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The Enthusiast

 Paul Zelinsky won awards for "Rapunzel" and "Rumpelstiltskin," and he worked with Beverly Cleary on "Dear Mr. Henshaw" and "Strider." In yet another burst of creativity, he illustrated "Swamp Angel," which was a kind of response to "Paul Bunyan" and "Johnny Appleseed."


("Swamp Angel" is an American tall tale--but, at last, it's a tall tale with a female protagonist.)

This would be enough for many artists, but, in yet another phase, Zelinsky *also* made the pop-up book that critics have called the greatest of all time. That's "The Wheels on the Bus."

You might not think this song has a plot, but it does. The wheels go round and round, and all's well--but then the lyrics suggest that something has changed. The wipers go swish; the windows go up. Why? The clouds must have gathered; it's raining.

It's this change in weather that fires Zelinsky's imagination. The portly driver bites his lip--an expression of anxiety. The world is reflected in puddles; umbrellas pop up on the sidewalk; one woman, trying to force the bus-window out of a jam, also struggles to keep her smiling, mischievous baby from wiggling out of its bjorn.

When the infants all begin to cry, one set of mom-eyes moves nervously from side to side, one mom kisses a tender forehead, and yet another mom puts an admonitory finger up to her lips.

The clouds clear; the sun shines through. The bus reaches its terminus: The Overtown Library. Everyone is gathering for a free public concert of folk songs.

An entire world in eight or nine stanzas.






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