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Also found this Shane thingon Joe Bob Briggs site:

Dear Joe Bob:

Back in January I was sitting at my desk trying to pick an appropriate branch of the logarithm, and the idea of branches got me to thinking about family branches, and I got to wondering whether the folks back in Texas remember me. As if in answer, I got something in the mail from them in July. It was an invitation to the family reunion in August. The THIRD family reunion, to be exact. The problem is, this is the FIRST invitation I have gotten to any of these reunions. Kinda shows where I stand in the scheme of things. The blow to my self-esteem was so great that I had to give some deep thought to what I could possibly do to recover. I thought that maybe I would picket the Miami Herald for supporting the "holocaust" hoax. Another thought that came to me was that I could go on the college lecture circuit telling people about Esperanto. And then another thought was that I could re-read Shane.

After careful consideration, I chose item #3, to re-read Shane, because it was the one that I could do without taking my feet off my desk. The timing was a happy coincidence too, because this is the centenary of when the action in Jack Schaefer's "magnificent and enduring" story took place.

Well, I feel a hole lot better, now that I've reread the book. I've got my self eh steam back. That's the happy ending to this episode, except that I couldn't help writing a pome about it, so here it is:

SHANE

It was '89, and the days were hot.

Pa had staked and built our plot.

One day, a man in black

Came riding down the valley track.

The track diverged, and he stopped to view

Where each road was leading to,

And took the lesser-travelled lane,

And stayed with us. His name was Shane.

Pa was pressed, in a game not new,

By a wild rancher and his dangerous crew.

Fletcher, the rancher, picked a straight fight:

Winner take all, and loser take flight.

First with fists, then with lead,

The fight progressed, and left its dead.

In all these scenes, no less the last,

Shane was best, and Shane was fast.

Two-gunned Wilson was Fletcher's ace,

And men spoke low when he showed his face.

But Shane was deadly, and Shane was faster:

He killed the ace, and the ace's master.

Badly hurt, he went to leave,

But bent to help a boy believe,

Then rode away, in silent pain,

And looked not back. His name was Shane

Mike Jones

Coral Gables, Fla.

Dear Mike:

The kid was still obnoxious.