Foreword

Foreword
by Billy Jones

Contrary to what many will tell you, I am not the author of The Autobiography Of Jack T. Mule. It was indeed Jack T. Mule who wrote every word of this book himself. The reasons that mine and Jack’s writing styles are so similar are probably due in-part to the fact that Jack studied under me extensively, and because I helped in the editing of this book. I understand that good editors don’t impart their own styles on the authors they edit, but Jack found it impossible to find a qualified editor who would accept a manuscript from a mule as even today there is much prejudice in the publishing industry. So Jack was forced to work with a less than fully qualified editor and publisher-- namely me. I apologize in advance for any shortcomings I may have inadvertently applied to Jack’s heartfelt prose.

Jack T. Mule, what was he like? Well for starters, Jack choose to use his middle initial instead of his middle name because he wanted to stand out in the world. The “T” in Jack’s name stands for “The”, a common middle name given to millions of mules and thus more common than his first name, Jack. Jack was like that, always a head above everyone else, but with his hoofs planted firmly on the ground. Jack had a view of the world that few shared. He lived, and still lives life his own way, a slave to no thought, idea, or person. I wish I were more like Jack.

While Jack wasn’t much on doing what people expected of him simply for the sake of fulfilling expectations, from the time he was young I saw in Jack the desire to take on great causes. Jack was the sort who would lead a revolution if he saw it as just, but getting Jack to do something just because you had a whim... Well, with the exception of the occasional beautiful filly, Jack didn’t do things just because someone wanted him to. I must admit, Jack and I shared some of the same weaknesses until we were older and less likely to be taken in by the scent of a woman. That being said, it was only a few days ago I saw Jack’s ears perk up and his nostrils flare at the sight of this one particular female. Truth is: my reaction was much the same.

Jack was never much on understanding gray areas. To him everything is either black or white, right or wrong. Gray is but a color, and with the exception of those who may be purveyors of the easel and brush, the need to understand a color doesn’t exist. Jack saw the world as right or wrong, nothing in-between. It was this simpleness that made Jack what he was. While Jack was intelligent beyond measure, the imagined concepts and abstract beliefs of those who hide their true selves in the grayness was-- to Jack-- simply nonexistent. I suspect dear Jack has a much better grip on reality than those who choose to hide in the gray. In Jack’s estimation, a gray area is that bit of gray matter that exists between the ears of those who aren’t... how shall I put it? In Jacks words, “Stupid children.”

The words, “stupid children” represent not prejudice, at least not in the usual since, but reflect Jack’s own experiences with the children, or at least the majority of children, Jack met in his early years. The very definition of stupid when taken from the Webster’s Dictionary states: “lacking normal intelligence.” By comparison, most children do lack normal intelligence when compared to the population as a whole. Jack never hated children, but they did bother him as their shrill yells, rock throwing, and insistence on kicking him in the side when they rode him caused Jack much pain. Jack would later come to love and understand children but as a reader you must understand that Jack’s early encounters with children brought him for the most part-- pain-- both physically and emotionally.

Jack wears his thoughts, as well as his emotions, on his sleeve. Okay, Jack doesn’t have sleeves but to those he comes to trust, Jack makes no secret about how he feels or what he’s thinking, and will tell you even if you don’t want to hear it. Of course in his later years, Jack has started talking less and less, but when he speaks people listen to him. I suspect that’s a trait I should share with Jack though I’m sorry to say I don’t. We’ve all got our shortcomings and I suspect mine far outweigh even Jack’s.

For those of you who may already be wondering, I’m the boy Jack knew as Bookworm. I’m the one who taught Jack to read and talk in as much as anyone actually had to teach him anything. Jack was a quick study. Mostly I just facilitated Jack’s learning progress by bringing him the books that I was learning to read. He learned his very first words all on his own with no help from me or anyone else. Yes, I was shocked that Jack could talk but because few other children seemed to care for the things I cared for, I was more than happy to have any kind of friend who shared the same passions as do I.

While it is true that Jack and I only spent months together before being separated for many years, we did manage to bond in ways that take many souls a lifetime to grasp, and few ever achieve. Jack saw me as a friend or a mentor and I saw Jack as the coolest mule in the world as well as a friend. Besides, in that first summer we spent together we both managed to learn things that most people never learn. This book is a celebration of those things Jack and I learned in our youth as well as the lessons we learned when we would meet again as adults. This book is a celebration of not only the smartest mule to ever walk the earth, but in my opinion, one of the greatest souls.