admin Comment(0)

Newbery Medal Winner * Teachers' Top Books for Children * ALA Notable Children's BookBeverly Cleary's timeless Newbery Medal-winning book explores . Her Dear Mr Henshaw was awarded the John Newbery Medal, and her Ramona and Her Lather and Ramona Quinby, Age 8 have been named Newbery . Home>; JUVENILE FICTION>; Classics>; Dear Mr. Henshaw - EPUB. Share This Title: To read e-books on the BookShout App, download it on: iPhone/iPad.

Language: English, Spanish, Portuguese
Country: Laos
Genre: Fiction & Literature
Pages: 396
Published (Last): 15.08.2016
ISBN: 783-3-27801-941-2
ePub File Size: 22.77 MB
PDF File Size: 20.13 MB
Distribution: Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]
Downloads: 43127
Uploaded by: NORBERT

GMT. DEAR MR. HENSHAW. BEVERLY. CLEARY. WINNER OF - Free download or read online. Dear Mr. Henshaw pdf. (ePUB) book. Dear Bully: Seventy Authors Tell Their Stories. Today's top authors for teens and young people come together to share their stories about bullying—as. Free download or read online Dear Mr. Henshaw pdf (ePUB) book. Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary & Paul O. Zelinsky and download Dear Mr. Henshaw .

Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. Books by Language. Bom in McMinnville, Oregon, she lived on a farm in Yamhill until she was six and then moved to Portland. After college, she became the children's librarian in Yakima, Washington. In , she married Clarence T.

If my Dad was here, he would tell you to go climb a tree. November 20 Dear Mr. Henshaw, Mom is nagging me about your dumb old questions. She says if I really want to be an author, I should follow the tips in your letter. I should read, look, listen, think and write. She says the best way she knows for me to get started is to apply the seat of my pants to a chair and answer your questions and answer them fully.

So here goes. Who are you? Like I've been telling you, I am Leigh Botts. Leigh Marcus Botts. Mom says with a last name like Botts I need something fancy but not too fancy. My Dad's name is Bill and Mom's name is Bonnie. She says Bill and Bonnie Botts sounds like something out of a comic strip. I am just a plain boy. I am not stupid either. What do you look like? I already sent you my picture, but maybe you lost it.

I am sort of medium. I don't have red hair or anything like that. I'm not real big like my Dad. Mom says I take after her family, thank goodness. In first and second grades kids used to call me Leigh the Flee, but I have grown. Now when the class lines up according to height, I am in the middle.

I guess you could call me the mediumest boy in the class. This is hard work. To be continued, maybe. Leigh Botts November 22 Dear Mr. This is Thanksgiving vacation and I am so bored I decided to answer a couple of your rotten questions with my rotten brain. What is your family like? Since Dad and Bandit went away, my family is just Mom and me. We all used to live in a mobile home outside of Bakersfield which is in California's Great Central Valley we studied about in school. When Mom and Dad got divorced, they sold the mobile home, and Dad moved into a trailer.

Dad drives a big truck, a cab-over job. That means the cab is over the engine. Some people don't know that. The truck is why my parents got divorced. Dad used to drive for someone else, hauling stuff like cotton, sugar beets and other produce around Central California and Nevada, but he couldn't get owning his own rig for cross-country hauling out of his head.

He worked practically night and day and saved a down payment.

Mom said we'd never get out of that mobile home when he had to make such big payments on that rig, and she'd never know where he was when he hauled cross-country. His big rig sure is a beauty, with a bunk in the cab and everything. His rig, which truckers call a tractor but everyone else calls a truck, has ten wheels, two in front and eight in back so he can hitch up to anything— flatbeds, refrigerated vans, a couple of gondolas.

In school they teach you that a gondola is some kind of boat in Italy, but in the U. My hand is all worn out from all this writing, but I try to treat Mom and Dad the same so I'll get to Mom next time.

Your pooped reader, Leigh Botts November 23 Mr. Henshaw, Why should I call you "dear," when you are the reason I'm stuck with all this work? It wouldn't be fair to leave Mom out so here is question 3 continued.

Mom works part time for Catering by Katy which is run by a real nice lady Mom knew when she was growing up in Taft, California. Katy says all women who grew up in Taft had to be good cooks because they went to so- many potluck suppers. Mom and Katy and some other ladies make fancy food for weddings and parties. They also bake cheesecake and apple strudel for restaurants. Mom is a good cook. I just wish she would do it more at home, like the mother in Moose on Toast.

Almost every day Katy gives Mom something good to put in my school lunch. Mom also takes a couple of courses at the community college. They help real nurses except they don't stick needles in people. She is almost always home when I get home from school.

Your ex-friend, Leigh Botts Mr. Henshaw, Here we go again.

Henshaw dear epub download mr

November 24 4. Where do you live? After the divorce Mom and I moved from Bakersfield to Pacific Grove which is on California's Central Coast about twenty miles from the sugar refinery at Spreckels where Dad used to haul sugar beets before he went cross-country. We've got a lot of fog, especially in the morning. There aren't any crops around here, just golf courses for rich people.

We live in a little house, a really little house, that used to be somebody's summer cottage a long time ago before somebody built a two-story duplex in front of it. Now it is what they call a garden cottage. It is sort of falling apart, but it is all we can afford.

Mom says at least it keeps the rain off, and it can't be hauled away on a flatbed truck. I have a room of my own, but Mom sleeps on a couch in the living room.

She fixed the place up real nice with things from the thrift shop down the street. Next door is a gas station that goes ping-ping, ping-ping every time a car drives in.

They turn off the pinger at Mom doesn't want me to hang around the gas station. On our street, besides the thrift shop, there is a pet shop, a sewing machine shop, an electric shop, a couple of junk stores they call antique shops, plus a Taco King and a Softee Freeze.

I am not supposed to hang around those places either.

Mom is against hanging around anyplace. Sometimes when the gas station isn't pinging, I can hear the ocean and the sea lions barking. They sound like dogs, and I think of Bandit. To be continued unless we get the TV fixed. Still disgusted, Leigh Botts November 26 Mr. Henshaw, If our TV was fixed I would be looking at " Highway patrol," but it isn't so here are some more answers from my rotten brain.

Do you have any pets? I do not have any pets. My teacher says always answer questions in complete sentences. When Mom and Dad got divorced and Mom got me, Dad took Bandit because Mom said she couldn't work and look after a dog, and Dad said he likes to take Bandit in his truck because it is easier to stay awake on long hauls if he has him to talk to. Like the father said in Ways to Amuse a Dog, dogs get pretty bored just lying around the house all day.

That is what Bandit would have to do with Mom and me gone so much. Bandit likes to ride. He had a red bandanna around his neck instead of a collar, so we called him Bandit. Sometimes I lie awake at night listening to the gas station ping-pinging and thinking about Dad and Bandit hauling tomatoes or cotton bales on Interstate 5, and I am glad Bandit is there to keep Dad awake. Have you ever seen Interstate 5? It is straight and boring with nothing much but cotton fields and a big feedlot that you can smell a long way before you come to it.

They just stand there. I'm getting writer's cramp from all this writing. I'll get to No. Mom says not to worry about the postage, so I can't use that as an excuse for not answering. Pooped writer, Leigh Botts November 27 Mr. I'll never write amother list of questions for an author to answer, no matter what the teacher says.

Do you like school? School is OK, I guess. The best thing about sixth grade in my new school is that if I hang in, I'll get out. Who are your friends? I don't have a whole lot of friends in my new school. Maybe I'm just a boy nobody pays much attention to. The only time anybody paid much attention to me was in my last school when I gave the book report on Ways to Amuse a Dog.

After my report some people went to the library to get the book. The kids here pay more attention to my lunch than they do to me.

Download dear epub mr henshaw

They really watch to see what I have in my lunch because Katy gives me such good things. I wish somebody would ask me over some-time. After school I stay around kicking a soccer ball with some of the other kids so they won't think I am stuck up or anything, but nobody asks me over. Who is your favorite teacher? I don't have a favorite teacher, but I really like Mr. He's the custodian. He's always fair about who gets to pass out milk at lunchtime, and once when he had to clean up after someone who threw up in the hall, he didn't even look cross.

He just said, "Looks like somebody's been whooping it up," and started sprinkling sawdust around. Mom used to get mad at Dad for whooping it up, but she didn't mean throwing up. She meant he stayed too long at that truck stop outside of town. Two more questions to go. So there. Leigh Botts December 1 Mr. Henshaw, OK, you win, because Mom is still nagging me, and I don't have anything else to do. I'll answer your last two questions if it takes all night. What bothers you? What bothers me about what?

I don't know what you mean. I guess I'm bothered by a lot of things. I am bothered when someone steals something out of my lunch bag. I don't know enough about the people in the school to know who to suspect.

I am bothered about little kids with runny noses. I don't mean I am fussy or anything like that I don't know why. I am just bothered. I am bothered about walking to school slow. The rule is nobody is supposed to be on the school grounds until ten minutes before the first bell rings. Mom has an early class.

The house is so lonely in the morning when she is gone that I can't stand it and leave when she does. I don't mind being alone after school, but I do in the morning before the fog lifts and our cottage seems dark and damp.

Mom tells me to go to school but to walk slow which is hard work. Once I tried walking around every square in the sidewalk, but that got boring. So did walking heel-toe, heel-toe. Sometimes I walk backwards except when I cross the street, but I still get there so early I have to sort of hide behind the shrubbery so Mr. Fridley won't see me. I am bothered when my Dad telephones me and finishes by saying, "Well, keep your nose clean kid.

I am bothered when he doesn't phone at all which is most of the time. I have a book of road map and try to follow his trips when I hear from him. When the TV worked I watched the weather on the news so I would know if he was driving through blizzards, tornadoes, hail like golf balls or any of that fancy weather they have other places in the U.

What do you wish? I wish somebody would stop stealing the good stuff out of my lunch bag. I guess I wish a lot of other things, too. I wish someday Dad and Bandit would pull up in front in the rig. Maybe Dad would be hauling a forty-foot reefer that means refrigerated trailer which would make his outfit add up to eighteen wheels altogether.

Dad would yell out of the cab, "Come on, Leigh. We'd take off with all the men in the gas station staring after us. Instead of going straight to school, we'd go barreling along the freeway looking down on the tops of ordinary cars, then down the off ramp and back to school just before the bell rang. I guess I wouldn't seem so medium then, sitting up there in the cab in front of a forty-foot reefer. I'd jump out, and Dad would say, "So long, Leigh. Be seeing you" and Bandit would give a little bark, like good-bye.

Dad would take a minute to write in the truck's logbook, "Drove my son to school. There, Mr. That's the end of your crummy questions. I hope you are satisfied for making me do all this extra work. Henshaw, I am sorry I was rude in my last letter when I finished answering your questions.

Maybe I was mad about other things, like Dad forgetting to send this month's support payment. Mom tried to phone him at the trailer park where, as Mom says, he hangs his hat. He has his own phone in his trailer so the broker who ties up jobs for him can reach him. I wish he still hauled sugar beets over to the refinery in Spreckels so he might come to see me.

The judge in the divorce said he has a right to see me. When you answered my questions, you said the way to get to be an author was to write. You underlined it twice.

Well, I sure did a lot of writing, and you know what? Now that I think about it, it wasn't so hard when it wasn't for a book report or a report on some country in South America or anything where I had to look things up in the library. I even sort of miss writing now that I've finished your questions. I get lonesome. Mom is working overtime at Catering by Katy because people give a lot of parties this time of year.

Mom isn't so great on cooking roasts and steaks now that Dad is gone, but she makes me good lunches with sandwiches on whole wheat bread from the health food store with good filling spread all the way to the comers.

Katy sends me little cheese-cakes baked just for me or stuffed mushrooms and little things she calls canapes ka-na-pays. Sometimes I get a slice of quiche keesh. Today I was supposed to have a deviled egg. Katy buys the smallest eggs for parties so half an egg can be eaten in one bite and won't spill on people's carpets. She puts a little curry powder in with the mashed-up yolk which she squirts out of a tube so it looks like a rose. At lunchtime when I opened my lunch bag, my egg was gone.

We leave our lunch bags and boxes mostly bags because no sixth grader wants to carry a lunchbox lined up along the wall under our coat hooks at the back of the classroom behind a sort of partition. Are you writing another book?

Please answer my letter so we can be pen pals. Still your No. Henshaw, I was surprised to get your postcard from Wyoming, because I thought you lived in Alaska.

I get the message. You don't have a lot of time for answering letters. Something nice happened today. When I was hanging around behind the bushes at school waiting for the ten minutes to come before the first bell rings, I was watching Mr. Fridley raise the flags. Maybe I better explain that the state flag of California is white with a brown bear in the middle.

First Mr. Fridley fastened the U. When he pulled the flags to the top of the flagpole, the bear was upside down with his feet in the air. I said, " Hey, Mr.

Dear Mr. Henshaw EPUB ebook

Fridley, the bear is upside down. Fridley said, "Well, so it is. How would you like to turn him right side up! Fridley said maybe I should come to school a few minutes early every morning to help him with the flags, but please stop walking back- wards because it made him nervous.

So now I don't have to walk quite so slow. It was nice to have somebody notice me. Nobody stole any-thing from my lunch today became I ate it on the way to school. Maybe I'll try it. Henshaw, I bought a composition book like you said. It is yellow with a spiral binding. When I started to write in it, I didn't know how to begin. I felt as if I should write, "Dear Composition Book," but that sounds dumb. So does "Dear Piece of Paper.

I don't think I can keep a diary. I don't want to be a nuisance to you, but I wish you could tell me how. I am stuck. Henshaw, I got your postcard with the picture of the bears. Maybe I'll do what you said and pretend my diary is a letter to somebody. I suppose I could pretend to write to Dad, but I used to write to him and he never answered. Maybe I'll pretend I run writing to you because when I answered ad your questions, I got the habit of beginning, "Dear Mr. I won't send it to you. Thanks for the tip.

Book Dear Mr Henshaw (Leigh Botts, #1) by Beverly Cleary - PDF ePub Mobi Books - oinisebooks5

I know you're busy. Pretend Henshaw, Friday, December 22 This is a diary. I will keep it, not mail it. If I eat my lunch on the way to school, I get hungry in the afternoon. Today I didn't so the two stuffed mushrooms Mom packed in my lunch were gone at lunch period. My sandwich was still there so I didn't starve to death, but I sure missed those mushrooms.

All morning I try to keep track of who leaves his seat to go behind the partition where we keep our lunches, and I watch to see who leaves the room last at recess. I haven't caught anybody chewing, but Miss Martinet is always telling me to face the front of the room.

Anyway, the classroom door is usually open. Anybody could sneak in if we were all facing front and Miss Martinet was writing on the blackboard. Hey, I just had an idea! Some authors write under made-up names. After Christmas vacation I'll write a fictitious name on my lunch bag. That will foil the thief, as they say in books.

I guess I don't have to sign my name to a diary letter the way I sign a real letter that I would mail. Dear Mr. Still no package from Dad. I thought maybe he was bringing me a present instead of mailing it, so I asked Mom if she thought he might come to see us for Christmas. She said, "We're divorced. I remember all the time. Sunday, December 24 Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Still no package from Dad. I keep thinking about last Christmas when we were in the mobile home before Dad bought the tractor.

He had to dodge the high- way patrol to get home in time for Christmas. Mom cooked a turkey and a nice dinner. We had a Christmas tree about two feet high became there wasn't room for a big one. At dinner Dad remarked that when he was driving along, he often saw one shoe lying on the highway. He always wondered how it got there and what happened to its mate. Mom said one shoe sounded sad, like a country- western song.

While we ate our mince pie we all tried to think up songs about lost shoes. I'll never forget them. Mine was worst: Driving with a heavy load I saw a shoe upon the road Squashed like a toad. Dad came up with: I saw a shoe Wet with dew On Highway 2. It made me blue. Mom's song really made us laugh. It was the best. A lonesome hiker was unluckee To lose his boot near Truckee. He hitched a ride with one foot damp Down the road to Angels Camp.

Dumb songs, but we had a lot of fun. Mom and Dad hadn't laughed that much for a long time, and I hoped they would never stop. After that, whenever Dad came home, I asked if he had seen any shoes on the highway.

He always had. Monday, December 25 Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Last night I was feeling low and was still awake after the gas station stopped pinging. Then I heard heavy feet coming up the steps, and for a minute I thought it was Dad until I remembered he always ran up steps.

Mom is careful about opening the door at night. I heard her turn on the outside light and knew she was peeking out from behind the curtain. She opened the door, and a man said, "Is this where Leigh Botts lives? So here I am. Merry Christmas and a ho-ho-ho! Dad had sent what I always wanted —a quilted down jacket with a lot of pockets and a hood that zips into the collar. I tried it on over my pajamas. It was the right size and felt great. Getting a present from my Dad in time for Christmas felt even better.

Today Katy invited us for Christmas dinner even though this has been a busy season for catering. She also had some of the other women who work with her and their kids and a few old people from her neighborhood. On the way home Mom said, "Katy has a heart. Is big as a football stadium.

It was a lovely dinner for lonely hearts. Wednesday, January 3 Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, I got behind in my diary during Christmas vacation because I had a lot of things to do such as go to the dentist for a checkup, get some new shoes and do a lot of things that don't get done during school.

Today I wrote a fictitious name, or pseudo as they sometimes say, on my lunch bag. I guess I fooled the thief because nobody stole the water chestnuts and chicken livers wrapped in bacon that Katy broiled just for me.

They are good even when they are cold. I hope the thief drooled when he watched me eat them. Monday, January 8 Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, Dad phoned me from Hermiston, Oregon!

I just looked in my book of road maps and saw where it is, up there by the Columbia River. He said he was waiting for a load of potatoes. I could hear a juke box and a bunch of men talking.

I asked about Bandit, and he said Bandit was fine, a great listener on a long haul even though he doesn't have much to say. I asked Dad if I could ride with him sometime next summer when school is out, and he said he'd see. I hate answers like that. Anyway, he said he was sending the support check and he was sorry he forgot and he hoped I liked the jacket. I sure wish Dad lived with us again, but he said he would phone in about a week and to keep my nose clean.

This has been a good day. My lunch was safe again. Fridley is so funny. Lots of kids are having their teeth straightened so when they eat lunch, they take out their retainers and wrap them in paper napkins while they eat became nobody wants to look at a spitty retainer. Sometimes they forget and throw the napkin with the retainer into the garbage. Then they have to hunt through the cans of gooey garbage until they find their retainers because retainers cost a lot of money, and parents get mad if they get lost.

Fridley always stands by the garbage cans to make sure kids who buy school lunches put their forks and spoons on a tray and not in the garbage. Whenever someone who wears a retainer scrapes his plate, Mr. Fridley says, "Look out. Don't lose your false teeth. Mom says I take after Dad in one thing. My teeth are nice and straight which is a big saving right there. Tuesday, January 9 Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw, My little cheesecake was missing at lunch-time which made me mad. I guess somebody noticed Joe Kelly's lunch was really mine.

When I went to throw my lunch bag in the garbage, Mr. Fridley said, "Cheer up, Leigh, or you'll trip over your lower lip. I had to laugh at that, but I still wanted my cheesecake. Dad should be, phoning any day now.

When I said that at supper chili out of a can , Mom said for me not to get my hopes up, but I know Dad will remember this time. Mom never really says much about Dad, and when I ask why she divorced him, all she says is, "It takes two people to get a divorce. Tomorrow I am going to wrap my lunch bag in a lot of Scotch tape so nobody can sneak anything out of it. Wednesday, January 10 Dear Mr.

Product Information

Pretend Henshaw, It's funny how somebody says something, and you can't forget it. I keep thinking about Mr. Fridley saying I needed a burglar alarm on my lunch bag. How could anybody put a burglar alarm on a paper bag? Today I used so much Scotch tape on my lunch bag, I had a hard time getting my lunch out. Everybody laughed. Dad should phone today or tomorrow. Maybe if he came home he would know how I could make a burglar alarm for my lunch bag. He used to be good about helping me build things, except there wasn't much room in the mobile home we lived in, and you had to be careful where you pounded because 1 piece of plastic might break off something.

I read over the letter you wrote that time answering my questions and thought about your tips on how to write a hook. One of the tips was listen. I guess you meant to listen and write down the way people tall, sort of like a play.

This is what Mom and I said at supper frozen chicken pies: Mom, how come you don't get married again? Oh, I don't know. I guess men aren't that easy to find when you are out of school. But you go out sometimes. When a young boy asked her, "Where are the books about kids like us?

She based her funny stories on her own neighborhood experiences and the sort of children she knew. And so, the Klickitat Street gang was born! Cleary's books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association's Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented to her in recognition of her lasting contribution to children's literature. Dear Mr. Her characters, including Beezus and Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins, and Ralph, the motorcycle-riding mouse, have delighted children for generations.

Paul O. His retelling of Rapunzel was awarded the Caldecott Medal. Since Paul O. Zelinsky has lived in the same apartment with his wife Deborah in northern Brooklyn, New York. Henshaw - eBook. What would you like to know about this product? Please enter your name, your email and your question regarding the product in the fields below, and we'll answer you in the next hours. You can unsubscribe at any time. Enter email address. Welcome to Christianbook.

Sign in or create an account. Search by title, catalog stock , author, isbn, etc. Beverly Cleary. Illustrated By: Henshaw responds, the two form an unexpected friendship that will change Leigh's life forever. Mouse series comes an epistolary novel about how to navigate and heal from life's growing pains.

Beverly Cleary is one of America's most beloved authors. As a child, she struggled with reading and writing. But by third grade, after spending much time in her public library in Portland, Oregon, she found her skills had greatly improved.

We want your feedback! Click here. Dear Mr.