered too young to go camping in the wilds. Bit the
rules permitted them to have sleepouts in someone's back yard, if there were parents and telephones available. I think those
eight-year-olds were too young, for when the pack had a sleepout in a Den Mother's yard some of them brought their
teddy bears as sleeping partners.
But ten-year-old Cubs were eligible to join a Webelos den to help them get ready for Boy Scouts.
They could go camping in the wilds if they had plenty of adults along. Once our Webelos Den camped out at the Boy Scout camp
- seven boys, all with their fathers. Scott Young's dad was a doctor with a family practice. Brad Banko's dad was a
pediatrician. Greg Auchard's dad was a bone specialist. Alan Lindquist's dad was a pathologist. Keith Kine's dad was a dentist.
Jeff Jolley's dad, and Mark's dad, were the only two that were not in the medical field. We joked about having plenty of medical
help in case of an accident.
When Mark joined Boy Scouts he was small for his age. That alway bothered him a lot, and having
the last name of "Little" didn't help matters, either.
Some of the older scouts were making plans to go backpacking at Philmont Scout Ranch in New
Mexico. Bruce Drushel, who had hiked Philmont the year before, was giving a talk to the troop, and told them "If you're in
good shape it will be easy, but if you're not in good shape it will be pretty tought. And if you're like Markey Little, well,
I don't think you should go to Philmont at all." There was laughter. For years Mark resented that cut-down. He made up his
mind that, when he'd hike Philmont, he'd be out in front of the whole troop.
Love,
