Howard Pyle (March 5, 1853 – November 9, 1911) was an American illustrator and author, primarily of books for young people. A native of Wilmington, Delaware, he spent the last year of his life in Florence, Italy. In 1894 he began teaching illustration at the Drexel Institute of Art, Science and Industry (now Drexel University). After 1900, he founded his own school of art and illustration, named the Howard Pyle School of Illustration Art. The scholar Henry C. Pitz later used the term Brandywine School for the illustration artists and Wyeth family artists of the Brandywine region, several of whom had studied with Pyle. Some of his more notable students were N. C. Wyeth, Frank Schoonover, Elenore Abbott, Ethel Franklin Betts, Anna Whelan Betts, Harvey Dunn, Clyde O. DeLand, Philip R. Goodwin, Thornton Oakley, Violet Oakley, Ellen Bernard Thompson Pyle, Olive Rush, Allen Tupper True, Elizabeth Shippen Green, Arthur E. Becher, William James Aylward, and Jessie Willcox Smith. Pyle's home and studio in Wilmington, where he taught his students, is still standing and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Coordinates: 51°31′45″N 3°41′43″W / 51.529146°N 3.695252°W / 51.529146; -3.695252
Pyle (Welsh: Y Pîl ) is a village and community in Bridgend county borough, Wales. This large village is served by the A48 road, and lies less than one mile from Junction 37 of the M4 motorway, and is therefore only a half-hour journey from the capital city of Wales, Cardiff; in fact it lies approximately equidistant between the capital (Cardiff) and the second city (Swansea). The nearest town is the seaside resort of Porthcawl. Within the Community, to the northeast of Pyle, is the adjoining settlement of Kenfig Hill.
An indication of early settlement is the Croes Siencyn Incised Stone, a Scheduled Monument on Marlas Road, (51°31′39″N 3°41′56″W / 51.5275°N 3.6989°W / 51.5275; -3.6989 (Pyle Incised Stone), grid ref: SS822823). This is a weathered stone with an incised cross, dated to 11th or 12th century, moved to its present garden location in 1945 from 'between Kenfig and Pyle'. The early expansion of Pyle was brought about when the ancient borough of Kenfig was abandoned after being buried in the drifting sand dunes of Kenfig Sands. The walls of Pyle St James' parish church are reputed to have been moved stone by stone from the old town, relocated further inland as the sand encroached.
Pyle is a surname, and may refer to:
A peel is a shovel-like tool used by bakers to slide loaves of bread, pizzas, pastries, and other baked goods into and out of an oven. It is usually made of wood, with a flat carrying surface (like a shovel's blade) for holding the baked good and a handle extending from one side of that surface. Alternatively, the carrying surface may be made of sheet metal, which is attached to a wooden handle. Wood has the advantage that it does not become hot enough to burn the user's hands the way metal can, even if it is frequently in the oven. The word presumably derives from the French pelle, which describes both a peel and a shovel.
A peel's intended functions are to:
I wanted a hard ball,
I was tired of playing softball.
Wanted a hard ball,
Like the Major Leaguers used.
I asked for a hard ball,
But my parents said, "Just wait.
You're only seven years old
And you have to be eight."
But I wanted a hard ball
In the very worst way.
Needed a hard ball,
I already knew how to play.
I knew I would get one,
They could talk and turn blue.
But there was nothing they could do,
Nothing they could do.
I saved my pennies,
Saved my dimes.
Collected bottles,
It was summertime.
The day was hot
And the sky was blue.
I wanted a hard ball
And was gonna get one too.
I had a good friend
Who was old enough to have one.
He couldn't afford it
So a partnership was made.
He said he would buy it,
If I had a place to hide it.
I gave him my Coke-bottle fortune
And got ready to play.
He came back with a hard ball,
We took it from the box.
It was time to play hard ball,
Time to take our knocks.
Who got to bat first?
We had to be fair.
I dug in my pocket
And flipped a coin in the air.
I lost the toss,
So he was gonna hit.
I started to throw. He said,
"Back up a little bit."
I asked him why,
He said,
" I'll knock it down your throat."
I said,
"You won't even see it,
I bet you're gonna choke."
I let it fly,
Threw it hard as I could throw.
My folks were at work now,
They would never know.
I wanted a hard ball,
It took me by surprise.
When he hit the hard ball,
It hit me right between the eyes.
The moral of this story is
To do what your parents tell you.
And if you can't do that,
A friend's advice might help you.
If you can't do that,
All is still not lost,
Take a tip from me,