tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8914556390545650892024-03-08T03:31:32.833-08:00StarkNotesScribblings of a Recovering AcademicRoy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-81963417496817039622023-02-07T04:58:00.000-08:002023-02-07T04:58:15.334-08:00Ample of Emily<p> <span style="font-size: large;">What to do once you have made this bed ample and with awe? Let's go to line 3:</span></p><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">“In it wait till judgment break.” Is this the bed we'll die in? What word seems out of place or, I don’t know, poetic or nonliteral in this line? “Break," obviously. </span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">How can "break" be the predicate for “judgment”? By being an implied metaphor, an invitation to a metaphor if you will: By that I mean Emily has led the reader to picture an image that she, Emily, never actually drew.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Let’s return to the literal world for a moment and imagine Emily lying in her bed. There was one window to her left and one straight ahead (I’ve been in that room). What could she see as she waits, as she delays her getting up? Day<i>break</i>. The sun rises and a new day breaks. And this new day is Judgment Day. </span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpUAmYtIc2nVqVeI0cADWiD5CsTRcJOwYGqi1oZm_F8UBG1wsca0xLdziEghCxgosU5ZIswR_N5uvcXS80yiMl5FLDCqR6pDUIrZAjt5y3iYdVZBJJv_HfHGqatL_BA5JFP9pCBJ3a_KB/s1600/Dickinson_2.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpUAmYtIc2nVqVeI0cADWiD5CsTRcJOwYGqi1oZm_F8UBG1wsca0xLdziEghCxgosU5ZIswR_N5uvcXS80yiMl5FLDCqR6pDUIrZAjt5y3iYdVZBJJv_HfHGqatL_BA5JFP9pCBJ3a_KB/s320/Dickinson_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patiently waiting for Emily to come outside</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Therefore, this bed must be made ample and with awe.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />The phrase “Judgment Day” does not make honest Christians' hearts leap up with joyful anticipation,</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">but in this poem, it sounds more like a beautiful spring day. </span><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">It will break “excellent and fair.” Something excellent is “remarkably good, possessing outstanding quality.” </span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And fair? </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Who doesn’t want her judgment to be fair? Before anyone answers, Buffy, could you look up "fair"?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">While we wait, Irving, when you turn in an essay, do you want the teacher to assess its value fairly?<br /><br /><i>Irving</i>: Yes.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Seriously?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /><i>Irving</i>: Yes. Why not?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Think about it. Absolutely fair. Exactly what you deserve.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Irving</i>: Hmm. Maybe not.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Buffy, did you find ‘fair’?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Buffy</i>: Yeah, but there’s like 50 different definitions. Do you want me to read’em all?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />I guess not. Just give us a sampling and see if that helps.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Buffy</i>: "Free from bias, dishonesty or injustice. Proper under the rules. Moderately large." </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Whoa! It gives "ample" as one of the synonyms!</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Sweet. Please continue.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Buffy</i>: “Neither excellent nor poor. Moderately or tolerably good. Likely, promising. Fair, sunny, cloudless, not stormy. Free from blemish or imperfection. Seemingly good or sincere, but not really so."</span><br /><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That’s enough! Irving, you want to say something?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Irving</i>: Yes. I decided that when you grade my essays, I prefer grace over justice. Please don't be fair.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Nicely put. </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Soooo. Someone paraphrase what we have so far. It's only one short stanza. Okay, Basilic, go.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Basilic</i> (<i>takes deep breath</i>): </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">You create or make ready this resting place or marital relationship or bottom of a river or lake and do it in a way that is plentiful and fully sufficient for the purpose, so that the bed is spacious and roomy, and you accomplish this with a mingling of fear, reverence and dread. </span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Basilic continues</i>: Then you wait there until the following breaks: outstanding, remarkably good judgment, neither excellent nor poor, just moderately good, but ample, proper under the rules and, actually, only seemingly good or sincere, but not really so.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">(<i>Class cheers with sincere admiration, some hurling Granny Smith Jolly Ranchers in Basilic's direction.</i>)</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Way to go, Basilic! I don't have anything to add to that! Emily’s diction really is heavy, isn't it? Her language is compressed</span>. She is saying more than can be said with that handful of words. </div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Some Dickinson scholars believe her diction was so heavy that when she wrote, she actually wore one of those Velcro back supports used by people who move pianos or refrigerators for a living. (<i>Students reluctantly deliver token chuckle</i>.)</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />But anyway, together we have managed to “lift” her first stanza. (<i>Students unable to generate follow-up chuckling.</i>)</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Before we go to the second one, does this thing rhyme? “Bed/awe/break/fair.” Anyone see a rhyme there? No one?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Emily’s poems typically <i>do</i> rhyme, and many of them rhyme in the abcb pattern. If that’s the case in this poem, “awe” rhymes with “fair.” And, trust me, it does. That’s called “slant rhyme,” also called half rhyme, near rhyme, oblique rhyme, or imperfect rhyme. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>These are all names for using either assonance (repetition of vowel sounds: shed/bell) or consonance (repetition of consonant sounds: head/round) to create a rhyme, but this one – “awe” and “fair” -- is a bit of a stretch.</div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Okay, those of you who are still here, get up and move around, do a jumping jack or two, maybe do some deep breathing. Then we'll attempt to finish off this little jewel before the bell rings and you race happily to AP Economics.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>*****</b></span></div><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Look at the odd wording of those first two lines: “Be its mattress straight / Be its pillow round.” Your mom would’ve never said it this way. It’s still the imperative mood, but it’s elevated, exalted. </span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Emily could have said “Make the mattress straight” or “Be sure the mattress is straight.” </span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />I’m probably missing something, but the content of those lines seems clear enough: Be sure the different elements of the bed are as they should be.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />And now we’ll take the final two lines together: “Let no sunrise’ yellow noise / Interrupt this ground.” </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Why the apostrophe after the “sunrise”? It’s possessive: The “yellow noise” belongs to the sunrise.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Anyone know what figure of speech “yellow noise” is? No? Who was your English teacher last year? Don't answer that! Just kidding!</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Yellow comes to you through the eye, noise through the ear, so noise can’t literally be yellow. The senses have inextricably mingled, and this is called synaesthesia, even though your spell-check would prefer synesthesia, or maybe it would prefer you just say “union of the senses.”</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />(The 19th-century poet John Keats was a big fan of synaesthesia and used it so often he would be the cover boy of Synaesthesia Monthly, if such a publication actually existed. F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of Keats’s biggest fans, used it frequently and beautifully, especially in some of the more poetic passages of <i>Great Gatsby</i>.)</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Okay, “noise” is the last word of the second stanza's third line. What word occupies that space in the first stanza? “Break,” which also suggests sound – it’s almost onomatopoetic, but not quite. Judgment breaks and the yellow noise interrupts, adding to the poem’s coherence by intimating that the noise in stanza two is that of judgment day breaking in stanza one. "Judgment breaks with the sun's yellow noise" -- something like that.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Notice how the imperative mood continues in these last two lines. But who is the audience this time? We, the reader, can make our bed ample and with awe (or at least try our best to do so) and we can wait in it. Doing something about “sunrise’ yellow noise,” however, is trickier.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />We cannot keep the sun, with its yellow light, from rising. Who can?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />We can keep our eyes closed or wear special Wake-No-More eye covers, as if we were trying to get some sleep on a flight to Japan. Will that keep the sunrise from interrupting us?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Picture Emily on her little bed in her snug, tidy bedroom in Amherst when the sunrise breaks through her window. While you’re picturing that, let’s go to the final line. Don't stop picturing it!'</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />The last two words are “this ground.” The last two words of line 1 are “this bed,” linking these two images just the way Emily linked “break” and “noise.” Unless there was some sort of transformation between the first and last lines, “this bed” is “this ground.”</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Considering the poem as a whole and nothing but the poem as a whole – as if that were possible – what bed or ground is she talking about? Tarleanna?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Tarleanna</i>: Well, this is a somewhat literal guess: it could be her death bed or, by extension, her burial plot. So she’s telling undertakers, gravediggers and other cemetery workers to prepare the body and the plot carefully as the deceased will wait there until Gabriel blows the Last Trumpet to wake the dead.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div>But in a way she’s also demanding that Gabriel mute his horn.</div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Oh, that's good stuff, Tar. You have something different, Seymour?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Seymour</i>: A less literal and a more big-picture guess: The bed is her entire life. If she makes her life enough, plentiful, sufficient for the purpose, and does this with a mix of reverence and dread, there will be no need to interrupt her rest with judgment’s great reveille.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I like "great reveille"! Thanks, Seymour and Tar. You’re on to something, both of you, I'm sure of it.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Notice there is no “if,” no conditional in the poem. Maybe there's an implied “then” between “Be its pillow round” and “Let no sunrise’ yellow noise," but we can't be sure. Emily is forcing us to co-create <i>this</i> bed, <i>this</i> poem.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Why don’t we just brainstorm for a moment: Daybreak is implied in line 3; the day breaks in the east; east reminds Christians of Easter; Easter celebrates the resurrection of the body of Christ and, by extension, his followers; but the sound of the sun (Son?) rising is nothing but a disruptive “noise” in this poem; therefore, the body continues to rest . . . or wait? Or what?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The narrator/Emily insists, commands "Do not disturb my rest."</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /><i>Demeter</i>: So what do you think she's saying?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />What do I think? First figure out what you think, and we can talk about it later. Maybe Emily’s wish was to jump start our thinking apparatus, to invite us into an intelligent dialogue, to take another look, think again, ponder, all the marvelous things we can do because our brains are still alive.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Personally, I would distrust a teacher or mentor who told me what this poem means. To overdo an arboreal metaphor, almost all of Emily’s poems are the size of acorns, transformed, through careful readings, into mighty, sprawling, towering oaks. Why, then, try to shrink this thing back down to an acorn? Why bundle its extraordinary potential into the confines of a definitive theme?</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />So keep thinking about it. That’s what it’s for.</span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />Class dismissed. Thanks for coming to high school today.</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjG3AgUF_9XUOgR93GYOsroWQBEqyDnDkSEod5_PAi3eIHmoauNAXjMdMdYMKCkfW0cZhx9Np-HH2hGdFph43u-df5ic4KA6SQtiu0ogmrZwFJkM1-7fhwi50Zk6rdxkVGXTVcJplmTiV/s1600/sunrise+jadyn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjG3AgUF_9XUOgR93GYOsroWQBEqyDnDkSEod5_PAi3eIHmoauNAXjMdMdYMKCkfW0cZhx9Np-HH2hGdFph43u-df5ic4KA6SQtiu0ogmrZwFJkM1-7fhwi50Zk6rdxkVGXTVcJplmTiV/s320/sunrise+jadyn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">21st-century sunrise. Still beautiful. Palm Sunday? Photo courtesy Jadyn Lalich</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">Ample make this bed<br />Make this bed with awe.<br />In it wait till judgment break<br />Excellent and fair.<br /><br />Be its mattress straight<br />Be its pillow round;<br />Let no sunrise’ yellow noise<br />Interrupt this ground.</span></i></span></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-70397960369853493882022-06-24T13:20:00.004-07:002022-06-29T13:11:25.312-07:00Daddy<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
are some of the things my dad could do better than anyone else, he told me:
jump; box; draw; sculpt; plow; hoe; fix transmissions, clutches, and brakes;
replace headlights; tune up a car, including changing spark plugs, points, and
distributor cap; run; sing; swim; lift weights; shoot a rifle; rake; do
push-ups; run a country; build a fire; cut wood, both with an ax and a
cross-cut saw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
never said he could be the best father or husband. At the same time, however,
it seemed that anyone who had complaints about his performance in those roles
was “just silly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy
was apparently not the best at the following professions: farming, selling
insurance, selling cheap unbreakable dishes out of the back of his car, selling
Ford cars, selling Studebaker cars, delivering farm equipment for a local
Allis-Chalmers dealership, being a mechanic, being a carpenter, being either an
assistant manager or manager of Jackson’s Minit-Market (a forerunner of 7-11s)
in either Madison or Monticello, or being a free-lance handy man. He was either
fired from or in some other way failed at all these undertakings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
knew no one smarter than him. He said, “I have senser’n anybody.” He
claimed to have horse-sense, infinitely more valuable than book sense. He solved the daily puzzle called "Horse Sense, gloating at his
success with it. In fact, he loved horses and fantasized about once again
owning one, perhaps a Morgan horse. It’s also true that, when I was 15,
he carved a perfect horse head and neck out of a bar of soap. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
had no education past the eighth grade.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
says that in the eighth grade, back in Douglas, Georgia, he and his younger
brother Gaines were called down to the principal’s office. Somehow the
principal got too ugly or pushy with Gaines, and Daddy jumped up, grabbed the
principal’s arm and twisted it behind his back. End result: He gets kicked
out of school for his overzealous loyalty, and never returned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I was about 8, Setzer’s (one of Madison’s two grocery stores) started a
promo where they gave away record albums after a certain number of purchases, and Daddy would come home with compilations of classical pieces. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Martha and I listened along (my mom would have no part of it, because they
gave her a headache) while he explained the stories behind the music. We learned about the Valkyries in Wagner’s <i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-indent: 0px;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Ring_des_Nibelungen" style="background: none; color: #faa700; outline-color: rgb(51, 102, 204);" title="">Der Ring des Nibelungen</a></i>, were introduced to
Grieg’s Peer Gynt, to Verdi’s “Triumphal March” from Aida, “Tales of the Vienna
Woods," the 1812 Overture, “Flight of the Bumblebees.” He closed his eyes when
he listened, gracefully waved an imaginary baton.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where
the heck did this backwoods Georgia hick learn about classical music? He never
told me and I never asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
spanked us all a few times, mainly when he was so damn frustrated he couldn’t
think of anything else to do. I remember one I got when I must have been about
9. Since Daddy couldn’t afford to buy dog food for our beloved Smokey (hey,
forget about trips to the vet!), the sweet mutt got only table scraps. One
morning Martha and I missed the school bus, and he was about to be late for
work, so I raced to the porch to give Smokey the milk left over from my
Cheerios. The milk sloshed over the bowl onto the ugly unpainted wooden floor
of the “dog run” on the old Florida house, and that infuriated him. With a
couple of shouts, he grabbed my arm and beat my rear end for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Temper
or not, he was never what is conventionally considered abusive. I don’t know
that he ever hit Mama Joyce. Even when he blew up on Martha and me, he left no
bruises. I’m not talking about a villain here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was 5’9” (which he assured us was “average, maybe a little above”) and carried
between 150 and 160 pounds on a small frame. Mama Joyce told me Daddy
apparently was not much heavier than I until his mid-20s. He was pretty well built
during his 30s, as pictures will attest – of course, he always flexed for the
camera, because he was very proud of his physique. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
had apparently done quite well as an intramural boxer in the Army Air Force.
Before arthritis got him down, he could do push-ups and sit-ups until we got
bored with watching or counting them. Ditto chin-ups and pull-ups. No one could
match him, and no matter how well I did, or Martha, or any male cousin or
uncle, we could expect only a scoff from him. Those guys were was so damn puny
compared to him, he said.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
had wavy dark brown hair, with a widow’s peak and an annoying male-pattern
baldness, almost monkish on the top of his head. One eye was green, the other,
ruined by an exploding shotgun shell when he was a kid, was blue and
permanently bloodshot. That. along with some bad front teeth (some discoloring,
an ugly cap), kept him from perfection and probably from being a very busy
lady’s man. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some
of the shapelier Pinetteans had crushes on him anyway. He thought we didn’t
notice he leered at women. He thought he was only gazing appreciatively, but brother,
his mouth was watering and he couldn’t hide it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was brought up by a completely sexless, steely-eyed, puritanical, coldhearted, soul-withering,
primitive Baptist who seemed committed to a lifelong campaign to eradicate the
human body and all its desires and functions. When my cousin Judi and I were no
more than 4, and possibly younger, she beat the pure living hell out of us when
she caught us urinating within sight of one another.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> baffled by the prospect of
his mother getting impregnated with him, his brothers Gaines and “Fate,” and
his sisters Lora and Wilma. I refuse to think about it!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
are some things my dad hated: the Kennedys, basketball, major league baseball
players, book learning, teachers, communists, FDR, all rock music, almost all
black people and all Yankees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was very frustrated by our nation’s refusal to drop an atomic bomb (pronounced
“bum”) on North Vietnam. This was an echo from his frustration over our refusal
to “mop up the commies” at the end of WWII.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
cried a couple of times that I know of, and I’ll tell you about the last time
first: On the night before I went off to Jacksonville to be inducted into the
Air Force, and from there to head to Lackland AFB and basic training, my wife
and I gave the family one last visit, driving over from Lake City. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
dad ran his mouth nonstop telling army story after army story, almost all of
the stories involving his staring down some drill sergeant or roughing up some
Yankee who kept saying “Jesus Christ” or him outdoing any big lug who dared to
fight him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Man,
he was manic that night!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
I had been in basic training for a couple of weeks, I got a letter from Martha
and she said, “I think you ought to know this: On the night you left to go into
the Air Force, Daddy couldn’t get to sleep. He tossed and turn, got up and
walked around, then went back to bed. Finally, he got up and started crying and
pretty much sat on the foot of the bed and cried all night. That’s how bad he
hated to see you go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
tells me one of two things: Either Daddy did love me, and knew what I’d be
going through, and felt for me, and would miss me; or Martha, God love her,
always the occasional liar and fantasist, made up the story to make me feel
better. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It makes
no difference to me which of those is true. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
other time he cried was pretty disturbing, and it ties in with Martha’s
feelings about him. After being sick an awful lot for a couple of years, she
was diagnosed with diabetes when she was 8. We must not have had any insurance,
because every time she was hospitalized – which was often -- we felt a
financial pinch or at least heard about one. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
night, I think it was after supper, I was sitting at the table while Daddy and
Mama Joyce were sorting through bills. I didn’t know what they were looking or
hoping for, but the piles of envelopes seemed as never ending as Bartholomew
Cubbins’ 500 hats. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wasn’t paying much attention, really, until suddenly Daddy put his head down on
his forearm. I guessed he was just tired, but then he began to move his head
back and forth, rubbing his eyes into his hairy arms, and I noticed his arms
became wet, and then I knew that grown men could cry, but I really didn’t know
what for. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Martha
seemed to have overheard, believed she overheard, Daddy complaining about the
money she was costing us, how we were never going to catch up as long as she
kept getting sick and she <i>did</i> keep getting sick and we did get deeper and
deeper in debt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Martha
knew he said “not again” with every diabetic assault and knew we’d be better
off without her, at least from Daddy’s point of view. This went on for years. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>By
the time she was in her late teens, she seemed to care nothing for him at all.
She was bitter toward him throughout her adult life, before and after he died</span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t seem to be saying much about how I feel about him, but it’s probably
seeping out of the paper from between the lines.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Daddy
liked to sing around the house, chiefly hymns, show tunes (!) and old
folk-country tunes. “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” “The Surrey with the Fringe
on Top,” “16 Tons,” “No One Knows the Trouble I See,” “Ghost Riders in the
Sky,” “Oklahoma,” and many more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>When
driving, he’d belt out a full-throated melody and invariably look toward Mama
Joyce with a smirk on his face, but she didn’t tend to return his gaze. I think
he wanted her to say, “That was nice. Way to hit that one note.” I don’t have
much of an ear, but I think he really could sing.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
one I know ever heard him utter a single cuss word. When I was seven, he and I
were admiring a fire he just made in the fireplace, and perhaps a piece of oak
popped or there was a sudden flare up, and I responded with “Golly!” “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t</i> say golly,” he hissed at me.
“Golly” was profanity, he explained, as were gosh, heck, dadgum, dang, and
durn, not to mention those more colorful terms. His profanity consisted of
“shoot” and “for land’s sake.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still,
he liked to tell the story of the time he had to take a dump in the downstairs
(basement?) of the Madison County courthouse: “Somebody had written on the
stall, ‘Judge Davis is a basturd,’ and right next to it, somebody else wrote in
bigger letters, ‘Learn to spell you illitrit bastard!’ ” He laughed
uncontrollably at that story, reducing himself to high-pitched sob-giggles.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
could not get him interested in my one passion, basketball. He went to hardly
any of my games, and he had this bizarre notion that my getting to all the
games was a kind of weakness. No, really. He often said, during every
basketball season, “It’s not gonna kill you to miss one game out of the whole
bunch.” He didn’t mean a game that I’d watch. He meant the games I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">played</i> in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since
I was generally dependent on him to take me to the Pinetta Gym, he could
usually make that annual absence happen and frequently make me late. On game
nights, I was so excited I could hardly breathe. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’d
have my jersey, etc., in my Pinetta Indian satchel an hour after I got off the
school bus at four o’clock. As game time approached, and Daddy still not home,
I’d walk out to the dirt road, satchel in hand, and stare in the direction from
which he’d be coming. I’d walk around, I’d pace, then I’d stare again. Not many
cars traveled that road, so if I saw headlights, it was probably him. Some
nights those lights showed up too late.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Goddang
it, why did he do that?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
was a restless soul, a man out of joint with his time and place. He was
frustrated and unsatisfied and disappointed. Nothing he experienced could
measure up to what he hoped for and believed he was entitled to. Everything let
him down, including his wife and kids. The world conspired to keep him from the
things he loved, like farming, for instance. (His failure here could very well
be responsible for the troubled man I knew. He was apparently a good farmer,
crushed first by a major flood in ’48, then a barn fire a year or so later.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
almost never got around to becoming close with him. Nothing in common in 1968:
He was a strong George Wallace supporter, while I liked first McCarthy, then
RFK, then McCarthy again, then fell into despair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
better in ’69, what with me enjoying college (or “wasting my time,” as he would
put it). In early 1970, when I got my draft notification, he kept me from believing
the lies of a Marine recruiter who claimed being a “jar heads” was easy as pie!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t get too worked up about my marriage.
A few weeks in, he began to hold a grudging respect for my wife for being able
to fix things like he could, and being more like him than I was, but also
distrusting and mocking her for her forward-thinking feminism.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
wrote me a couple of times during the six weeks I was in basic training or boot
camp or living hell or whatever you want to call it. When I got transferred
from basic (San Antonio) to tech school (San Angelo), he drove Mama Joyce’s old
black Chevy out the 1300 miles to San Angelo, stayed overnight, then took a bus
back to Madison so we would have a car.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked around downtown San Angelo with him,
and once I saw our reflections together in a storefront window. We were close
to the same size, and I was wearing the uniform of the United States Air Force,
a uniform much like the one he’d worn in the Army Air Force, a uniform he
would’ve been much happier in than I. I honestly thought these words seeing our
images gliding down a San Angelo sidewalk: “I have lived this long, to be as
big as my father, to . . . ” but I can’t remember the rest of it, and I’m sure
it was very poetic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Years
later when I finally got back from Japan, he was more interested in me,
although not happy about the red beard I proudly began growing the day I left
Fort Meade, Maryland, November 27, 1973. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was good back home to see him holding my son Roy and taking an interest in him
and reading to him. I think he really loved Roy. I think he would’ve always
loved Roy. Roy would’ve been his ideal son. It is without bitterness that
sometimes when I look at Roy or listen to him, I think to myself, “I hope
you’re happy now, Daddy.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
some of the saddest dreams I’ve ever had were ones in which I saw Daddy again
and I started trying to catch him up and I’d remember telling him about my
daughter Jessie, and I’d say, “But you never met Jessie.” I woke up weeping
after that one.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While
I was on leave between Japan and my final assignment in Maryland, he and I were
alone in the house one day, and the phone rang. It was someone from the
godforsaken Air Force explaining to me that due to blah, blah, blah, I could
either accept a 6-month-early discharge or re-enlist. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The euphoria I felt upon
this sinking in was among the most powerful of my life. Gravity couldn’t hold
me down, and I hung up the phone and leapt and leapt back into the room where
my dad sat reading something and where I immediately became self-conscious
behaving like this in front of him, and I tried to calm down, and, God love
him, he advised against it: “No, no,” he said. “Enjoy it.” He understood this
kind of ecstasy, and knew how rare it was. He genuinely wanted me to embrace it
and experience it fully. So I did. I kept jumping up and touching the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway,
he had this free-lance handyman thing going then, and so the earlier he got
started, the more money he could make. But he just could not get out of the
house before about 10 a.m. There was the newspaper to read, all of it, for one
thing. And then one thing and another and suddenly, very angry at himself, he’d
say, “Shoot! I sat here and wasted half the morning,” and stomp out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
some occasions, maybe just to help, maybe because I still didn’t have a job, maybe
to keep him company, maybe because Mama Joyce shamed me into it, I’d go with
him to his job site, and do what little someone as ignorant as I could do. They
were pretty comfortable times. I didn’t dread those trips. He talked a lot,
told a lot of stories. I listened without irony.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
place I went with him was an old black woman’s house where he was building a
shed or a small barn. He introduced me to her as a college student, and I could
tell he was a little embarrassed by the beard. Still, I heard pride in his
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a noticeable change in my life, this getting to be sort of on the same
level with my dad, at least the same level of communication, at least the same
frequency of communication so that we were each hearing each other, me and my
dad. But of course I didn’t spend a lot of time mulling over it, because it
wasn’t like he was deathly ill or would be going anywhere anytime soon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Weeks
later my cousin James Gibson’s wife dropped by to tell me of his accident, that
Daddy and the old woman heard a rattlesnake rattling close by, so she went to
get her shotgun but he never used one to kill a snake, it was easier to chop
off its head with a hoe, but she insisted and he didn’t want to argue about it
so he used it, not knowing the barrel was stopped up by a dirt-dauber’s nest, and
the shot exploded back into his forehead, and he collapsed and looked at her, and
said his last words, an astonished look on his face: “What happened?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rest
at last for the tortured man from Georgia, he whose dreams were shattered, he
who could pop other people’s dreams like soap bubbles, he who still invades my
sleeping dreams, tramping like a heavy unseen shadow uninvited through my house
at inconvenient times, annoying me by his return, and I awake relieved by his
absence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even
so, Daddy, come back. I love you still.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-40758532391280398652022-06-22T14:43:00.002-07:002022-06-22T19:58:17.269-07:00What about My Dad?<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I learned a lot from my dad, who I called Daddy.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Daddy was pouring me some raisin bran and he said, "Raisins used to be grapes. They dry them in the sun. And prunes used to be plums."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was amazed that something could also be something else. Cucumbers, he told me later, can become pickles. Incredible.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When I was a toddler I was watching Daddy shave in the bathroom, and a giant rat ran between his feet, and Daddy never blinked.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Once Daddy was eating dinner and a fly kept buzzing around his food and my mom said "Rogers, watch out for that fly," and Daddy said, "Let the fly watch out for itself."</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghy_PQQotDq0L3nVV0v-m3Yfts16XTTehh6Hq7QrP9A1aJRF9VbZkWvGlIryJCq7ZNduOY4TqM7hAVP5RFqxPvsAqXLO4nXJezLsTnuQVz3etgS9UYGEzyUM7rkox-ULSxhpdC8ysm3BNU/s1600/daddy+mj.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghy_PQQotDq0L3nVV0v-m3Yfts16XTTehh6Hq7QrP9A1aJRF9VbZkWvGlIryJCq7ZNduOY4TqM7hAVP5RFqxPvsAqXLO4nXJezLsTnuQVz3etgS9UYGEzyUM7rkox-ULSxhpdC8ysm3BNU/s320/daddy+mj.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mamma and Daddy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Daddy said basketball was for sissies. It's a girl's game. Football is for boys. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Daddy said Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts and 4-H'ers were all for sissies. "You don't wanna run around in shorts," he said. That was true. Men didn't wear shorts back then unless they were swimming or playing basketball. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But I went to a Cub Scout meeting to see what it was all about and sure enough the boys wore shorts and their Den Master was a woman so I left and never came back, plus I was never in 4-H. Maybe all boy clubs were for sissies.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One day Daddy came by my elementary school to drop off a book I had forgotten, and my class was eating lunch and Richard said, "Roy, there's your dad," and I looked over my shoulder and he was peeping in at us through the door's window and I raced to the door to grab the book so he would go away and quit embarrassing me, and he said, "I saw Rhonda," because he knew I had a crush on her, and I said "I know," because if I had said "Please leave" he would have become very angry and it never dawned on me to talk back to him or tell him what to do, ever.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Daddy would take me to movies and correct misrepresentations. In <i>The Giant of Marathon</i>, he laughed at body-builder Steve Reeves straining to push a plow pulled by a horse.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"That's silly," he said. "You let the horse do the work." "Well, Steve Reeves sure is strong," I said. "But he don't need to be strong," Daddy said. "He's doing it wrong."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When scrawny actors like Frank Sinatra or Alan Ladd beat up people in movies, Daddy would snort. "That guy coulda snapped Sinatra in two like a dry stick," he would say. And, "I guarantee you they got Ladd standing on a stool. He's barely five-foot-five with boots on." </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And he thought Robert Mitchum tried too hard to look like a tough guy. He made fun of Yul Brynner's acting in <i>The Ten Commandments</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He liked Will Rogers and Charlie Chaplin, and he could imitate the latter. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Military movies drove him nuts. They got everything wrong! "If you ever saluted like that, the drill sergeant would knock your block off." "Nobody that age would ever be master sergeant, for Pete's sake." "That is <i>not</i> how you hold a rifle if you wanna hit anything." "All this is, is Hollywood."</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapU7JtS8V-ybD47FNsAEGFStWrscWn9nhcUdPhglhuhDyG-KDSQiugZpDi3sLNqAbd7qhdya9MExjXFyTBYJ9pdotDt8lJnhBPf1sFG-rmp-VZ3_nW6qIJcnKB9kpVAjmsd7wd15D_V2g/s1600/daddy+tie.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="586" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapU7JtS8V-ybD47FNsAEGFStWrscWn9nhcUdPhglhuhDyG-KDSQiugZpDi3sLNqAbd7qhdya9MExjXFyTBYJ9pdotDt8lJnhBPf1sFG-rmp-VZ3_nW6qIJcnKB9kpVAjmsd7wd15D_V2g/s200/daddy+tie.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">If you're ever in a fight, Daddy said, use your left hand to block the blows, then come in with your right, and if the other fellow's protecting his head, and he better be, hit him in the kidneys and after a while he won't even be able to stand up.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We were cutting wood for the fireplace and Daddy said Jack Dempsey would train for fights by chopping wood and there was never a better boxer.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And he said don't just hit the wood straight on with your ax, hit it at an angle, from up top, then coming up from the bottom and that's how you get the chips flying. And when you're sawing with a cross-cut, don't pull down, don't put pressure on it, just pull it straight, then just relax enough so the other fellow can pull it straight back.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">If you do it right, you don't get tired so easy. There's a right way and a wrong way to do everything.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He showed me how to make a tree fall where you wanted it to when you were cutting it down. "You do it wrong and it falls on your head."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So I learned about cutting firewood.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">At church, he made fun of the choir director, a guy named Tommy Thompson. He would imitate him at home and say, "He looks like a buzzard flapping its wings when it's taking off from a carcass."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Daddy sang around the house all the time, and far as I could tell, it was good singing, but no one ever complimented him. He sang hymns, "Ghost Riders in the Sky," and "Mares Eat Oats," and songs from <i>Carousel</i> ("June Is Bustin' Out All Over" and "You'll Never Walk Alone") and <i>Oklahoma!</i> ("Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'" and "Surrey with the Fringe on Top") and "Stout-Hearted Men" and more. Mama's response: "You're giving me a headache."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He taught me what an overture was and told me to listen for the buzzing in Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee," and explained what was happening in Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries." </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He listened to the Triumphal March from Verdi's <i>Aida</i> until everyone in our house had it memorized whether we liked it or not.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was 9 when Daddy told me about these pieces. He got the albums free from a grocery store through some sort of promotion.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Aside from the music, he didn't care much for church. He never said that, but we'd go weeks without going, a sabbatical that made my cup overflow with joy. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But eventually he and my mom would rejoin the flock, my sister and me in tow. It was an ought, a should for him, an obligation to a rural community at mid-century. You don't want to be the guy who doesn't go to church. His friend M.C. didn't go so people said he was an atheist and would go to hell.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said if John Kennedy was elected, the Pope would be running the country.</span></span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said holy rollers were crackpots.</span></span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But mostly </span></span><span face=""helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif">he didn't teach me about religious doctrine.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif">When my sister and I were very young, he read Old Testament stories to us, stories of violence, miracles, heroism, of faithful Ruth and nasty Jezebel, but he never spoke of morals or lessons. David bouncing a rock off Goliath's head had nothing to do with church.</span><br />
<span face="helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif">He didn't care much for baseball, but he hated the New York Yankees anyway. They were yankees for godsake!</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said Wilt Chamberlain's legs were too skinny. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said Cassius Clay had no chance against Floyd Patterson. Wrong.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said Cassius Clay had no chance against Sonny Liston.</span><span face=""helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif"> Wrong.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He said male teachers were sissies. I don't think he knew what a professor was. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He read Hemingway and talked me into reading <i>Old Man and the Sea,</i> then took me to the movie which was horrible but I was too young to know it, plus I was fascinated by the fact that every word in the title had three letters. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He went to see<i> Streetcar Named Desire</i>, <i>Cat on a Hot Tin Roof</i> and <i>The Misfits</i>, but said they were too dirty for me to see. What he really wanted to see was a Brigitte Bardot movie, but I'm not sure he ever did. We lived in Madison.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One night he pointed out the Milky Way and explained it. He tried to explain how far away the stars were. He told me where the light on the moon came from and why sometimes you could only see part of it.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When our car broke down, he was not afraid to walk in the dark singing "Ghost Riders in the Sky." It creeped me out.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He never got over losing his farm to fire and floods in the Forties.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He always wanted a horse, but never got one.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He wanted to own a house and some land, but never could afford them.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He wanted a brawny, combative, adventurous son and a healthy daughter, but never got them.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He wanted to fight in WWII, but was blind in one eye and got stuck in Yuma, AZ, as a marksmanship instructor. The blind eye made him perfect for that.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He was sorry we didn't take out the Russians at the end of WWII, and he wanted Goldwater to beat LBJ in '64 and then "drop an atom bum" on North Vietnam.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He was counting on George Wallace to slap some sense back into this country in 1968.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">His life turned out nothing like the one he wanted, his every breath seemed disappointing, his very existence a study in frustration, but he didn't cuss.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And he didn't cry. And I learned why people do.</span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-67710217309881100192021-01-21T05:49:00.002-08:002022-11-02T12:29:38.709-07:00Separate Tables<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><b>One morning when I was cropping</b> in the tobacco fields of someone I will call Semolina Pilchard, the tractor pulled up with what appeared to be an empty sled, and a little black boy, maybe five or six years old, popped up out of the thing – he’d sneaked in and hidden in the bottom just as the tractor was pulling out from the barn. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The kid was so pleased with himself for successfully escaping his mama – who was too busy stringing tobacco to notice – that he busted into squeals of laughter. That surprising and delightful sound, like the one babies make when you put your mouth on their belly and make flatulent sounds, got us all laughing, too</span>. </span></p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pilchard's right-hand man, Jackson, who was sort of our overseer in the field, told the boy he better get his self back to the barn before his mama whupped his behind, but the little guy didn’t scare easily. He’d pretend to leave, then would sneak back through the towering stalks of tobacco and pop up next to one of us like some sort of field sprite.</span><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">He bedeviled each of us, partly with our indulgence, crawling through the stalks to untie our boots, sticking tobacco worms on our shirts, knocking our hats off, and after each of his tricks, he’d dart off like a water bug, howling with laughter. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">If our culture’s symbology allowed it, I would say that on a merciless white-hot morning, he was a ray of darkshine, a mercurial imp of black joy that blessed us with innocent laughter the way only kittens and puppies and small children can.</span><br /><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">When the sled was full, Jackson started up the tractor. “Come on, boy, I’m takin’ you back to yo’ mama,” he said. At the barn, the kid got some scolding, but Jackson defended him: “What the hell? He ain’t doin’ no harm, let’im come back out with us.” So the little black boy continued to entertain us till dinner by which, of course, I mean lunch.</span> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Back at the barn, the horseplay continued while we washed up. Wherever we croppers went, he went with us. We washed, he washed. We got our paper plates, he got his paper plates. We went over to the picnic tables under a pecan tree with the other white people, and he went with us. We started to eat, he started to eat.</span> <br /><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">“You better run go find yo’ mama, boy,” Jackson told him.</span><br /><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">“Nah, you better go find <i>yo’</i> mama,” the kid shot back, then threw his head back and laughed.</span><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">“I ain’t kiddin’, boy. Git back over to the shed with yo’ mama!”</span><br /><br /><span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The kid pointed a fork full of mashed potatoes at Jackson. “Nah, I ain’t kiddin’ <i>you</i>, Mr. Jackson man,” he said, clearly wanting to drag out this joke as long as possible. <br /><br />Jackson put his plate down, bolted from his bench, walked over to the kid just as he was putting those potatoes in his mouth, yanked him up by the back of his collar, and said, “You git your black ass over there with yo' mama right <i>NOW!</i> You don’t belong over here! Now GO, and don’t come back, you hear me?!</span>”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">There was a momentary hush at the white people's table. At the black people's table, the kid got a scolding of the "what-I-told-you?" variety.<br /><br />We felt a little awkward for a while, and the food didn’t go down as easily as it could’ve, but it didn’t take long for everything to get back to normal. Jackson had done a difficult thing. He had restored order, keeping the links in our community's Great Chain of Being in their assigned places. Someone was going to have to tell that kid sometime, and the situation forced that duty on Jackson.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I don’t think he enjoyed it. <br /><br />After we finished eating, the afternoon fields were white-hot again until another damn storm started building, and the croppers’ laughter was of the sordid, bitter variety, and I’m guessing that it was not my laughter alone that sprang, as the poet William Blake said, from excess of sorrow, not of joy.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was 1962. What else were we supposed to do?</span></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-29384063425608391792020-12-29T14:08:00.000-08:002021-01-27T11:38:40.441-08:00My Conversion<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">On Graduation Day, we finally shed the fatigues and donned the more formal 1505s which were tan with short sleeves, and instead of the usual cunt hats (</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">Garrison or flight caps)</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">, we wore service caps, the kind bus drivers wear.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">There were thousands of us out there on the parade ground, and it was hotter than hell, and from time to time we could see an airman collapse onto the asphalt, usually because the dumb ass kept his knees locked. The rest of us were all in step, thousands of heels digging into the hot asphalt to the beat of music provided by the Drum and Bugle Corps, together making clockwork thunder as we marched, eyes right, past the reviewing stand or whatever not-shit name it went by. There were flags and banners everywhere, and I guess each of them stood for something.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">Picture <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0025913/" target="_blank">Triumph of the Will</a>, but in color, in broad daylight, in 94-degree heat.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoeqmx1Vf7FgWIUJ9xObfMKXBI85LET-hKL4ft0dMfe6AAp5kB8TQdCrg4P7HiO_o8AFTPiIZvaaXFZLkot3zda6ZrdsFe9vQsLkEo9hgIquf4ufclKqRP1ezhL9ZVF1hcnW2JZ6NbOeb/s220/potemkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoeqmx1Vf7FgWIUJ9xObfMKXBI85LET-hKL4ft0dMfe6AAp5kB8TQdCrg4P7HiO_o8AFTPiIZvaaXFZLkot3zda6ZrdsFe9vQsLkEo9hgIquf4ufclKqRP1ezhL9ZVF1hcnW2JZ6NbOeb/s0/potemkin.jpg" /></span></a></div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div>My God! The precision, the unity, the order, the conformity, all of us faceless, nameless, all in step with the cold insistent drum beat, a terrible beauty, anonymous as the Russian soldiers firing their way down the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ps-v-kZzfec" target="_blank">Odessa steps</a>! This mythic celebration of hierarchy, of obedience, of submission </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">to the rung above </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">-- even unto death -- this giving ourselves fully to a power greater than ourselves. . . </span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">Too much for a 19-year old to resist. Though, as is certainly apparent, I loathed this process and had great doubts about the current mission, my eyes watered. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood at attention. I was a part of the Great Body. I could help It kill and I could finally accept being killed for It. </span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">I was embarrassed by this religious experience. I never wanted it. It was an uninvited ecstasy.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">It faded a few hours later as I was preparing to move out of my dorm and to another one while I awaited orders for my next assignment. But I will never forget it.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">Fortunately, the Air Force never asked me to kill anyone or to be killed, except possibly through boredom. They soon put me to work in a job that required a Top Secret Codeword clearance, so I can't tell you what I did.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">But I can assure you I was never asked to do a single thing that ensured the continued freedom of my country. Not one thing. I promise.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-family: helvetica;">And they certainly prepared me well for that.</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-3028556562156689512020-12-23T15:11:00.000-08:002021-01-27T11:38:54.388-08:00Welcome to the Air Force: 1970<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here's a cliche that pops up during
conversations about military boot camp: "It may seem bad, but they're only
breaking you down so they can build you back up." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Just typing that almost makes the top of my head
blow off.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Who died and made the Defense Department a destroyer of selves and creator of
new ones? I speak as someone who went through this gross transfiguration. Am I
speaking as the me that has been built back up? Or as the me that was broken
down, but never built back up?<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Or did I emerge unscathed from the crucible, my old self intact, so that I
alone survived to tell you? I hope, by carefully examining my remaining
memories of basic training, this narrative will answer that question. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
From a reasonable point of view (a peculiar angle from which to discuss this
topic), basic training would be, first, the State's first opportunity to thank
you for your sacrifice, including the
timeworn, euphemistic "ultimate sacrifice." <br />
<br />
The State would convey its gratitude by making sure you were treated with the
dignity you deserve and that your health -- both mental and physical -- was
their highest concern.<br />
<br />
From there It would prepare you for winning whatever war it had currently
gotten itself into. There would be no time for anything else, not when our nation's
freedom is at risk. And if you survived your service, the State would treat you
like royalty upon your return, regardless of the physical and/or emotional
damage you suffered on its behalf -- and that treatment would go beyond dishing
out empty praise during political speeches.<br />
<br />
But I found out the State isn't quite that thoughtful.<br />
<br />
Here's how basic training (hereafter "boot camp") welcomed me to
America's largest fraternity (Sorry! No Greek letters on your fatigues!) and
helped me do my part to win the Vietnam War, ensuring that the Viet Cong would
not ultimately be popping up in the cornfields of Iowa.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">They taught me to go to bed at exactly 9 p.m.
and then wake up at exactly 5 a.m. to the cacophony of an asshole drill
sergeant or, later, a flight (same as an Army platoon) leader, banging his
nightstick on a tin garbage can and yelling "WAKE UP!! GET OUT OF BED!
LET'S GO, LADIES! GET YOUR LAZY ASSES IN GEAR!" </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
(We weren't ladies, actually.)<br />
<br />
Then we had only a few minutes (fifteen, I believe), to cram ourselves into a
shower with 49 other guys, shave, evacuate our bowels (sort of in unison, as it
turns out), put on our fatigues according to regulation, then clean and store
our toiletries.<br />
<br />
The war effort was further aided by our marching to the chow hall and, while
waiting in line, practicing our saluting in front of a mirrored wall, while our
training instructor (aka "TI," same as an Army drill instructor)
yelled helpful profanity-laced tips directly into our ears. <br />
<br />
We witnessed warm camaraderie and <i>esprit de corps</i> when
our TI would cross paths with another flight's TI. Our guy would say to the
other, for example, "Fuck you, Sgt. Hempson," to which Sgt. Hempson
would reply, "It'd be the best piece of ass you ever had!"<br />
<br />
We were yelled at as we received our food trays. The airmen filling those trays
were only a few weeks farther along than we were, but they took great pleasure
in luring us into talking so we'd get yelled at some more. For example,
"Mornin,' airman. Where ya from?" Me, like an idiot: "Florida."
My TI: "WHO THE FUCK IS TALKING IN THIS GODDAMN CHOW LINE?" <br />
<br />
During one breakfast, I learned why many young men decided to serve their
country even in wartime, even if they weren't drafted. <br />
<br />
Nathan, a</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> scrawny black kid
from one of Philly's poverty pits, once told us while we were
complaining about the shitty Air Force food, “What you fussin' about? This the
first time in my life I ever had three squares a day.” </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
Some of my other flight members had never been to a dentist or optometrist. So
they decided to risk Vietnam in order to savor, for a while at least, a better
life in the land of opportunity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
I learned that immaculate, fussy tidiness was crucial in winning the Vietnam
War. From time to time, our TI would surprise us with an inspection: <br />
<br />
Here are some things he inspected: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Did our buttons, our shiny belt buckle and our zipper all line up perfectly? If
not we got "gigged" (a gig was like a demerit and after a certain
number of them, you'd eventually catch some sort of hell), hence those three
perfectly aligned things were called the "gig line."<br />
<br />
Could you bounce a quarter off your freshly made bunk? And were there 45-degree
hospital corners where the linen was tucked in? Just to be sure, the inspector
would actually bring a protractor.<br />
<br />
Were your shirts and underwear folded in such a way their width was
exactly 6 inches? The inspector brought measuring tape.<br />
<br />
Was there any hair or leftover soap suds on your soap bar or soap dish or on
the blade of your razor? <br />
<br />
About that last one: We strongly suspected that our first drill sergeant, a
weary Nam vet named Tech Sgt. King, told our flight leader to put all our
used toiletries in the ceiling and keep only the unused spotless ones in
our foot locker. <br />
<br />
Our flight leader, a gung-ho former hippie named Zacchaeus Richardson who
thought he was in a WWII movie, never admitted that King gave him that advice,
but he must've done. Of course, this made it even more obvious that the whole
show was a sadistic game, signifying nothing.<br />
<br />
If anyone consistently failed these inspections, not only did he catch all
sorts of shit from the TI, but the TI would say to the rest of us, "You
better get this maggot's shit in working order or you're all gonna pay for
it." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This leads us to two additional features of
basic training: the blanket party and the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/891455639054565089/6346951210619700516?hl=en"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Section 8</span></a>: The
first, perfectly depicted <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/891455639054565089/6346951210619700516?hl=en"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">here</span></a> (can't
believe it begins with a L'Oreal commercial), was a harsh form of
physical punishment administered by the airmen to one of
their under-performing brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Everyone had to agree to it, so no one could snitch with impunity.This, of
course, helped us bond with our brothers-in-arms the way we would need to bond
in combat, while simultaneously, like barnyard chickens, pecking the weak ones
to death. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Let the reader decide whether this was tearing
us down or building us back up. <br />
<br />
There was a blanket party in my flight, but I wasn't invited because it took place
in the other bay (in our dorm, each flight was divided into two squads
separated by a cinder-block wall that reached almost to the
ceiling. Twenty-five of us were on one side, the same amount on the other).
This particular assault aimed not to correct a messy gig-magnet but a
compulsive masturbator or chicken-choker or yank-cranker or willy-whacker or
the oddly alliterative and tautological onanising your ownanism, or whatever
term you find most tasteful.<br />
<br />
Even from our side of the wall, we could hear the appropriately named Johnson's
cot start squeaking shortly after lights-out as he began methodically jerking
off, and then we could hear his bay mates, first humanely pleading, then
yelling insistently that he "leave [his] fucking pecker alone and let [them]
get some sleep!" <br />
<br />
But the kid continued his intense romantic relationship with his imaginary
lover for about a week before his bay-mates blanket-partied him so fiercely
that his libido shrunk to the size of a dehydrated blueberry.<br />
<br />
Later, the men in white coats came to take him away, and Johnson got the
Section 8 he was pulling for and was sent back home to practice his art in the
privacy of his own room or to find some other creative outlet for his
relentless urge to purge.<br />
<br />
(New lesson from that: When the enemy is firing away at you, you don't want to
be caught with your pants down. And another: Sublimate your autoerotic impulses
into rage against the North Vietnamese.)<br />
<br />
So I'm not sure Johnson was either broken down or built up or neither.<br />
<br />
And speaking of Johnson, what a meat grinder we were all being forced through
those first few weeks. Probably nuns go through this, or used to anyway, when
they marry Jesus and are forced to give up their birth names and all the
experiences attached to those names. We wondered sometimes if our pre-boot-camp
lives, before this new Mother had abducted us, were merely false memories our
brain tantalized us with in order to increase our present suffering. <br />
<br />
All of us could echo Charles from John Fowles' <i>French Lieutenant's
Woman</i>, "I am infinitely strange to myself." I could neither
recognize nor understand my reflection in the mirror. Whoever I saw in there, I
didn't like him.<br />
<br />
Some nights, after lights out, when not immediately overcome with fatigue, I
would look at the red EXIT light at the end of the barracks and reflect that
within just a few weeks, I had gone from being the almost-hippie editor of a
college newspaper, a careless, goofy, naïve student living at home, happily
wasting time and skipping class to play basketball; and from there to being a
newlywed living in an attic apartment in Lake City and owning my first car, a
slate-blue ‘63 Ford Galaxy 500 that always ran hot, and having my first grownup
job – a writer for the Lake City <i>Reporter</i> – yes, had gone from
all those simple songs of innocence to this concrete inferno, my hair shorn, my
wife 1200 miles away, my freedom gone, and a deranged drill sergeant for a
mentor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adam, Eve and Mr. Hyde</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
There is some irony, surely lost on the creators of basic-training hazing, that
a major part of their "breaking us down" consisted of making us less
messy, more neat, more obsessive about tidiness, more fussy and more delicate
about our surroundings, more likely to strive for a clean and orderly . . </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Wait a second! That sounds like conventional
woman's work. Watch any Japanese movie, and you can see this in action when the
tired businessman husband comes home, takes off his clothes and drops them on
the floor for his wife to pick up, then brusquely orders her to "start my
bath," while he settles himself on a tatami mat and torches up a
cigarette. Or watch </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Mad Men! </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Or most families today!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br />
According to the indisputable codes of the Universal Sex and Gender Role
Department of Conventions (USGRDC), men are naturally messy unless they are
Felix from <i>The Odd Couple</i> or they just don't give a damn if
they stray from the conventional image of masculinity.<br />
<br />
So during those dainty white-glove inspections, the State was breaking down the
sloppy male, while building up the Martha Stewart within. We would assault our
enemies with brooms, dusters, mops, buffers, measuring tapes and protractors!<br />
<br />
The American military obviously derived this transformative process from two
models: The Book of Genesis and Robert Louis Stevenson's <i>Dr.Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde</i>. In Genesis' second version of the creation, the "Lord
God took one of [Adam's] ribs, and closed up the flesh instead
thereof; And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a
woman."</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
In boot camp, the TIs reached into our chaotic, unfocused, unsanitary maleness,
then extracted a rib from which they made a separate, more feminine being,
someone punctilious enough to create hospital corners, keep hair off his razor,
and fold his State-issued white boxers with a 6-inch width. <br />
<br />
Likewise, our bellicose superiors understood, like Dr. Jekyll, that the good
man must have his bad side removed, separated, so that virtue might be
unencumbered by the temptations of the flesh, while the sinful shadow may go on
about his savage earthly pursuits without an endless nagging conscience to
dilute his pleasure.<br />
<br />
Some time after the State began plagiarizing this paradigm, some confusion
arose. <br />
<br />
Once they had turned Adam's rib into a woman, they killed her. Every single
insult hurled our way in boot camp either expressed contempt for what was
perceived as effeminate or included a variety of obscene terms for female
genitalia.<br />
<br />
To see this mis-homoerotic,* misogynistic routine depicted artfully and
accurately, take another look at Stanley Kubrick's<i> Full Metal Jacket</i>.
The cold, stark, deep-focused, symmetrical first half is not only the best
depiction of boot camp on film, but a veritable orgy of verbal cannonballs
smashing down the gates of femininity. This all-out assault on the Woman, of
course, is what makes its ending, ass deep in irony, so satisfying.<br />
<br />
I admit that I was once directly affected by such language. The end of boot
camp was only a couple of weeks away, but I was about to hit a psychological
wall, meaning the madness was threatening to overwhelm me. I was talking to my
friend Miller (who referred to himself as a "Chinese brother") and I
asked him if he sometimes felt this was all too much.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He was sitting on the stairwell in our dorm spit-shining his combat boots. I
was leaning against the railing next to him. Not looking up at me, but rather
looking for his reflection in his boot, he said, "Are you shitting me?
This is a <i>pussy</i> outfit. This ain't nothing. This is <i>easy</i>."<br />
<br />
He was so certain of this that I believed him, and I cruised through the
remainder of my time in that foul Texas armpit. I was not a pussy. Maybe Miller
helped me see that the Air Force had succeeded in its mission to "kill the
Woman within."<br />
<br />
And they did it by first removing the female rib from my side, then beating the
living shit out of me with it.<br />
<br />
And when the State furtively laced our chow with Jekyll's potion, our broken
down best selves were indeed separated from our worst, and the Air Force kept
the latter, kept the weed, not the flower; built it up, watered it with
degradation, intimidation and humiliation, fertilized it with mountains upon
mountains of bullshit, and our now purely masculine selves, free from desires
for kindness, compassion or nurturing, were clothed in the armor of war.<br />
<br />
That was the plan, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-32791970169758311542020-07-09T08:45:00.001-07:002020-07-09T08:45:43.065-07:00Chekhov's Student<font face="helvetica">(First I'd like to congratulate myself for not saying "this story requires some unpacking.")</font><div><br /></div><div><font face="helvetica">The StarkNotes-SparkNotes interpretation is as follows: </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">In four pages, Chekhov allows us to see Ivan's past, present and future. His dad was a churchman (Pevear and Volokhonsky's translation -- the best one -- says he was a verger), his son did not reject that, but embraced it. </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">He will become a good priest. </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">If that's all Chekhov accomplished, it would still be plenty. I now know Ivan more than I know most people I've met.</font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">Even though he's only a naive brat in training for his life's calling, he has partly crossed the boundary line imagined by Blake, from Innocence to Experience. He is aware of what Nietzsche called the Eternal Recurrence, and early in the story the cycle is all negative, provoked at least in part by the weather that he considers out of sync, order, harmony. For ex., "when another thousand years had passed, life would be no better."</font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">We know he is a man-child of empathy and can project -- going beyond the text -- his feelings onto St. Peter and Jesus, and in so doing he moves from gloom to "an inexpressibly sweet anticipation of happiness, . . . an unknown mysterious happiness." And I liked that he imagined Peter first denied Jesus "because he became confused." </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">Key words in the story's final sentence: "anticipation," "seemed," and, my favorite " -- he was only 22 --". A more vulgar writer would've added, "The poor bastard doesn't know what he's for."</font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">That last one (the 22, not the poor bastard) actually makes my eyes water. </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">I set out to write two sentences, but I keep remembering more jewels. Out of all the people Chekhov could have had Ivan stop and talk with, he chose poor widows, one of them probably with special needs. And just the enthusiasm, the spirit in which he recounted the story moved his "congregation" to tears without a didactic breath. </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">You would've had to give him an "A" in your Zoom class!</font></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-70554174845626535972020-01-17T12:16:00.001-08:002020-01-17T12:16:08.436-08:00trump Gets It Right<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even though our current president cannot think, read or speak, he has finally expressed his support for a just and holy cause: Students' rights to pray in public schools.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am not fond of trump, but I'm man enough to give credit where it is due.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm relieved and impressed, for example, that he has carefully researched this issue before taking a stand and speaking out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">trump apparently spent many hours in libraries and at his computer searching for solid evidence to prove that the absence of prayers suggested or written or led by teachers has resulted in a decadent age "like no other." </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What did he learn? And what did he deduce from this data? The following:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since the 1962 Engel v. (Dick) Vitale case, there has been an exponential spike in school shootings. Therefore, if we relax the restrictions on public school prayers, the slaughtering of our children will cease, and this will take the heat off the NRA, an organization that, lubricated with a mix of gun oil and child blood, has done so much to protect our Second Amendment rights.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWbLKxEJrpAj9p-vOSp4OsrFQZaXo_mQDEe6dxW2VHnwuOa7diy2wg99TxXVsBddmczbUnoZBZCysvDa8iaIfea_pojmeat0YXdY-ldQpmfJx68kg6pqrgXrzt2hXMXcMoWs6N3evcA9h/s1600/ar+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWbLKxEJrpAj9p-vOSp4OsrFQZaXo_mQDEe6dxW2VHnwuOa7diy2wg99TxXVsBddmczbUnoZBZCysvDa8iaIfea_pojmeat0YXdY-ldQpmfJx68kg6pqrgXrzt2hXMXcMoWs6N3evcA9h/s200/ar+15.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Praying at school will keep the kids in closer contact with the God of Love, the Ten Commandments, and all of that. No child who's read a few passages from the Good Book (the bible, not <i>Moby Dick</i>) as we did when I was in school, will have any desire to take an AR-15 to school and fire away at teachers and students.These kids would know almost immediately that you only kill people from other tribes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In short, the old saying is true: "Make kids pray, and away from mass murders stay," or something like that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to scholarly intercourse among sociologists, teen pregnancy -- which climaxed in 1991 -- has skyrocketed since prayers were ruthlessly withdrawn from public schools. Therefore, trump deduced, if the government can penetrate the barrier erected by radical-left atheists, teen pregnancy will come to an end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again, my experience backs up trump's support of school prayer. You didn't see a bunch of pregnant sophomores running around campus back in the prayer days. Oh no! Most of us didn't know where to put things during sex. Those who knew might occasionally create a pregnancy, but if so the girl knew to disappear, maybe forever. The guy could stay. Stud!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, and due to prayer in school we loved the Lord so much we wouldn't dare do nasty stuff. We had the decency to stifle our urges, at least when we were with people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">trump's hours in the library taught him that 8 per cent of all high school students in America now report being gay, lesbian or bisexual. The numbers were nowhere <i>near</i> that high before prayer in school went the way of dinosaurs! In fact, there were probably only 8 kids in the whole damn country with the guts to report such things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Therefore, there'll be fewer gays, lesbians and bisexuals if we bring back prayers to the classroom. Kids, like the ones in the good old days, will acquiesce to the genitalia God gave them before they even entered the womb by way of consensual maritally sanctioned sexual intercourse, esp. if "acquiesce" means "regardless of my urges, I'll only have sex with whatever I'm not."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, in the golden pre-prayer-removal age, "peculiar" kids knew to keep it to themselves, force themselves to enjoy a straight relationship, marry a straight person, and hang in there and pray that someday it would be okay to love the one you loved. Or they could commit suicide, as many of them did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Studies also show that since that devastating ruling in 1962, students' language has become woefully obscene. Before praying was banned, for example, only boys said "fuck," and only in an appropriate context, such as telling a dirty joke or describing what you would do to "that girl" if you had the chance. Boys would never say "fuck" in the company of females.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If trump succeeds in loosening the Great Prayer Ban (GPB), kids may well stop saying "fuck" at all, even when they grow up. It's possible that "fucking" will disappear completely from people's list of favorite hobbies, replaced by "making love" or, at its worst, "screwing."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the anti-prayer sanctions are relaxed, those Ring Around the Flag Prayer Circles will no longer be necessary. Some days it's too cold or hot to pray outside. Also, in those circles -- what with the hand holding -- you're way more likely to ignite a flu outbreak, but maybe you could pray your way out of it. Lots of people use prayer instead flu vaccinations anyway. What could possibly go wrong?</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkYDPiYWSgQjV6PNvhPIuk84Nboo1mzU7HSFAkepU7eJuYb2ZuwLtXTF0hFhq-pLbm2DhUcNeQA60ilfsXFrZztb6EbMWt4fb_Ntyy2elvgA02K14yis5kfroRIXRJGaVSiqABKwp8x6d/s1600/prayer+circle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkYDPiYWSgQjV6PNvhPIuk84Nboo1mzU7HSFAkepU7eJuYb2ZuwLtXTF0hFhq-pLbm2DhUcNeQA60ilfsXFrZztb6EbMWt4fb_Ntyy2elvgA02K14yis5kfroRIXRJGaVSiqABKwp8x6d/s320/prayer+circle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The American Flag: The heart of all Christianity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, I support trump's support of prayer in school because it is born out of his own experience. Yes, trump was in high school in those days and thus a product of this daily spiritual ritual. This helps explain his love of Our Savior Christ; of evangelicals; and of criminals, prisoners, outcasts, scam artists, dictators, liars, racists, traitors and female porn stars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those days of prayers made him who he is, our leader and our hope, and a model for our children.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm on your side, donald. Bring back the prayers, and hurry. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And pray, children, pray. Please pray. And pray hard and often. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ask the Dear Lord to make him go away, ask Him to welcome trump into His loving arms until, after a nanosecond spent sniffing out the stench from his putrid rotting soul, he releases this fiendish monster to plummet into a pit crowded with friends of his ilk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And if your teacher gives you time enough, go ahead and toss McConnell into the mix. </span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-4955217455886007292019-08-02T15:49:00.002-07:002022-02-19T10:08:52.624-08:00Teachers Keep Abreast of the Cleavage Problem<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That first day back to work for teachers can be pretty draining what with all the time-eating pointless activities. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Howard was certainly "dragging ass" when he got home, but Tally, his former abductee and current life partner and love of his life for the time being, wanted to hear all about it.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Tell me, Howard, what did you learn today? Tell me everything," she pleaded* upon his arrival. "All day, I've been thinking of you and remembering the famous saying by the Chinese philosopher Confusion: 'The longest journey begins on the first day,' or something like that. So share, you large, laid-back lug!" (Like Aaron Judge, Howard is 6'7" and weighs 285 pounds.)</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Howard sighed a sigh of disappointment.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Okay, Tally," he said. "As you know, I'm interested in learning about the balance between inviting student participation and relaying information, you know, between discussion and lectures.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Unless we inspire students to think on their own, to share their thoughts and insights, and listen</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">to their classmates</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> with patience, tolerance and civility, we have missed a rare opportunity and have deprived young people of a meaningful growth experience.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"On the other hand, they cannot discuss the law of gravity, latitude and longitude, the boiling point of water or the contents of a water molecule. We teachers are the founts of this quantifiable learning, so at some point, lecture we must, and become the often scorned Sage on the Stage.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"And of course there's the precarious balance between authenticity and authority. The students need to see the teacher as a human being, you know, 'One of us! One of us!,' but also a person superior in wisdom, more experienced in learning, more mentor than mate."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"So what's your point?" Tally queried.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"I'm just saying these are what I want to learn more about, so today</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> I held up my hand to seek input from the administrators and seasoned but listless teachers, but our principal Mr. Z. cut me off and began the meeting thus**: </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">'Folks, we have to talk about dress code. We are going to get on top of it this year, and you're gonna write up the non-compliers and send'em down and we're gonna call momma and tell'er to come pick'em up.'</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"'Send'em down! Pick 'em up! Send'em down! Pick 'em up!' chanted a large band of teachers, but others tried to shout them down with 'School uniforms! School uniforms! School uniforms,' but lacking the rhythm of the original cry, the second chant soon faded into obscurity.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Before Mr. Z. could respond, a coach from the back row shouted out, 'I'm tired of seeing cleavage!' Then a woman near the front added, 'And butt cracks! I've had it!'</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8xKpvE6e_JBThDPSwPRFFcP1MfYeoCUkI16LJ6OcGJHuJyFhvBO_z-ae5xyjib8QntENVZ71jDyP9bt6cwOAtD7EzD0PpmUCa3N-FdpoBTOQfjKRNZZn44zMwWGjBWU12YA1jn7MD8mN/s1600/jayne-mansfield.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8xKpvE6e_JBThDPSwPRFFcP1MfYeoCUkI16LJ6OcGJHuJyFhvBO_z-ae5xyjib8QntENVZ71jDyP9bt6cwOAtD7EzD0PpmUCa3N-FdpoBTOQfjKRNZZn44zMwWGjBWU12YA1jn7MD8mN/s320/jayne-mansfield.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An example of cleavage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"'This year's policy will address both those issues,' Mr. Z told us. 'Each and every teacher will be issued a Cleave-a-Rater app, which basically serves the role of a ruler. If you see one of the young ladies dressed in what you deem an inappropriate manner, simply approach her and hold your phone near her, uh, around the, uhh . . . '</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"'Boobs!' shouted a foreign language teacher known for her candid outspokenness.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Mr. Z. continued, 'Boobs, right [some snickering from the older faculty]. Your app will beep if the student is revealing two inches of cleavage or more. At that point, you will write up the referral, and send her down.'</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"And again, the cry rang out: 'Pick 'em up! Send 'em down!'</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"'Now, are there any questions about this issue before we move on to our policy on butt-cracks -- or intergluteal clefts or plumber cleavage, as they say on the streets?'</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"A seemingly nice lady who I was told had been at Medford for 26 years had the first question: 'What if the cleavage is, say, 1.8 inches? Do we just issue a warning, and is there paperwork involved in a warning? </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">'Or what if it's 1.5 inches when she enters the classroom, but through the various natural movements of her body, swells to 2 inches? Can she not claim that she had adhered to the dress code but was then victimized by gravity over which she has no control? Then what?'</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"After 17 more questions, we finally moved on to butt cracks about which the major issue was length, sex, gender, sexual preference, sex at birth, and sex currently. Was a guy's butt crack, for example, more of a distraction to girls (or boys) than cleavage was to boys (or girls)? </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Should the butt-crack measurement take place when the student was sitting, squatting or standing? Or was it possible that since fashion has allowed exposed butt crackage for close to 20 years now, the nether crease may no longer be a distraction at all, no more shocking than, say, a bra strap?</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"As you can imagine, Tally, my brain quickly dismissed my pedagogical concerns and replaced them with a lurid PowerPoint featuring vivid depictions of various cleavages and butt cracks.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"My colleagues, though, considered the time well spent. Apparently they believe that if the kids cover their bodies in a corporate, appropriate, modest way, they will be more eager to take in vital information about the wide, wide world and all its various cultures and values, and to improve their critical-thinking skills so they can grow up to be happy and creative human beings and informed voters capable of transforming this Great Nation into a land of justice and compassion."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Bummer. But Howard, you'll be teaching Pre-K kids,*** so why do you need to worry about cleavage?"</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"We all have to go to these meetings whether or not the subject is relevant to us. The reason is because they are required. Mandatory. Obligatory. Non-optional.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"At any rate, we were still discussing butt cracks at the end of the day -- literally -- so Mr. Z said we'd have to postpone our discussion of all the new initiatives coming down from the state and some major changes in the benchmarks and standards and the reasons our union couldn't scratch out even a cost-of-living raise.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"'We know y'all have a lot to do and are eager to get to your classrooms and get this year underway,' he said, "So we'll work really hard to finish up tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'd just like to thank you all for all you do on a daily basis. We appreciate your love of teaching and love of the kids, except for Mr. Renfroe's, of course, whose love crossed the red line, sending him to the pen for a while, but thanks to all the rest of you, and give yourselves a big hand!'"</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Clap, clap, clappity-clap, clap.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">*Or "pled"</i><br />
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">**Or "thusly"</i><br />
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">***In the interest of verisimilitude, I should point out that Medford school was very small, so it contained within its halls all grades, Pre-K through 12.</i>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-49304236635679039802019-08-01T14:42:00.000-07:002021-01-27T11:39:56.277-08:00Getting to Know You<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now Zephaniah Nahum, aka Mr. Z, begins Medford High's First Day Welcome Back Breakfast and Professional Development In-Service:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> "Welcome back, y'all, and welcome to all the teachers new to Medford School, home of the Fighting Meds, athletes and learners! We know you have a lot to do today and are eager to get back into your classrooms and cover the wall with wise sayings from Ayn Rand, Lysa Terkeurst, Henry Miller, Rudyard Kipling, Steven Pinker, Norman Vincent Peale, L. Ron Hubbard, Charles Bukowski, Martha Stewart, Edgar Guest and Oprah, and with oversized memes featuring kittens and Marvel Comic heroes to help motivate your kids to work hard while also displaying your 'withitness.' </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgHHGuEa-BNtapVdyGBGplZNbgdeQ7Mpe7XEsCoihDTe-UvymtfJ98Xide7kei9ZLjCAUUejyw8x62MrwiArrIxiqjWh5E1HFxQkRsZdDjAXjH8_EAU1AqsRrydonsoSw2a-bTmm7XHgG/s1600/ayn+rand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="1258" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgHHGuEa-BNtapVdyGBGplZNbgdeQ7Mpe7XEsCoihDTe-UvymtfJ98Xide7kei9ZLjCAUUejyw8x62MrwiArrIxiqjWh5E1HFxQkRsZdDjAXjH8_EAU1AqsRrydonsoSw2a-bTmm7XHgG/s320/ayn+rand.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A high school fave -- God only knows why.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Certainly we know how hectic this first week can be for you, and we appreciate all that you do on a daily basis, so we're going to make this as brief as possible. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"We have just a few things to pass on to you from the State, the County and from our 3-hour principal meeting yesterday, but we should be able to wrap up this whole thing in, oh, 15 minutes or so.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"So we'll introduce the rookies shortly, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">but first let's go around the room so each and every one of you can tell us how you spent your summer.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Let's see, there's 87 of us, so we'll start at the back. When your turn comes, first tell us your name, what department you're in, how long you've been here, what you did before you came to Medford, where and when you got your degree, why you wanted to be a teacher and when you first realized it, then tell us about your summer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Welp, ladies first! Ruth, we'll start with you."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sadly for those eager to get to work, Ruth had given birth, vacationed in Iceland, taken horseback lessons in Chuluota, watched her home go up in flames after a lightning strike, found a bear cub in the backseat of her Prius, published an article on "Progress Monitoring in the Appalachians: Reaching Out and Helping the Kids Left Behind Get Ahead" which she felt moved to read in its entirety, and started a book club focusing solely on the works of Roberto Bolano, George Eliot, David Foster Wallace and Karl Ove Knausgaard.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the teachers share their summer </span><a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2017/08/ransomed-heart-14-back-to-school-ii.html" style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">memoirs</a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, and nervous Howard tries to conjure up a story more interesting than accidentally abducting a homeless man, let's dolly the camera back and upward to give us a God's-eye view of this learned congregation, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">this assemblage of </span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">senseis*, </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">if you will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are the young and restless, eager to begin what they believe to be a lifelong calling, maybe even a lifelong passion, but, untutored in traditional socialization and decorum, are reluctant to make eye contact with their elders. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And there are the veterans who, like the gray beard just now entering through the double doors, are hoping with all their hearts this is their last first day back, and that next year this time they'll be sound asleep, mildly hungover, still hours away from facing a new day of freedom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Over the summer, the faculty's weight has been redistributed -- some have gained, some lost -- but collectively the group weighs the same as it did in June, accurately indicating a consistent collective fitness about which few other schools can crow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eight teachers, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">six of them guys,</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> have shaved their respective heads and grown the now popular Russian-novelist beards. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://omiliya.org/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/img_articles/dostoevskiy_9.jpg?itok=CuJ3dD-X" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="800" height="147" src="https://omiliya.org/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/img_articles/dostoevskiy_9.jpg?itok=CuJ3dD-X" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Dostoevsky, Fashion Prophet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the teachers' riveting narratives go on and on and on, a posse of coaches, seated in the back, continue to chat among themselves with their outside voices. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few teachers have surreptitiously inserted ear plugs and are chewing gum to the beat of Lil Uzi Vert, Keith Urban, Childish Gambino, Patti Page, Khalid, Taylor Swift, Barry Manilow, Webb Pierce, Ariana Grande and that one female vocalist with the massive bows in her hair and bangs that reach her lips. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Many, many years pass as the teachers describe their fruitful summers, then finally Howard -- just waking from a nap in which he dreamed about abducting one of the <a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2017/08/ransomed-heart-14-back-to-school-ii.html" target="_blank">"realators"</a> who had catered their delicious Chipotle breakfast -- heard Mr. Z say, "That's everyone, right? Is that it? Anyone else? No? All right! We have time for a brief restroom break before our next meeting, then we'll finish up quickly and get you outta here. But first, everybody give yourself a big hand!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Clap, clap, clappity-clap, clap.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And on and on, and the afternoon and </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the morning </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">were the first day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*<i>A Japanese word</i></span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-39972872179470514262019-08-01T08:07:00.000-07:002021-01-27T11:40:08.144-08:00A Teacher Begins His Journey<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Medford school district was so hard up for </span><a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2017/07/the-ransomed-heart-12-political.html" style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">teachers</a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> that Howard Desseray's convicted-felon status in no way hurt his ranking among the 14 applicants, most of whom had no college degree, let alone a teaching certificate, and wouldn't know a pedagogue from a pedant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In fact, during his interview he openly recounted some of the highlights of his various incarcerations in the state pen, those accounts only serving to impress the school's principal, Zephaniah Nahum. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(The Medford district was so antiquated and micromanaged that teachers themselves were not allowed to interview their future colleagues, even if they -- the future colleagues -- had done time.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"We respect the dignity of all our candidates regardless of their little lapses in judgment," Nahum told him. "Also, your time in prison will make it easier for you to acclimate to our architecture, our students, our food and our soul-crushingly rigid schedule. Now tell me, Mr. Desseray, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">how are you with kids? I mean, like 4- and 5-year olds?"</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtzOPyywqji0WGzm8cVc9J1B0UOBYweX3ycLSXfgHMeG23jGD0ijbt92g-mczvFldAgAwPOkWAt1FqzD8K-e3s2G1aFxQx9pYEbQhM-ej_XI0U-Ip1YASTMZu8dZQmUyWZr6Pdc2aaM-x/s1600/howard+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtzOPyywqji0WGzm8cVc9J1B0UOBYweX3ycLSXfgHMeG23jGD0ijbt92g-mczvFldAgAwPOkWAt1FqzD8K-e3s2G1aFxQx9pYEbQhM-ej_XI0U-Ip1YASTMZu8dZQmUyWZr6Pdc2aaM-x/s200/howard+pic.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Howard, courtesy Jade Deatherage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"As an abductor, I've had plenty of experience with them. They seem inclined to trust me, and I try not to betray that trust. I always abduct them in a way they'll recall fondly, if their parents promptly deliver the required ransom, of course.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"And speaking of parents," added Howard as he pulled a manila folder from his book bag with '17486490021' printed neatly on the top, "here are a dozen letters of recommendation from parents, enumerating the many times I've 'gone the extra mile' while acting in <i>loco parentis cum abductus</i>."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The principal and former football coach removed an imaginary pipe from his mouth and said, "That's good enough for me, Mr. Desseray! Monday morning, 6:30 sharp! Welcome to the team -- more than a team, really. We think of ourselves as family here, at least the administrators do, but whatever, see ya Monday. Oh, and they call me Mr. Z."</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so the morning of Howard's first day as a teacher came to pass. Will he finally leave his criminal life behind and help America's youth mature into thinking human beings?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">* * * *</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was Medford's First Day Welcome Back Breakfast and Professional Development In-Service, and the </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2017 Golden State Warriors seemed to be running their patented fast break through Howard's digestive system.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was standing in line with people he had never met, all of them wearing the obligatory orange shirts, all trying to squeeze out some small talk as they inched tortoise-like toward the Chipotle breakfast buffet funded by a group of local realtors (or "realators," as they called themselves), all of whom had once been teachers, but whose dream of kindling the intellectual flame of this Great Nation's young had dissipated as soon as they realized the pay would doom them to a life of poverty.</span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/2b/76/84/2b7684e8f11b448b716cdc97459803fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/2b/76/84/2b7684e8f11b448b716cdc97459803fb.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Breakfast is on the"realators"!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(The "Head Mama" of the realators evoked a nervous chuckle from the teachers when, in the spirit of jocularity, she assured them that "there's no reason to worry about norovirus so soon after the recent Chipotle outbreak. You know what they say: The safest time to fly is the day after an airliner plunges nose-first into the icy waters of Kaffekluben Lake! Heh, heh.")</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anxiety -- unrelated to norovirus -- tightened Howard's esophagus as he pecked away at the guacamole atop his mountainous burrito bowl. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Luckily, speaking was unnecessary as he sat at a table populated by younger teachers, all of whom, making no more noise than a mouse pissing on a cotton ball, texted feverishly, their smartphones stationed neatly next to their bowls. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While his youthful colleagues munched and tapped, Howard reflected on the encouraging words of his likely fiance, past abductee, and future ex-wife Tally Dolcet, a devotee of art and welding: "If you're going to give up your calling as an abductor, you must do all in your power to become the best teacher you can be, given your felonious gene pool. Hang on to every word at the Opening Day meeting. Surely, those eloquent pellets of language will be golden gems of wisdom, keys to the bolted doors of young minds, an alchemical lubricant facilitating the passage and transmutation of knowledge from teaching to learning."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God bless Tally. He could picture her now, taking a break from welding the door back on their shed after an ill-tempered abductee had kicked it off, sitting on their new liver-colored sofa, watching her beloved Steve Harvey. Oh, how that woman loved Harvey's teeth!</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://i.pinimg.com/236x/8b/a7/52/8ba75259647be4a57e3d0b2dae1f1802--steve-harvey-quotes-black-tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="236" height="200" src="https://i.pinimg.com/236x/8b/a7/52/8ba75259647be4a57e3d0b2dae1f1802--steve-harvey-quotes-black-tv.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After the teachers posed for their yearbook and ID photos (Howard embarrassed himself by instinctively turning sideways for a profile shot), the Opening Day meeting, at long last, got underway in earnest with "a few words" from Mr. Z.</span></span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-22113155381409042202019-07-09T12:56:00.003-07:002019-07-09T12:56:55.533-07:00Reading and Cows<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As almost everyone knows by now, as soon as my sister Martha learned how to read, she taught me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was four years old, and at that age I thought reading was like a magic trick: The magician takes some letters, puts them inside his hat, says "Abracadabra," and they pop out as words that turn into pictures.<br /><br />Now I'm much older and I don't believe in magic anymore except for reading which continues to be magic.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder what I would've done if someone had explained reading to me before I was born and then said, "But you'll never be able to do it, ever."<br /><br />I can't picture life without reading, even if it's put into words.<br /><br />Shortly after Martha taught me to read, I started staying at my grandmother's house while Mama Joyce worked. My cousin Joyce Elaine also stayed there, but she was at school.<br /><br />Joyce Elaine's mom (Mama Joyce's sister) lived in Jacksonville, 113 miles from Grandmother's house, so they only got to see each other every other weekend so.<br /><br />To make Joyce Elaine happier to see her, her mom -- my aunt Cathy -- almost always brought comic books when she visited. It sure made me happier to see her!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(She brought records, too, but that's a story for another day.)<br /><br /><i>Superman</i> was one of the first I read, so it was my favorite. It's where I learned the word "vulnerable." I liked young Jimmy Olsen, wasn't sure what Clark Kent saw in Lois Lane, was already surprised that people could hide their identity simply by wearing glasses, and was disturbed by Clark's boss Perry White always losing his temper.<br /><br />As you probably know, White yelled "Great Caesar's ghost" every time he got angry. Back then, people in comic books didn't cuss.<br /><br />But the first time Aunt Cathy brought a <i>Batman</i> comic over, Superman dropped to second place.<br /><br />Admittedly, it troubled me that Batman had no super powers and even made me a little skeptical of his heroics. But I was won over by the darkness of it, the actual darkness, meaning almost every frame had a black or dark blue background, and it emphasized the yellow city lights of Gotham. Sort of creepy. Plus, I lived deep in the country, so cities were creepy even without the added darkness.<br /><br />And the word "Gotham" interested me for some reason. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>(I now interrupt this fascinating memoir to go pick up my kittens from the vet. More later!)</i></span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-9050382963149652812019-07-09T11:47:00.003-07:002019-07-09T11:47:44.486-07:00I want a new presidentI want a new president.Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-27203395009681185462019-02-20T06:39:00.001-08:002019-02-20T06:39:49.148-08:00Abraham, Isaac and Leonard: The Journey<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Emily Dickinson, Leonard Cohen and Ed the Bartender are at a bar discussing the two poets' respective works inspired by the biblical tale of Abraham and Isaac. In the previous <a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2019/02/emily-leonard-abraham-and-isaac-ii.html" target="_blank">installment</a>, we paused to allow Leonard to urinate. He's back now and ready to share the second stanza of his poem:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <i> And his voice was very cold.<br /> He said, "I've had a vision<br /> And you know I'm strong and holy,</i></span><br />
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> I must do what I've been told."</i><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> So he started up the mountain,<br /> I was running, he was walking,<br /> And his axe was made of gold.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily cleared her throat. "Leonard, while you were in the privy, so to speak, the lavatory, as it were, the water closet or crapper, if you will, anyway, while you were gone, Ed and I looked over your second, third and fourth stanzas, and we believe they are rich in imagery and tropes that vulgar readers will miss and the learned will mock. Here are stanzas 3 and 4 in case you need a memory refresher." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> Well, the trees they got much smaller,<br /> The lake a lady's mirror,<br /> We stopped to drink some wine.<br /> Then he threw the bottle over.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> Broke a minute later<br /> And he put his hand on mine.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /> Thought I saw an eagle<br /> But it might have been a vulture,<br /> I never could decide.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> Then my father built an altar,<br /> He looked once behind his shoulder,<br /> He knew I would not hide.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Leonard busied himself with a cigarette. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ed chimed in: "I agree with Emily. I see these stanzas either targeting the 'middle-mind' or padding the narrative. The golden ax, the lady's mirror, the unrecycled wine bottle -- do you need all of that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You put this to music, right?" said the 19th-century reclusive genius. "Maybe if you sang it to us, we'd hold a different view."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So Leonard put down his cigarette and cleared his gravelly throat. Unnoticed -- Emily took two tokes -- Her smoke released -- His Song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtdYnhnoGI0" target="_blank">began</a> -- From first to Last --</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And when his song was over:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I now feel physically," Emily said, <a href="https://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/later_years" target="_blank">quoting</a> herself, "as if the top of my head were taken off, so I know it is poetry."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"As my friend Randy Greenwald described the song, it's haunting," Ed said. "There is nothing extraneous about those stanzas, after all. They're drawn out just enough to evoke a leisurely hike up a mountain, as if someone's humming it, sort of to himself, almost unconsciously. But of course, that's Isaac humming it, in retrospect, knowing -- "</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a rare act of rudeness, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily cut him off. "Charlotte Bronte could write a novel on the first four lines of stanza 2 alone: 'And his voice was very cold / He said, "I've had a vision / And you know I'm strong and holy, / I must do what I've been told."'</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91ocfiZywbxXjAstSzqwEbBw8VvMod6iFmPVb0DAaq2d9tocyjhTPFfuXs4fuKdtBiCmJ3txK0osdZE8LnNr6cbJSwkIvbKxVElTdjVSdwP0dPpGK5Wi0sh2ke5LxEtJIzBBdGxi-1nlj/s1600/emily+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="400" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91ocfiZywbxXjAstSzqwEbBw8VvMod6iFmPVb0DAaq2d9tocyjhTPFfuXs4fuKdtBiCmJ3txK0osdZE8LnNr6cbJSwkIvbKxVElTdjVSdwP0dPpGK5Wi0sh2ke5LxEtJIzBBdGxi-1nlj/s200/emily+quote.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"His voice is cold. Why? He's had a vision. It's neither dream nor fantasy. Why? Because he is strong and holy. And then that cold and terrible word -- deadly, some would say -- 'must'."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"No free will here, according to Abraham. There's no decision to make, thus no hesitation. It's like what I hear from bible-thumpers when they're in here getting liquored up real good: 'God said it, I believe it, that settles it.' No existential angst in this version, Mr. Kierkegaard!" That's how Ed felt about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"My dad had no choice," Isaac <i>must</i> have thought. </span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-87587039484778539482019-02-13T13:19:00.002-08:002019-02-13T13:37:30.093-08:00Emily, Leonard, Abraham and Isaac, II<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>When we last listened in on Emily Dickinson and Leonard Cohen's <a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2019/02/emily-abe-and-isaac-prologue.html" target="_blank">discussion</a> of Abraham and Isaac, Emily was headed for the Ladies,' leaving Leonard to ponder the hypothetical question, "What if Abraham had refused God's command?"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Plumbing is impressive," Emily said upon her return. "Where were we?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"If Abe had refused," Abraham said, "Maybe Yahweh the Voice would've chosen someone else. Also, I love <i>your</i> voice."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Hardly any wear and tear."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Can we talk about your Abe-and-Isaac poem?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You go first."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"No, you. One stanza at a time, please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Okay. It begins:" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>Abraham to kill him<br />Was distinctly told --<br />Isaac was an Urchin --<br />Abraham was old --</i><br /><br />Leonard gazes off into the distance like the guy on Seinfeld listening to "Desperado."<br /><br />"It's just like you," he said, "to put history's most crushing command in passive voice. Flips the syntax and takes away the need to choose, say, from Elohim, Yahweh or God. An unnamed, absent speaker distinctly tells Abraham to kill a nameless 'him.'"<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />"You follow this by leaping from the command to naming the victim and labeling him not as Abraham's son but as an 'Urchin,' which suggests a </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">raggedy-ass mischievous brat. Why?"</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />"Why do you think?"<br /><br />"Perhaps you're picturing an audience familiar with Hebrew scripture, so they would already know the story, know Isaac was the son. But they would also know 'Abraham was old' -- that's one reason he's famous: At his age, he could still impregnate 90-year-old Sarah like some Viagra-charged Pan in assisted living.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"As for the poetics, you use your favorite rhyme scheme, ABCB, I guess. Some readers might see a rhyme in 'him/Urchin.' Anyway, no big deal, let's move on." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ed, who earned </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">a bachelor's in English at Rhodes College in Tennessee</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, dries his hands on an apron as bartenders are wont to do, then walks over to check on the creative couple.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I heard y'all talking about Emily's poem. I actually wrote an essay about her. I called it, 'The Poetry of Emily Dickinson: Don't Rant, Tell it Slant.' Why not analyze Leonard's first stanza, then return to Emily's second stanza, then back to Leonard's, etc. That would make the contrast more apparent. And do y'all need another drink? Some munchies? </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tidbits? Snacks? Nash?"</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRGSaZm5iJa5XM9uKQuv9fif0FzpyxAZicPe51EPWVmW1nWDk9OM2-JJNBqlJICddvEBC3PM3rSvQnp_IzjyjWtRFtftyRwbzocNS7AgKjC_nDpHPOE6sCTFWVFpeGHd0MzuEaV7o6XGk/s1600/emily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="296" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRGSaZm5iJa5XM9uKQuv9fif0FzpyxAZicPe51EPWVmW1nWDk9OM2-JJNBqlJICddvEBC3PM3rSvQnp_IzjyjWtRFtftyRwbzocNS7AgKjC_nDpHPOE6sCTFWVFpeGHd0MzuEaV7o6XGk/s200/emily.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Emily untouched</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Leonard switched to a Hennessy Private Reserve, and Emily freshened up her Maker's Mark. Her ivory cheeks were taking on a salmon-pink blush -- or a fast withering, fading rose, if you prefer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I agree with Ed," Emily said. "Your first stanza, please."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Okay. Let's see if I can touch your perfect body with my mind." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following his little in-joke, Leonard's eyes twinkled with genuine affection for America's greatest poet, but his grin was just lascivious enough to bring a #MeToo moment a little too close for comfort.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"My poem is called 'Story of Isaac,' and here's the beginning:"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The door it opened slowly,<br />My father he came in,<br />I was nine years old.<br />And he stood so tall above me,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>His blue eyes they were shining</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You begin after the command and tell it in first person," Emily noted. "You focus on Isaac's age -- I his character -- You Abe's height -- I his age."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Emily, I love your poems, but, uh, can you not talk like that?" </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkl6sTew52AzCnc53d5IjhXi-Jqt0P907oyd59CohvtzGLtz7EtHPtZ7DGUMJI-03uHGzFaUmV5lW7x47trS_-Qm77SvTEPGtsiifNZrK53rlNSFUHdn6JC7KltzhNEMKQq9rIOqd0Obe/s1600/emily+makeover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="647" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkl6sTew52AzCnc53d5IjhXi-Jqt0P907oyd59CohvtzGLtz7EtHPtZ7DGUMJI-03uHGzFaUmV5lW7x47trS_-Qm77SvTEPGtsiifNZrK53rlNSFUHdn6JC7KltzhNEMKQq9rIOqd0Obe/s200/emily+makeover.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">This doctored photo is often colorized w/ rouge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Okay. I like your use of 'old' in describing the boy. It adds to his vulnerability, a child's feeling of helplessness. And I'm anxious to see how your first person narration adds to the tale's pathos. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"So far, you have no rhyme scheme which suggests if you eventually adopt one, it will be a stranger showing up announced."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Fair enough. Let's see what you got in your second stanza."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Not a hesitation --<br />Abraham complied --<br />Flattered by obeisance<br />Tyranny demurred --</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ed the English major bartender who has so far received 63 rejections of poems submitted to literary journals and a terse, sarcastic repudiation from </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Reader's Digest Condensed Books to whom he had sent an abridged version of </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">David Foster Wallace's </span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Infinite Jest, </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">yes, Ed, this lover of letters, asks permission to join in their discussion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Leonard complies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Thanks. 'Not a hesitation' elbows me in the belly. This father faced with the Mother of All Existential Crises doesn't hesitate. Simultaneously, it seems, to pay tribute to his boundless faith and condemn his refusal to protect his son. Surely in some version of this story, Abraham cried out to the Highest of the High, 'Invisible God, take me instead. Lay not a hand on my beloved son with whom I am well pleased.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"And 'complied' -- its connotation is 'Well, all right. Fine! What choice do I have?' Emily, this seems to have, I don't know, muted or attenuated or deflated this sacred moment, dampened Abe's alleged heroism." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily's responds by looking at Ed with unblinking eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I got a customer, Leonard," Ed said. "I yield the floor to you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Okay. I could talk until closing time about the last two lines of this stanza, but I won't. Yhwh or G-D has retained His anonymity. Passive voice hid Him in stanza one. And now He is called, indirectly, 'Tyranny,' a word with <i>no</i> positive association. Pure power doing what it can because it can. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I think of the witch from 'Hansel and Gretel' and of every other child abuser. Emily, you offer sycophancy as the most efficient protection from such monsters: 'Flattered by obeisance / Tyranny demurred.'"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily blinks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Could I ask about 'demurred?'" Ed asked. "Are you saying that God said 'Let me rethink this'? Is He slowing down the filicide express? 'Demurred' also means 'objected,' but to whom or what is He objecting? To His own intent? If so, this suggests a mutable, flexible God and, by extension, an inconsistent one. I don't know how Abraham would invest all his faith in such a fluid deity. Don't you agree, Leonard?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Sorry, Ed. I wasn't listening. I've been revisiting the poem's poetic devices. Using only the vowel sounds, Emily has rhymed 'hesitation' with 'obeisance.' </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some readers might see a rhyme in 'complied/demurred.' That would be slant rhyme, one of Emily's favorites. Anyway, no big deal, let's move on."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Read or sing your second stanza," Emily said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Will do," Leonard replied. "But not before I take a quick trip to the john."</span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-59288491288891917412019-02-11T09:24:00.000-08:002019-02-11T13:10:15.145-08:00Emily, Abe and Isaac: Prologue<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Leonard Cohen and Emily Dickinson walk into a bar. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a few sips of bourbon, they begin to discuss the story of Abraham and Isaac.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The bartender, Ed, triggered the conversation when he dropped a bottle of wine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the bottle shatters at Ed's feet, Leonard grins, puts out his cigarette and exhales its smoke from his nostrils.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"That, Emily," he said, "Reminds me of a poem I wrote about Isaac and Abraham: '</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We stopped to drink some wine. / </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then he threw the bottle over. / </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Broke a minute later</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.' I think that yarn also inspired you to write a poem."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes," she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"That story as it's told in Hebrew scripture is shockingly succinct -- compressed, terse, laconic."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But ample," Emily said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Minimalist, chiseled, lean, epigrammatic, stark, spare. It's a page and a half at best."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Mine was less," Emily said. "But still excessive." </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9IIxOGKyL85WnkE1HMU-8eGQ80VBr53or69ZBAVW8lPpvg0GXHN6F4LOWv1JStXnDfuhKL4l9bFtohBr-eIgTu9l77INQvfx0t7xBe5-vaZsbqM9wJSbiY0EiGASI3OyHlGAMcSPgzHD/s1600/abraham+rembrandt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="461" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9IIxOGKyL85WnkE1HMU-8eGQ80VBr53or69ZBAVW8lPpvg0GXHN6F4LOWv1JStXnDfuhKL4l9bFtohBr-eIgTu9l77INQvfx0t7xBe5-vaZsbqM9wJSbiY0EiGASI3OyHlGAMcSPgzHD/s320/abraham+rembrandt.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rembrandt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You're being modest, dear friend. In '<a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=leonard+cohen+anthem+lyrics&oq=leona&aqs=chrome.3.69i59j69i57j69i59l2j0l2.4960j0j8&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8" target="_blank">Anthem</a>,' I said, 'There's a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in.' The blunt Hebrew version -- as we now have it -- leaves plenty of cracks to let in light, maybe even The Light. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"To cite one example, when God commands Abraham to take his beloved son Isaac up to Moriah and offer him up as a burnt offering, the narrative immediately cuts to the next morning when Abe is saddling up his ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"That long night -- it must've been! -- heavy with Abe's agonizing ruminations in the endless dark, now exists only in the reader's imagination. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Did he try to bargain, cut a deal, compromise? If so, those desperate prayers wound up on the editing room floor."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily orders another bourbon, Maker's Mark. She certainly is quiet this night. We would almost give up our first born to know what she was thinking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Bob Dylan filled that gap," she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Between the command and the morning? I remember! 'God said to Abraham, <i>Kill me a son</i>. / Abe says, <i>Man, you must be puttin' me on</i>.' It's from 'Highway 61 Revisited."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Why that title?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Why did you never give a title?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Touche."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"What do you think of Dylan's whimsical take on the story?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Deletes it. Makes the story disappear."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I guess it does, if he's saying Abe refused to obey. The story is no longer a story. Even Stephen King couldn't find a publisher interested in a tale of a father hearing a voice telling him to kill his son, then refusing to do it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Abe demurs at stanza's end," Emily said.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdyQ912mYmA_a76zpJcf7zKNKTXqwPOm0YH0wTvVTUHDoE_PFwg1_xSwgitouNRDDnsbF1cjWtIf54x-CXrFrmF8T-xqSvMdbc6zKU5r6DNGMQd9nahKn96b3dTc30kkiF2bsUUieNXpO/s1600/abraham+carvaggio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdyQ912mYmA_a76zpJcf7zKNKTXqwPOm0YH0wTvVTUHDoE_PFwg1_xSwgitouNRDDnsbF1cjWtIf54x-CXrFrmF8T-xqSvMdbc6zKU5r6DNGMQd9nahKn96b3dTc30kkiF2bsUUieNXpO/s320/abraham+carvaggio.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carvaggio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes, because God bullies him: 'You can do what you want, Abe, but / The next time you see me comin' you better run.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But for the sake of argument, let's just say Abe refused to be bullied. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if, you know, what if Abe had said to the voice, or Voice, '</span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No!</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I love Isaac more than I love myself and more than the promised offspring 'as numerous as the stars in heaven and the sands on the seashore,' and more than the land of Canaan. Our covenant and your promises to me, compared to Isaac</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">,</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> are nothing more than gewgaw, knickknacks, gimcracks and baubles.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"If God is love, and we are made in His image, then <i>we</i> must be love. Therefore, Abe could easily protest, 'Forgive me, O Voice, Invisible God. Thou hast created me in a way that prevents me, in this case, from doing Thy bidding. If I disobey, Thou hast only Thyself to blame, blameless though Thou may be. <i>Hineni, hineni</i>?* No. <i>Non serviam</i>!'"**</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ed tops off Emily's Maker's Mark. "So you wouldn't kill your child if your God Herself asked you to," she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"No," Leonard replied. "Never. Not for anything."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You lack Abraham's faith."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Maybe. Or I have adequate faith in a God who wouldn't make such a grisly request."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Then you have been weighed on the scales and found wanting."***</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"That doesn't sound like you, Emily."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"It had to be said. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a test. I think it was Kierkegaard who said the text tested the reader just as Yahweh tested Abraham."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"</i>The story's various authors placed the test reference at the beginning so the reader could sit back from a distance and watch the tale unfold. Still, when I read it, I feel helpless. I want to reach into the story and revise it, and I want to console poor clueless Isaac or, better, tell him his dad's intentions so he can haul ass before </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Abe can act out his obedience to a Voice he has chosen to regard as the Highest of the High, the One True God. I want the ram to ram Abe for even considering such an unspeakable crime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But there's no penetrating the fourth wall. I feel like James Stewart in <i>Rear Window</i> helplessly watching from his wheelchair as Grace Kelly falls into the hands of a wife killer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"And if God is omniscient, why would He need a test? He knows what's in our hearts. He counteth the hairs on your head. He knows when the sparrow falleth. Your frame was not hid from Him when you were made in secret, woven together in the depths of the earth!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Emily finishes off her Maker's Mark. "Your response alone makes it an effective narrative," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Reaching from reality into fiction can change more than the story. It can alter history. I'm sure you've read King's <i>11/22/63 </i>in which an English teacher goes back in time and tries to prevent JFK's assassination."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Actually, I think that shows fiction reaching into reality -- or history. So how would Abe's 'no' alter history?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"He would no longer be Abraham. He'd be just plain Abram. And without Abraham, according to tradition at least, there would be no Judaism, Christianity or Islam. Ponder what history would've been like without that heterogeneous triumvirate. And keep pondering </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">while I go look for whatever passes for a chamber pot these days."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*Hebrew: <i>"I'm ready my Lord."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">**Latin: <i>"I will not serve."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>***See Daniel 5:27</i></span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-68522270499932703552019-01-16T13:23:00.000-08:002021-01-27T11:40:53.297-08:00Lamar, Jesus and Hearts<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When he was too young to remember this, Lamar stayed at Mrs. Bernard's house while his mom and his dad were at work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Mrs. Bernard had a round white face with a disappointed mouth, big green eyes and surprised eyebrows. She rarely smiled. Everything had pretty much worked out the way she hoped, but she certainly had nothing to sing and dance about. She didn't seem to think so anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and one time she scared the living daylights out of Lamar when she pulled out a couple of bobby pins and put them between her lips, allowing her hair to tumble Rapunzel-like down past her back.<br /><br />She had no toys because her daughter, Thelma, was 17 and no longer needed them. Thelma was very tall, taller than Lamar’s daddy, and she had short blonde hair and wore all the Fifties stuff (but not all at the same time): poodle skirts, pedal-pushers, bobby socks, saddle oxfords, and the rest.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBV2JXly2-rR7Y8D2fj5StXby9JKDLqZSCX0P4PJBXP9Lv35pNiXb9oCjOVopnx6yYliE_21Vh7haJwgVUFegm9DMO7Q9Mz_gOE2x81-u0VOceQZ2OEbdbdgqYNiDc25c7n62JysNvyrs/s640/Women%2527s+Hairstyles+in+the+1950s+%25287%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBV2JXly2-rR7Y8D2fj5StXby9JKDLqZSCX0P4PJBXP9Lv35pNiXb9oCjOVopnx6yYliE_21Vh7haJwgVUFegm9DMO7Q9Mz_gOE2x81-u0VOceQZ2OEbdbdgqYNiDc25c7n62JysNvyrs/s200/Women%2527s+Hairstyles+in+the+1950s+%25287%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Thelma's hair style<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mrs. Bernard also had no television -- hardly anyone did in that neck of the woods -- so Lamar's entertainment was a radio that faithfully delivered country church sermons, weather reports, and big-band music from the 1940s.</span><br />
<a href="http://www.marianland.com/creationsunlimit/sacredheart/sacredgrnd-framed_2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEgyQBXS5VfcxFDgfYA0eU4spQFSf4zfoHoMvz8sxqJ5_pcdoOFdRG9qPNgVYywf_vU0A1qrJkj7Ry6U3UwzZGE0waUzNnxy34o9iuJchsQBRqg9pAbQEkWTFKW6f6YiwvNt_IMVoHmcDb9X5RWMAJpLUH0TtSnB2_YSBFd3s7MwopK_Gx2ImnBOrilg8lPr=" width="150" /></a><a href="http://www.marianland.com/creationsunlimit/sacredheart/sacredgrnd-framed_2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />When she wanted Lamar to take a nap, she would sing him to sleep in her squeaking rocking chair. She sang hymns and lullabies.<br /><br />As he grew drowsy, he would gaze through drooping lids at the pictures on her wall. Most of them were of her family, one of which was Mrs. Bernard's grandfather when he was a Confederate soldier. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Staring blankly at the camera, the soldier didn't seem to have any feelings one way or the other.<br /><br />Next to the soldier was a picture of someone Lamar recognized as Jesus from the fans everyone used in the air-conditionless Baptist church he went to. Jesus on the front, insurance advertisements on the back, the fan stapled to an oversized Popsicle stick.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />But this Jesus was different. On his chest was a reddish object with thorns around it and light rays shooting out of it.<br /><br />Lamar asked Mrs. Bernard what that thing on Jesus' chest was. "That's his heart," she whispered.<br /><br />"Why can we see it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Mrs. Bernard was silent for a moment, then changed the subject.<br /><br />"You know, the Bible tells us that Jesus stands at the door and knocks, and if we open the door he will come in. And that door is our heart."<br /><br />"Jesus knocks on our heart?"<br /><br />"Yes. Now go to sleep."<br /><br />He became fascinated with that picture. He stared at it the way a dog stares at his owner when he doesn't understand what’s being asked of him.<br /><br />Lamar kept trying to solve it. “Why can I see his heart? Does my heart look like that? Why is there barbed wire on his heart?”<br /><br />He put his hand on his chest and he could feel his heart beating, but he kept his eyes on Jesus’s chest with His heart showing. That was sort of scary.<br /><br />One day, Lamar wanted to go for a walk, so Mrs. Bernard let him out the back door where her yard quickly turned into a pine forest.<br /><br />"Go on out and play awhile, and just holler if you need me," she said.<br /><br />He walked out into the woods, treading quietly on the soft pine straw which soon gave way to underbrush, some of it as tall as Lamar. He walked a little longer, looking for blackberry bushes. He knew to be careful picking the berries, or the thorns would scratch him and hurt like heck.<br /><br />When he looked back, Mrs. Bernard’s house had grown smaller and he felt that familiar combination of fear, guilt and excitement that always descended on him when he came close to crossing over the boundaries set by grownups.<br /><br />He walked a little farther anyway. Something in the brush rustled.<br /><br />When it rustled a second time, Lamar turned around and started walking back to the house.<br /><br />Then he heard a rustle and a grunt. He felt a chill settle on his head and neck. He walked faster, but Mrs. Bernard's house stubbornly refused to get closer.<br /><br />The grunt became a snort, and the rustling stopped. Lamar looked over his shoulder.<br /><br />It was a pig. A dang big pig. And he was coming for Lamar, and, as he had done so many times in dreams, he ran for his life, hollering as he ran.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Mrs. Bernard rushed out the back door, raced her lumpy old body out to meet him, then pulled the sobbing child into her arms and shooed the pig away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://www.hudsonvalleysojourner.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Woodstock-Farm-Animal-Sanctuary-Contented-Pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.hudsonvalleysojourner.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Woodstock-Farm-Animal-Sanctuary-Contented-Pig.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">That pig musta been at least this big, maybe bigger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Between sobs, Lamar could hear his heart beating, but this time it seemed to be in his head, thud-thudding in his ears. His heart had changed places.<br /><br />Soon Mrs. Bernard was rocking him in her chair, rocking and humming, trying to calm him down. "There, there, it's okay, Lamar. Bless your heart, sweetie, bless your heart. Don't be afraid. It's all right. That pig wasn't gonna hurt you. He probably was just playing with you."<br /><br />The rocking, her soft voice, her big arms holding him all snuggly next to her old-woman breast . . . it helped. He would not be killed and eaten, not this time. Rocking, he could hear her heartbeat blending with the chair’s rhythmic squeaking.<br /><br />He heard the school bus pull up. Lovely Thelma bounced into the house, then shushed herself when she saw her mother rocking Lamar. He looked up at her. She was so beautiful, and that helped, too.<br /><br />Almost immediately, his mom came to pick him up, and Mrs. Bernard walked her into the kitchen and told her the pig story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lamar stayed in the living room by himself, stayed seated in the rocker and studied the Jesus picture.<br /><br />Jesus’s heart remained outside his shirt, for everyone to see. Beating. Beating faster when he was scared, probably.<br /><br />His visible heart, crowned by thorns, just beating and beating.</span>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.marianland.com%2Fcreationsunlimit%2Fsacredheart%2Fsacredgrnd-framed_2.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEgyQBXS5VfcxFDgfYA0eU4spQFSf4zfoHoMvz8sxqJ5_pcdoOFdRG9qPNgVYywf_vU0A1qrJkj7Ry6U3UwzZGE0waUzNnxy34o9iuJchsQBRqg9pAbQEkWTFKW6f6YiwvNt_IMVoHmcDb9X5RWMAJpLUH0TtSnB2_YSBFd3s7MwopK_Gx2ImnBOrilg8lPr=" -->Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-19921839983872916742019-01-11T11:44:00.000-08:002019-02-12T14:46:33.810-08:00Where Will the Cattle Go?<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the year 2038, the Czar, by military force, turned America, at long last, into a Vegan Nation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyone caught eating or drinking or even ordering an animal-based product was given a life sentence of listening to William Shatner cover "Stairway to Heaven." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cattle, now free to roam where the deer and the buffalo roam, posed some problems.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What to do with America's 96 million cattle, 10 million of which were dairy cows, 32 million beef cattle, plus millions of mixed breed (cattle mutts who produced sour milk and bland, stringy beef), homeless, or Spanish-mooing cattle that had illegally crossed over our porous southern border.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A quick clarification for city people: "Cattle" is the fussy, accurate term for domesticated bovines. A "cow" is an adult female, hence "dairy cow." </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODd1As4l6aLpv6dXKDd5_pfOtr8iBFFxQgeI4YaHzn9zuZjBq4xQvjcysBIndWcmqumg0vY9lBJFOZyRFz2VNPQys1JL1Q3ZjkxHnCYQB2OJb4xUq_NZChzdQKpAl07IlYQmg5YcA_zFo/s1600/cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODd1As4l6aLpv6dXKDd5_pfOtr8iBFFxQgeI4YaHzn9zuZjBq4xQvjcysBIndWcmqumg0vY9lBJFOZyRFz2VNPQys1JL1Q3ZjkxHnCYQB2OJb4xUq_NZChzdQKpAl07IlYQmg5YcA_zFo/s200/cow.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dairy cow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At cocktail parties, wedding and divorce receptions, and workplace meet'n'greets, however, it's acceptable to call "cattle" "cows." No one is likely to correct you and, if they do, you have a flesh-and-blood definition of "pedant."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A "heifer," 20th-century rural slang for "gal," is a female bovine who has likely not had sex yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A "steer" is a male who will never have sex, nor want to, and therefore will not harass cows. Steers were highly prized back in humanity's omnivore days because their lack of testosterone made their meat more tasty than bulls' whose only job in life is to have sex.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just hours after the Great Cattle Liberation (GCL), the NRA, which had suffered setbacks during the two previous decades, picked up the scent of a potential resurrection, arriving at this syllogism: "We don't need more cattle. Bulls <i>make</i> more cattle. Therefore, someone is gonna have to shoot bulls."</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDzNToz37krFmOxOwAVOxlaTqRMlV-sR6T96MhXMCuhP5bl5_9aUS8hWt95uStM4Fxp8sqVOgvvygGMH7pEA97shAbAXZsk7K71OeDDAwGNke3IerbxGy7XQ85XRDohetGeHrHtyh5vHX/s1600/bull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="770" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDzNToz37krFmOxOwAVOxlaTqRMlV-sR6T96MhXMCuhP5bl5_9aUS8hWt95uStM4Fxp8sqVOgvvygGMH7pEA97shAbAXZsk7K71OeDDAwGNke3IerbxGy7XQ85XRDohetGeHrHtyh5vHX/s320/bull.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy's totally gonna get shot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Once that idea entered Earth's atmosphere, hunters (and mass shooters) raced from the shadows. They firmly believed, as they always have, that if wild animals aren't "harvested" or "culled," they were destined to die a more awful death, e.g., starvation, wolf and wildcat mauling, mad cow disorder, etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hunting was an act of compassion! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Killing can be both fun and humane! "Eat hot lead, Mama Deer! You'll never fear starvation again! I'm doing this for you! God, I love this!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So the rejuvenated NRA went to work buying congresspersons in order to legalize bull hunting (with the option of eventually adding homeless and illegal immigrant cattle to the death list).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We will spare the reader the details of this lengthy, boring process, laced with legalities and lies, propaganda, trumpian campaign rallies, "Kill More Bull" red caps, rushed construction of assault weapon factories, and hastily passed legislation to build even higher and thicker walls around schools to Keep Our Children Safe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surprisingly, many gun-toting Americans lobbied for some restrictions on bull hunting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe, for example, hunters should use only .22 rifles with their puny little bullets (no hollow points!) so the killing process would take longer (bull scholars claim it can take as many as eleven .22 bullets, all entering either the heart or brain area, to kill a healthy bull), extending the hunters' pleasure, <i>and</i> making mass shootings <i>waaay</i> more difficult for our fellow citizens who enjoy such things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The NRA's first-draft proposition -- called Fish-in-a-Barrell Easy Access -- was to leave the bulls in their respective home pastures so hunters would have fewer miles to drive their </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">gas-gobbling</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> F-350s and SUVs. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtULbYWsnnfEbWf9pd7P28xx2oztXBXlSjuCDcmiduefI90ZaVkGTgAfbHBK2GtoHeQopyLt0zFaOrGzqiJ7rdn6cE0eRTVAwelctSuQ_8Q9CE-5yxZx2vLYsaDo20zP5QOj0A7tEo52XP/s1600/fish+in+barrell.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtULbYWsnnfEbWf9pd7P28xx2oztXBXlSjuCDcmiduefI90ZaVkGTgAfbHBK2GtoHeQopyLt0zFaOrGzqiJ7rdn6cE0eRTVAwelctSuQ_8Q9CE-5yxZx2vLYsaDo20zP5QOj0A7tEo52XP/s320/fish+in+barrell.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They'd just drive to ol' Farmer John's ranch, pull up to the fence, walk out amongst the now lonely and horny (not in that way) bulls, and fire away, trying their dead level best not to "do a Dick Cheney."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">PETA and normal animal lovers protested immediately, and, as usual, they were ignored immediately.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some of the Czar's more liberal advisers convinced him to open the gates, give the cattle two weeks to find a welcoming environment, <i>then</i> start bull-hunting season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The NRA convinced the Czar (by requesting it) to allow hunters to use AR-15s on bulls weighing over a ton. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so began the DBS (Domesticated Bovine Solution), but it was only the beginning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even with a bull hunting season, too many cattle continued to roam the earth, their farts discharging a tsunami of deadly methane.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This moved the Department of Interior to implement two additional plans: One, transport wolves on Airbus A380s (each of which provided first-class seating for 860 wolves; snacks: sedated rabbits; entrees: roadkill "steak") to cattle-rich areas of the country. The Czar saw this as a win-win effort: restock this Great Nation's dwindling wolf demographic <i>and</i> "cull" or "harvest" millions of cattle.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRin0upYbLLCE7JvATt1MhAIwoLatfKriHs27G8LPXGT2DDq6Piz75nfoyo_sy6kmcr9iZ0aWqQQKoz_fy2VbGPVgAZ0SZoScz8rpW5GnMUvX4hLlfO4OIwDDDFRxiuV8SJfRS0RyklE1/s1600/airbus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRin0upYbLLCE7JvATt1MhAIwoLatfKriHs27G8LPXGT2DDq6Piz75nfoyo_sy6kmcr9iZ0aWqQQKoz_fy2VbGPVgAZ0SZoScz8rpW5GnMUvX4hLlfO4OIwDDDFRxiuV8SJfRS0RyklE1/s320/airbus.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wolf transporter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Two, market cattle -- esp.calves and heifers -- as pets for the very rich (they would have to be spayed or neutered, of course) (the calves and heifers, not the very rich) (even though spaying and neutering the very rich is well worth considering).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This plan caught on immediately. By 2040, you couldn't enter a wealthy person's home without bumping into a heifer, often clothed in playful anthropomorphic wardrobes -- Disney characters, Darth Vader, Sean Hannity, Santa Claus, etc.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The more humane among the very rich allowed their pets to enjoy some outside time, ruminating and chewing cud next to the pool, and using their ever-swishing tails to chase flies from their poop patties. (The pet cattle's fragrant droppings also created minimum-wage jobs for Mexicans who flew over the trumpian Wall in high-tech drones invented for just that purpose in 2020.) (The Mexicans could boost their income by emptying the very rich's massive Purina Bovine Boxes into which house cows shat).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally, the move to Veganism resulted in a new Cabinet Department: The Department of Separation of All Religions Except Fundamentalist Evangelical Literalist Christianity from the State, initially chaired by Franklin Graham, Jr.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This Department easily convinced the Czar (by asking him) to retain enough cattle for "<i>those</i> kind of Christians" to offer up as sacrifices to their carnivorous Lord as per instructions in Leviticus and the like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Graham, always meticulous in his calculations, made certain that the cattle population (his "Bullpen," as he called it) was bountiful enough that very rich Christians could match King Solomon's record-setting 20,002 cattle he burnt as a peace offering to the Lord once Solomon's immigrants completed The Temple's construction (We're not making this up. See 1 Kings 8:63).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By now, many readers must be wondering, "What about pigs? And what's the difference between a pig and a hog?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first question is easily answered: The Reverend Graham had Exorcist-in-Chief Brother Siegfried Thompson cast out all the demons residing in Sarah Sanders, Stephen Miller, Mitch McConnell, and in the entire wicked brood of indicted trump associates, and when the demons were liberated, lo and behold, they entered into every pig and hog </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">that oinked upon the earth's surface -- there were that many demons! -- and the swine were sore afraid and </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">leapt into the Grand Canyon where they died immediately. (There's a precedent for the pigs' -- or hogs' -- behavior: Matthew 8:28-34)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As for the pig-hog question, that must wait for another day.</span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-10567398481964344512019-01-09T07:14:00.000-08:002019-01-09T07:16:00.299-08:00My Chucks History<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the 1940s, all the cool basketball players wore black high-top U.S. Keds. In the 1950s, black Keds went out of style, and all the cool basketball players wore white high-top Keds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Only girls wore low top sneakers. Also, sneakers were called tennis shoes back then.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyXqeEoD6vTq9dQf03HrtEUe4nOddFesKEWxIN3jgrgFe78MItXyhMtd-8ko5PZNi76MS0vX2uTwpPjho7kgd0Tvuu2hCxyXnpSNLQUeewyX4a8-ijj6fjJY34DQU84DvKotHe8hkn1-6/s1600/keds+black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyXqeEoD6vTq9dQf03HrtEUe4nOddFesKEWxIN3jgrgFe78MItXyhMtd-8ko5PZNi76MS0vX2uTwpPjho7kgd0Tvuu2hCxyXnpSNLQUeewyX4a8-ijj6fjJY34DQU84DvKotHe8hkn1-6/s200/keds+black.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">U.S. Keds in the old days</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wore white high-top Keds when I played basketball in the 7th grade in 1962.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1963, our coach Mack Primm walked into the gym just before practice with a big bag under his arm, and he said, "Boys, I wanna show you something."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bag rustles, we lean forward, Coach Primm pulls out a shoe box. So what?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He takes out a pair of white high-top Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars. "Take a look at these shoes, fellows," he said. "I want these to be the Pinetta Indians' team shoe. They cost $6.75, so try and get me the money as soon as possible because I gotta order them."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then he pulled out some off-white socks that had elastic on the top, but nowhere else, meaning they tended to droop and buckle. They cost fifty cents each.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05FoA2rni7lfJLSlphE-TItLEaH5mI6TgdsaTmChi2PX52DRn-h1bXlAqApCu5jiw3ao6g1E-kycu6gqXWxLwFB1z_M8tSvhcQNNpv9N5bJj9xjUQeRzmdyCBDZdBxRcpxt3qms2hJkH9/s1600/keds+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05FoA2rni7lfJLSlphE-TItLEaH5mI6TgdsaTmChi2PX52DRn-h1bXlAqApCu5jiw3ao6g1E-kycu6gqXWxLwFB1z_M8tSvhcQNNpv9N5bJj9xjUQeRzmdyCBDZdBxRcpxt3qms2hJkH9/s200/keds+white.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kind of Keds I wore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went home and told my dad about the Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars (it would be decades before they were called "Chucks) and the floppy socks. He laughed at the idea of spending $6.75 on tennis shoes, but agreed to pay for one pair of the baggy socks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I begged Mama Joyce for Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars, and she said "We can't afford that, but let's go to Cohn's and see if we can kind some tennis shoes that look like them."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cohn's was sort of like a dollar store. It was full of Japanese made cheap stuff for poor people. Back then "Made in Japan" was a joke meaning cheaply made crap that will fall apart in no time. Who knew they would wind up making Lexuses?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We found some white high tops with a brand name I never heard of, but they looked a little like Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars, so I was like, "Well okay." They cost $2.40.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few weeks later the soles started to come off, so my dad agreed to fund a purchase of duct tape to bring the shoes' soles and bodies back together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the 9th grade, I bought a pair of Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars with money I made working in tobacco. That was the year I set a Pinetta Indian record for most points in a junior varsity game, 26. I was really good at drawing fouls, and in that game I made 14 out of 16 freethrows, and I scored seven points in overtime to help us win.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm still so proud of that I'm willing to interrupt an otherwise interesting story about Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By the time I started college -- 1968 -- the Boston Celtics had gone back to black Chuck Taylors and they were low tops. Boy, did they look cool. And, boy, did it make it okay for guys to wear them, not just when playing basketball, but when we walked across campus holding our textbooks. Girls still didn't wear them, by the way.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIId7-aJgEUz-ixw5ZmTTaqqPjYROttCS1vq9Kna-ad4PsBaKj12ud3Xyx6VFuxbVhsvfcBQPSzqBvM8FQpKdssKuCyaiOQ7iO0CUVgwFNc6ixWftTJIwBGvSOgGKTR7wqFpT5lKT4CF3k/s1600/celtics+chucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIId7-aJgEUz-ixw5ZmTTaqqPjYROttCS1vq9Kna-ad4PsBaKj12ud3Xyx6VFuxbVhsvfcBQPSzqBvM8FQpKdssKuCyaiOQ7iO0CUVgwFNc6ixWftTJIwBGvSOgGKTR7wqFpT5lKT4CF3k/s320/celtics+chucks.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celtics' Sam Jones in Chucks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew how cool I looked with my low-top Chuck Taylors and Levi jeans. So easy to be fashionable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so fun to have a wardrobe that cried out, "I am not a grownup. I have no serious obligations. I obey no clock. I am young and growing in knowledge. I have no pains in my joints, nor do I limp, nor will I in the foreseeable future. I love you, Chuck Taylors and jeans, and all that you stand for!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So was it any surprise that my first purchase after retiring from roughly 35 years of teaching was a pair of black Chucks? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They're my Lucky Charms without the milk. They are my talispersons. As long as my soles are young, my body will follow. </span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-704087604258369442018-12-26T09:10:00.005-08:002023-01-11T13:13:52.356-08:00Beatty's Cage<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">A high-school incident either transformed me into someone else or revealed my real self. I'll never know which.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beatty (as I will call him) was a junior at Madison High School. He lived just east of town on the main drag, Highway 90, just past a dying shopping plaza, once home to Setzer's grocery store, a bakery and a bowling alley. Beatty's neighborhood was made up of dilapidated wood-frame houses turned gray from age. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">They couldn't possibly have had indoor plumbing. Some had crooked, jury-rigged TV antennas, giving license to the more fortunate passers-by to cough up the old saw, "They ain't got a pot to piss in, but they sure got to have them some TV."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beatty walked to and from school, typically wearing an old short-sleeved, threadbare shirt that was too small for him and missing a button or two, and a pair of dark greenish work pants that were too large, kept up by a tightly knotted rope. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He never wore jeans, and apparently owned only two pairs of work pants and no more than three shirts. He wore the same scuffed and weathered loafers every day and never appeared freshly showered or right out of the bath.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He was in my English class and it was hard for me to keep my eyes off him. He sat next to the wall and would often lean his large, narrow head against it while he pondered God knows what. He always had a pencil in his hand and another perched behind his left ear. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He kept an old-styled zip-up, fake-leather notebook open on his desk, and when Ol' Lady Faught (our teacher) said something he deemed significant, he'd write it down, or write something, anyway.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beatty conducted himself like a scholar. Quiet and respectful in class, he always appeared thoughtful and engaged and h</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">e carried a load of textbooks with him on his daily pilgrimage to and from Shanty Row. </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He resembled </span><span face=""helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif">"the Studious Young Man"</span><span face=""helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif"> as if he were playing the role of one. This is not the kind of company most high-school kids seek. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So yes, he kept to himself, because all the other students kept away from him.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One of the few things I ever heard him say was "No, ma'am," in a flat, bass voice, when Ol' Lady Faught asked him if he had done his homework or if he could answer a question. He hardly ever turned in anything. I once saw a quiz he had taken, and the paper seemed to have been wadded up before its use, his writing, in smudged pencil markings, tiny and illegible.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">He made all F's, with perhaps a mercy D tossed in occasionally from a generous teacher. His scholarly persona was pure theater, but why choose such an unappealing role? </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So, even though he was a muscular young man -- I'd guess 5'11, 180 pounds -- he was a prime victim of bullying.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And he was black. And it was Madison High's second year of integration. And he was segregated from both blacks and whites.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One day after Phys. Ed., the last class of the day, he was in the locker-room changing back into his grubby wardrobe. He was by himself in a small enclave of lockers with a lockable gate. It resembled a jail cell.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Some kids decided to make it one. They locked him in. One of them scribbled on a sheet of notebook paper "DO NOT FEED THE MONKEY" and taped it to Beatty's cell. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The alpha punk howled for his henchmen, and they gathered round him, making ape calls and monkey screams. Some threw playground balls and wadded paper against the gate.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beatty said nothing. He looked at them with neither surprise nor outrage. His eyes said "I see you," that is all.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I would like to lie and say I heard about this outrage second hand, but I was there when it happened, the middle part of it anyway. I didn't see them lock him in and I do not how he escaped. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was sickened by it, literally. I felt lost, like I had fallen into a bad movie. Of course, I didn't participate, because I wasn't friends with this particular pack of rabid hyenas, and I wasn't friends with Beatty -- no one was. I was just a bystander, doing nothing about his misery.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But Beatty's public humiliation did something about me. </span><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I witnessed firsthand prejudice, difference and fear commingled to form an elixir of cruelty, and that elixir's shelf life extended by cowardice. I saw who we are.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The last time I saw Beatty, I was sitting on the porch swing of our ratty little rental on Marion St., less than a block from MHS. It was the last day of school, and Beatty was trudging past the house on his long, long walk back home.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">A classmate, riding his new firetruck red scooter, pulled up next to Beatty, stopped, and leaned toward him with one foot on the ground, the engine still running. Time for a chat.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Go home, nigger," he said, "and don't come back next year."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beatty pivoted slowly toward the shit-head and said, like a young James Earl Jones, "Oh, I'll BE back."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Had this been a bad movie, I would've broken character, been brave, leapt off my porch, run out to the road and spoken the truth: "God, I am so sorry, Beatty. I hate them, too."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Instead, I sat on the swing and watched him walk back to Shanty Town, the fumes of that fucking scooter still in his nose.</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-26786287112799963392018-12-24T11:35:00.002-08:002018-12-24T11:35:23.612-08:00Santa in the Cotton Field<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was just leaving Starbucks as the sun was rising this morning, and some woman I'd never seen before walked up to me, handed me a card, said "Merry Christmas" with no exclamation point, then walked away. It was a $10 Starbucks gift card.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I remembered what Christmas was about. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I remembered a Christmas I had one July in the early Sixties.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFooLx4mxLk_DU4dkdcoLPEX-Jz24_eHn1XczN1pKx5rKuspSFJrA2eQgwdBqIqc4zplM1tncohbfQHgBGYM1i_lisS4_EAqu3wQQRWQspWTvzmcVHGmiWaW3UGM73TEtmpB6S66FxDwQ/s1600/obama+santa+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFooLx4mxLk_DU4dkdcoLPEX-Jz24_eHn1XczN1pKx5rKuspSFJrA2eQgwdBqIqc4zplM1tncohbfQHgBGYM1i_lisS4_EAqu3wQQRWQspWTvzmcVHGmiWaW3UGM73TEtmpB6S66FxDwQ/s320/obama+santa+one.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On a scorching hot day, I was pulling weeds in a cotton field for my dad's best friend, M.C. Herring. I was part of a crew of workers, all of them older than me. M.C.'s son Jerry was there, and a couple of dudes I'll call Tommy and LeRoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We worked on our hands and knees in that hot, soft, Florida soil, essentially crawling from one cotton plant to the next, yanking the weeds from the dirt and tossing them over our shoulders.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even as young bloods, when we stood up, our aching knees and backs made us feel like old people.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For most of the morning, my group stayed in a cluster and fought off the heat by shooting the bull and telling jokes. Idle chatter proved an effective distraction from the heat, and it sort of broke the charm for someone to mention, even casually, that “it’s hotter’n hell out here.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed like if we didn't think about it, it couldn't hurt us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">We were having a reasonably good time until Tommy started talking about what he’d brought for lunch. He stood up, put his hands on his lower back, and smiled meanly down at us: “Yep, it shore is gonna feel good to sit in the shade and sip on some of that lemonade mama made me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That pretty much broke the spell, and soon we were all talking about our lunches and about what time it was, about how much longer before Mr. Herring let us stop and about just how dadgummed hot it was out here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We compared how wet with sweat our shirts were, and Tommy, always the best “sweater,” won easily, his entire shirt being drenched a darker shade of blue. Then we started up with stories of people who got “bear caught” in the fields, meaning they turned pale (unless they were black) and quit making sense and started seeing things that weren’t there and got dizzy and sometimes puked. There's probably a medical term for "bear caught."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a while we got too hot to talk, so we just quietly pulled weeds and thought our private thoughts. Heat and humidity lay on us like a quilt, and the air wouldn't stir a bit. Whatever sound a root makes being yanked up out of the dirt was all we heard.<br /><br />Finally, we saw Mr. Herring’s truck pull up at the edge of the field, and he came trudging across the rows. He didn't tolerate any slacking or goofing on the job, so when we saw him, we turned it up a notch, snatching at those weeds like they were trying to run away from us.<br /><br />“How you boys doin’?” he asked.<br /><br />“We doin’ alright,” Jerry said. “It’s gettin’ pretty hot out here, though.”<br /><br />“Reckon when we can stop and eat?” Tommy asked.<br /><br />Mr. Herring put his hands in his pockets and scanned the field. “Looks like you been takin’ it mighty easy already. Y’all oughta have half this field done by now. You just keep goin’, we’ll stop d’rectly.” And he left.<br /><br />We went back at it, quietly again. The dirt was getting awfully hot on my hands, and sweat was dripping off my nose like snot. The sand's heat radiated through my boots. I began to fall behind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKn1sfgABfunlCl7U4mXLyRU1ih4mK3n0t2H9r3xcDFQi4D7o08Xd1yaeojZuWi3Qr3Cs59ej4iwyZ6UJJ-jgOZgu3EGbzp0aOrJrBN4RoUoNgJQrvXBA6wMIgJVOprBYzOqbpQcnvWuxv/s1600/obama+santa+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKn1sfgABfunlCl7U4mXLyRU1ih4mK3n0t2H9r3xcDFQi4D7o08Xd1yaeojZuWi3Qr3Cs59ej4iwyZ6UJJ-jgOZgu3EGbzp0aOrJrBN4RoUoNgJQrvXBA6wMIgJVOprBYzOqbpQcnvWuxv/s320/obama+santa+two.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The voice in my head started drifting off on strange, dream-like, unmarked roads. I fought off this creepiness by repeating to myself, “It can’t be that much longer. It can’t be that much longer.” The other guys finished their rows, and were about 30 yards into their next one by the time I finished mine.<br /><br />I tried halfheartedly to catch up, but I couldn’t stay focused. The ground started moving under my feet like those people-movers at airports. The earth was no longer stable, and the cotton field tilted and there was no tobacco stalk to hold onto. I dropped back down on my knees and tugged at some weeds.<br /><br />I looked up, and Mr. Herring was back, talking to the guys way up ahead of me. When he left, I walked over to get the news: “He said 30 more minutes,” Jerry told me. Well, we weren’t stupid, so we slowed down a bit, I more than the others, because we knew those 30 minutes would end whether we worked hard or not. Thirty minutes. That ain't nothing.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was hungry and then I wasn't and then I was again. A ham sammich and a glass of ice tea were waiting on me. Couldn’t be more than 20 minutes now.<br /><br />Maybe 15 minutes left, and I be danged if Mr. Herring doesn’t come back again. This time he walks up to me first: “Just finish this row, and we’ll go get dinner,” and he walks off and tells the others. I watch him tell them. Then I watch them tap into their energy reserves and start racing toward the end of the rows.<br /><br />I, however, have no energy reserve, and I stare down at my row with despair and disbelief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BrhQ4SkV5jEUV2wE10Xgcfo-OrC4CeP0HmBDFZCQgE0IVdlDKrscc_doKIhh-b7s4or57UlkSVs9xu_NHhdV7QOGZHKtVuPds0q5rCYGJMW11bIifaAfV0ZtWBsjB-S6RRKUiISEgW56/s1600/christmas+quote.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BrhQ4SkV5jEUV2wE10Xgcfo-OrC4CeP0HmBDFZCQgE0IVdlDKrscc_doKIhh-b7s4or57UlkSVs9xu_NHhdV7QOGZHKtVuPds0q5rCYGJMW11bIifaAfV0ZtWBsjB-S6RRKUiISEgW56/s320/christmas+quote.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is not gonna be possible. My heaving chest warns of an onset of unmanly crying – something that had never happened to me in the fields and never would again. I bitterly yank a few weeds while the sweat runs into my eyes, and I start feeling trembly and nauseated and I picture an actual bear, a grizzly, catching someone, and my face feels flushed and feverish, and I have a long, long way to go, and I know I’m not gonna make it.<br /><br />When the older guys finish their rows, I can see them grabbing their Styrofoam water jugs and heading for the shade, but I can’t see the end of my row. The dang thing gets longer every time I look at it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe 20 rows away from me, I see an old black man rise up off his knees and put his hands on his aching back. I recognize him as Joe Williams, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr. Herring’s right-hand man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Joe was a hardworking, gentle, enduring man of decency, and he didn't seem to give a crap if you were black or white.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked like a leaner, reed-legged version of Morgan Freeman. I wish there were an original way to say “he always had a twinkle in his eye,” because he really did. He was always smiling but with a smile that had a kind of sadness to it, maybe resignation is the word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Like he was saying, "Life's hard but we alright, just keep on at it. Can't understand everything, can't make heads or tails of it, but that's just what it's like. Mercy me, mercy, mercy. Being sad ain't gonna change nothing, being mad ain't either."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Like when you look down and shake your head and say, "Lord, Lord. Lordy me."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And, after I pull a few more pathetic tear-soaked weeds, I see him headed my way. He goes to the end of my row and starts working his way toward me, pulling my weeds. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">He didn’t have to do that, this old guy who was probably hurting from the heat more than I was, but there he was, inspiring me to get my butt in gear and meet him halfway.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />When we met, I thanked him and mumbled something like “I didn’t think I was gonna make it,” and whatever he said in response, he was smiling his Joe smile, and he was kind, and he didn't expect anything from me in return, that's not why he did it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He saw suffering and tried to heal it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When he left, he patted my scrawny little back with his old black hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was 95 degrees out there in the cotton field, and there was sand instead of snow, dripping sweat instead of icicles, but so what? Santa and the generous spirit of Christmas were present, clearly visible through my blurry eyes.</span>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-47337278457758908522018-12-11T13:33:00.000-08:002018-12-11T13:34:54.813-08:00Tobacco, Radio and Rain<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0px;">Let us now continue our agrarian saga (Google "agrarian").</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">How did we not go crazy</span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">during the course of a 10-hour summer day? One answer lies in an advertising jingle frequently heard on WMAF radio, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Madison</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1:place>, coming at you with 5000 watts of power: “Take a constant companion wherever you go / Take a PORTable RAdioooo!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Sitting somewhere on that tobacco table was a cheap transistor radio with a crappy speaker and it was always on. Perhaps because our choices were limited, I don’t recall there ever being any argument over what to listen to. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGulRksg7xa1Yo1CCXDimg8_P0l-uvw_aTx9WwbqY1IhMgwMQCQuxiV3L7_5xNlUDdz0xfFyqPKCkqQdK-FB1ZCduB1VqRkJQGGAaO5nFlMZyovj7YZkBTZSOMSGQ20kKlUkIityCk4d6i/s1600/transistor+radio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="577" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGulRksg7xa1Yo1CCXDimg8_P0l-uvw_aTx9WwbqY1IhMgwMQCQuxiV3L7_5xNlUDdz0xfFyqPKCkqQdK-FB1ZCduB1VqRkJQGGAaO5nFlMZyovj7YZkBTZSOMSGQ20kKlUkIityCk4d6i/s200/transistor+radio.jpg" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transistor radio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Hardly any of us wanted to listen to the country music station from nearby Valdosta, Georgia. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">WMAF had nothing but junk – the gospel hour (very bad church music), a call-in swap shop ("I have a used Timex with a scratched crystal. Could somebody gimme a bird dog for that?"), a farm report about weather and the price of hogs, and the truly boring “Easy Listening with Stewart” – until 4 p.m. when “Downbeat” started, an hour and a half of rock’n’roll. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Our most constant companion was about the only other station we could pick up: “This is the Big Ape, the Mighty 690, W-A-P-E, </span><st1:place style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;" w:st="on">Jacksonville</st1:place><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">!” This was pre-FM, so we heard all our favorite songs through the crackle of static which grew worse during afternoon thunderstorms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Once I shifted into my rhythmic cruise control as a hander, I left the tobacco table and went wherever the songs from the Big Ape took me (not literally). I might as well have been wearing earplugs.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">I heard Ray Charles sing “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-YqaTDDCDM" target="_blank">I Can’t Stop Loving You</a>” God knows how many times in the course of a day, but I never tired of it, and I always sang along with it – to myself, when I couldn’t hit the notes – and I always aimed it directly at my imaginary girlfriends (it should be noted that these were actual human beings I went to school with, but who were pretty much unaware of my existence). </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Sing the song, children!</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was also the time of funny or novelty songs sung by Ray Stevens (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNigDOHz4j0" target="_blank">"Ahab the Arab"</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OqbbOhoOfQ" target="_blank">"Guitarzan"</a>) and Roger Miller (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lg7DcCI39GY" target="_blank">"Dang Me"</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsNWlM3fWmI" target="_blank">"Chug-a-Lug"</a>). We memorized these songs long before they quit being funny and began to drive us insane.<br /><br />As the day grew longer and hotter, sweat trickled down into our eyes, and we’d blot it with the back of our hands, the fronts being covered with black tobacco tar. We had to keep our Styrofoam water jugs handy, and drink frequently of the Styrofoam-tasting water, little bits of ice still rattling around in there at the end of the day.<br /><br />Some days, Van would run into Madison and come back with a crate of cold Cokes, in those little 6.5-ounce bottles. God, those things were good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And some days he’d be good enough to bring a couple of watermelons from his fields, and we’d stop working long enough to bury our faces in their sweetness, and the juice would be steady running down our chins.<br /><br />Other days, we caught a nature break when a thunderstorm would chase the croppers in from the field, and we’d all huddle under the awning or inside the barn and swap stories about people getting struck by lightning.<br /><br />For me, these yarns triggered a special kind of terror. When I was just a wee thing, hardly a toddler, I was leaning against the railing of a baby bed during a particularly vicious thunderstorm. When lightning hit a tree just a few feet from the house, I was jettisoned, by fear combined with a desire to fly, out of the baby bed and onto the floor, head first.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Since this was before infants were required to wear crash-helmets and flack-jackets to bed, I was knocked senseless, and, not only did I never quite recover, but I was cursed with a lifelong fear of lightning, as if it were the number-one weather-related killer in Florida.*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<br />
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/47/de/90/47de907d5ed75e97e7683b1443f7fd9b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/47/de/90/47de907d5ed75e97e7683b1443f7fd9b.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">I "jumped" out of one of these.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">So when one of those storms visited the tobacco fields (and they inevitably did), I grew a bit uncomfortable. I was left to pray to the good Lord that if someone must be struck dead, please let it be someone else, say, that one guy who'd been getting on my nerves a lot lately by singing those funny songs that we were all sick of.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Anyway, when the roar of the rain on the barn’s tin roof dwindled to a dibble-dop and the thunder faded into off and on grumblings in the distance, we emerged from the shelter, and the weary croppers climbed into the sleds and were dragged back into the now muddy fields.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Before the storm began, their clothes had been drenched in sweat and lay heavily on their skin. Now they were about to be saturated by the rain-soaked tobacco leaves, and their grimy, muddy jeans would be drooping halfway down their butts during the day’s long final hours</span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;">Those wet tobacco leaves often gave me nicotine poisoning, by the way, but I don't have the stomach to tell you about that right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While we wait for the field of streams to dry out, I'll work on some brief tales of my career in cropping.</span> </span><br />
<div style="text-indent: 24px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>*It is.</i></span></span></div>
Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-58708318442625594402018-12-06T07:15:00.001-08:002022-11-02T12:22:28.114-07:00Child Labor<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I imagine when people walk by me on the streets of Oviedo, they say to themselves, "Uuuuuuu, look at Mr. Fancy Pants, look at Mr. Smarty Pants, Mr. Bookworm, Mr. Know-It-All! What a skinny old guy, probably a delicate precious little snowflake. Uuuuu, take care of the earth, give money to lazy poor people! Ol' Mr. Socialist who's never done a lick of hard work in his life. Always had his nose in a book! Mommy did everything for him! Everything given to him on a silver spoon! Born with a golden platter on his head! Probably going somewhere for a cup of tea and a kale sandwich! No wait, I meant 'born with a silver spoon in his mouth,' but anyway my point is well taken!"</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">These imaginary people are partly right, but not about work!</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I had my first paying job when I was 8. </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The back part of our old house was used by a black sharecropper (Google "sharecropper") as a place to take cooked (also called "cured") tobacco off the stick, then arrange it in doughnut-shaped piles and tie it up in a huge sheet before tossing it on the back of a truck to be taken to Madison where tobacco companies would buy it. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br />The black sharecropper was Nat Thomas (called Nay-THAHN by his wife Lula), and he sharecropped with Granddaddy, and the tobacco in my house came freshly cooked from the barn across the road. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgLA98I3ujrqAZadkR7GPg4-8eeW2aEOViE8B_XHbhfaMbUvlUtprE8ylT3MFe2I621-hqXfpjXWCDLvnL_x4sezpCRltHqE6b4Xr3j26swr5iw6MiUvUODbE5xo1ZuBCgq1Heso6nyys/s1600/tobacco+cured.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="1178" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgLA98I3ujrqAZadkR7GPg4-8eeW2aEOViE8B_XHbhfaMbUvlUtprE8ylT3MFe2I621-hqXfpjXWCDLvnL_x4sezpCRltHqE6b4Xr3j26swr5iw6MiUvUODbE5xo1ZuBCgq1Heso6nyys/s320/tobacco+cured.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooked or cured tobacco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That same barn burnt down twice in a period of about eight years. (Once when the barn burnt, my dad was working on the transmission of our pathetic yellow English Ford Consul when the fire broke out and, even with a bad back, he picked up the transmission and rushed it across the road to safety as if he were carrying an endangered and very heavy baby.)</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Nat did not have a cell phone or any other kind of phone, so someone had to drive up to his house and tell him his barn burnt down or wait for him to drive over and see it for himself.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One summer day I was hanging around in the back of the house talking to Lula, a short, thin woman who had the coloring of movie Indians, always in a straw hat and a loose fitting dress. I saw some of the stuff she was doing, so I started doing it because, I don’t know, I liked to feel productive: things like sweeping up loose pieces of tobacco leaves or handing her the next stick of tobacco to de-string. I must have done this all afternoon, so when Nat came by to pick her up, she took on over (i.e., exaggerated) what a big help I’d been to her. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Nat was a huge man, with a broad face, high cheek bones, piercing dark-yellow eyes, with a wide mouth and big lips that stretched practically across his entire face. After Lula bragged on me, he cocked his head and said, “Sho nuff?” Then he fished around in the pockets of his khaki work pants and handed me a fifty-cent piece. “Here’s ya some money to buy ya some can’y wit.”<br /><br />So in 1958, a black man who kept his tobacco in the back of my house gave me my first salary. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t allowed to buy “can’y” wit it.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Not long after that, working in tobacco became a <i>real</i> job.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One day, perhaps a year or so later, our neighbor Van Hinton dropped by and was talking about his tobacco crop, and my eyes lit up. My mom said to Van, “This one thinks he’d like to work in tobacco, but I expect he’d change his tune pretty quick if he ever got out in the fields.” </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Van said he had room for a couple more in his crew if my sister Martha and I wanted to try it. Well, I thought this was the greatest thing ever, as I always do when I hear something I interpret as being good news involving me. My heart leapt up.<br /><br />Me, working in tobacco! I could already envision my little arms become brawny and tan, the hair darkened by tobacco tar, a straw hat with a John Wayne tilt, and some of those cool brogan work boots farmers always wore, and my own water jug and everything! And I could pack a lunch! And get up before daylight! Oh God, this was just absolutely too rich!<br /><br />When tobacco harvesting season finally came round in June, Mama Joyce woke Martha and me at about 5 a.m. and we put on our most worn-out clothes, tried to force down a bowl of Cheerios, and walked with her the half mile up the road to Van’s tobacco barn, and my career began in earnest.<br /><br />On the way to Van’s, Mama gave me some advice she’d repeat many times over the years: “Remember: The boss is always right. Earn your money. Put in a full day’s work. Act like somebody.” </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Van said he would start us out at $3 a day, and if we worked out okay, he’d give us a raise to $4. My mom, who had worked in tobacco back in the day, was lucky enough to start out at $5 a day.</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/8d/16/18/8d1618d7d48340061a9aa96a97534b48.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/8d/16/18/8d1618d7d48340061a9aa96a97534b48.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Mule pulling tobacco sled</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Martha and I were handers which means we handed leaves of tobacco to someone who tied them to a stick. My mom was our stringer and she was lightning quick.<div>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">If we didn’t get the stuff to her hands in time, she’d be snapping her fingers. “Come on, now, get it to me! They ’bout to bring in another load.”</span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">At first, of course, we looked like a couple of idiots, actually counting the leaves, arranging them neatly in our hands, then holding the cluster somewhere in the general vicinity of Mama Joyce. That changed quickly. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">After a while, we learned how the right amount felt in our hands – say, four small leaves or three regular leaves or two large leaves with one small one – and we were able to pounce on them, then stylishly slap the leaves against our thighs as we passed them back to Mama Joyce. We got that rhythm going: grab, slap, hand off to Mama, who, always a knot of intensity, would snatch them from our hands while she chomped on and popped her Juicy Fruit chewing gum. She still wasn't 94 years old.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60vbSlvcHU7T4VcehbMlC6RCfDsruZgQoUnFd5G3pPQwPvuLwfyQPns3wtD2IxlR67rYuCHHVoutuHuhJy_SYlepFdMcSC1U6s_HxCNDuw-Ilc_c3M_LoWIl_dqPqGDEqbYHMgtXzVNlt/s1600/tobacco+leaves.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60vbSlvcHU7T4VcehbMlC6RCfDsruZgQoUnFd5G3pPQwPvuLwfyQPns3wtD2IxlR67rYuCHHVoutuHuhJy_SYlepFdMcSC1U6s_HxCNDuw-Ilc_c3M_LoWIl_dqPqGDEqbYHMgtXzVNlt/s320/tobacco+leaves.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tobacco in the field</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">More than anything, we wanted the grownups, especially Van, to refer to us as “good workers.” No one wanted to be called “lazy” or “dreamy” or “half-assed,” or, worst of all, “sorry.” </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We knew if we pleased Van, we could soon be making $4 a day, and I knew that if I made a good impression by good naturedly doing everything he asked me to, quickly and correctly, I could be promoted to cropper (croppers picked the ripe leaves off their stalks) and get to hang out with the big boys in the field -- better yet, I could <i>be</i> one of the big boys.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Becoming a cropper was a country boy's rite of passage, allowing him to take another step up the ladder of manhood. No guy wanted to be a hander for long, or he would be called a sissy. No guy ever wanted to be a stringer: Even though it was strenuous and stressful work, that job was just for women.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">These were wonderful days, but sometimes they were too long. By the time we actually started working, it was daylight. It got hot in a hurry; we kept a thermometer under the barn’s awning and we’d watch it crawl up toward 100 degrees day after day. We only got breaks if we happened to finish a table full of tobacco before the next sled came in. That rarely happened.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">“Dinner” was at noon. When I worked for Van, we all just found a shade and ate our sammiches. I usually had two: a baloney sammich and a PBJ made with Welch's Concord Grape Jelly. </span></span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Other favorites were Vienna sausages, sardines, and banana sammiches (recipe: bread, banana slices and mayonnaise). For dessert, one guy always brought a honey bun he bought at Hanson's general store, and I always craved it. </span></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">Van’s wife Elizabeth, also my </span><a href="http://www.starknotes.net/2015/08/in-miz-audreys-time-and-mine.html" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.25in;" target="_blank">third-grade teacher</a><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">, brought us sweet iced tea to wash down our food.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">After we ate, just as we began to feel the sweet urge to nap, it was back to the fields, and sometimes we didn’t stop until it was too dark to see, and workers would say stuff like this:</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">“Somebody ax Mr. Hinton when quittin’ time.”</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">“Tommy Lee done axed him. He say at least two more sleds, so y’all might as well get yo’ mines off goin’ home."</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">Let's stop here for now, so y'all might as well get yo' mines off readin'!</span></div>Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-4439865731641640252018-11-28T11:15:00.001-08:002021-01-27T11:41:32.473-08:00"If It Be Your Will": From Beauty to Apocalypse<div class="G1VCxe kno-fb-ctx" jsname="rdVbIe" style="margin-top: 12px;">
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">[<i>The poem in its entirety is at the bottom of this page. <a href="http://ww.youtube.com/watch?v=imU68vGF-o0" target="_blank">Here's</a> Cohen singing it and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QQ-Rd-ul4E" target="_blank">here</a> is Antony Hegarty's cover of it.]</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The title of Leonard Cohen's "If It Be Your Will" identifies his song as an invocation, a convention seen most often in the epics of yore, in which their authors sought divine assistance -- co-authorship, in a sense -- in completing their work.<br /><br /> But Cohen's title is in the conditional tense, and we don't expect that from invocations. In the <i>Iliad</i>, for example, Homer says "Sing goddess"; in the <i>Odyssey</i>, it's "Tell me, Muse"; and Milton's invocation in <i>Paradise Lost</i> is "Sing Heavenly Muse." No ifs, ands or buts there.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N6o2g2gO4-lHpa2qdY5WHNuFqoJHlbQwKX4AGClpunCJYccafzUaJhP_kEEayG7Dmkr1O-Rcdk1N-vT0wVuv8Z5GmTg0lAmTlowBBYAZUQzl1QDSECN_MrC19GHqQFZhG_gu_WcmeVFB/s1600/Leonard-Cohen-pensive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="780" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N6o2g2gO4-lHpa2qdY5WHNuFqoJHlbQwKX4AGClpunCJYccafzUaJhP_kEEayG7Dmkr1O-Rcdk1N-vT0wVuv8Z5GmTg0lAmTlowBBYAZUQzl1QDSECN_MrC19GHqQFZhG_gu_WcmeVFB/s200/Leonard-Cohen-pensive.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Cohen's deferential conditional clause is followed, three lines later, by "I will speak no more," then "I shall abide until / I am spoken for." Roughly paraphrased, "O source of my inspiration, if you want me to keep quiet, I will." Roughly, I say.<br /><br />Between lines 1 and 5, there is an implied backstory: "If it be your will / <i>That I speak no more / And my voice be still / As it was before </i>/ I will speak no more."<br /><br />In an earlier time, "before," his voice was "still," a word whose frequent use belies its power. "Still" is<i> really</i> still, like the sound of the Grand Canyon's silence.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the medieval lyric "I Syng of a Mayden," "still" is the sound of dew "falling" on grass, on flowers and on the stem from which the flowers grow -- each of which are similes for Mary's extraordinarily quiet, unruffled virginal conception.<br /><br />"Still," in poetry anyway, can be a sacred quietness, a reverent hush, a break or gap in sound, and that's how the light gets in.<br /><br /> After this stillness, Cohen has spoken, but is now agreeing to "speak no more" and to "abide until / [He is] spoken for."<br /><br />We shouldn't race past "abide," a word rarely used outside poetic or religious writings or university English departments' meet'n'greets. According to the International Bible Encyclopedia, the word is "used richly in the Old Testament King James Version by 12 . . . Hebrew words," meaning "await," "lodge," "remain," "continue" and "endure," among others.<br /><br />In Cohen's context, I lean toward "await" and "endure," which he will do until he is "spoken for," a phrase meaning "unavailable," often due to wedlock. Could he mean he will abide until God proposes to him? As in, "Do you, L.Cohen, promise to sing my praises?"<br /><br />Or did Cohen take poetic license in replacing "spoken to" with "spoken for"?<br /> <br />Before we look at the next stanza, we should point out another deviation from conventional invocations: Cohen doesn't call his listener a muse or a god. He doesn't give it a name at all, doesn't even capitalize "your" or "you." Nor does he name the auditor in "You Want It Darker," but that'll have to wait for another post.<br /><br />The next stanza has an implied "but" before its first line. To paraphrase, "Even though I'm willing to quietly endure until you choose me, if you want someone with a truthful voice singing from a broken hill (a fallen earth?), I'm your man." This sentiment is restated in the following stanza by way of the ballad convention we call incremental repetition.<br /><br />Then suddenly, with no transition (another ballad convention) the poem seems to revise its request:<br /><br /><i> If it be your will<br /> If there is a choice<br /> Let the rivers fill<br /> Let the hills rejoice</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's where</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> the teacher who favors discussions over lectures asks her students, "What's different about this stanza? Anyone? Tody? Lester? The rhyme scheme hasn't changed. Still good ol' predictable ABAB. But what is the narrator's request </span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">now</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">? Anyone? Who is the potential doer</span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> now</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">? Is it the speaker? Zasu? Anyone? It isn't, is it? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"In fact, in line 3, no one or no thing is speaking, right? The rivers are simply filling, perhaps due to winter runoff, the melting snow roaring down the hills like a semi-truck whose brakes are burnt out. Is that what you think? Okay! Does the speaker speak in the stanza's last line? Aldus? Is he even asking to speak? Or or is he asking for someone else to speak? What do you think? Hank, what does 'rejoice' mean?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a few uncomfortably still seconds, a student might well reply, "First, </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ms. Dilbickenstiff, the rivers aren't filling, they're just being asked to be allowed to. Also,</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> you didn't even ask about 'If there is a choice,' and I think that's a critical, maybe even existential conditional. Have you considered the possibility that the speaker is asking his listener to let nature speak for itself if there is a choice between him and nature?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Hmm. That's intriguing, Xavier. Why don't you look that up for homework and get back to us tomorrow. But I have another question: How is my name similar to Mr. Cohen's poem?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Entire class responds in choral fashion: "Both of them use assonance, in this case repetition of the short 'i' sound, for example, 'will,' "hills,' 'rivers,' 'Still,' 'ring,' 'spill,' 'sing,' and 'kill,' Ms. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dilbickenstiff</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Good job, <i>kids</i>! Hahahaha! Tomorrow we'll go over Jimmy Webb's 'MacArthur's Park.' Class <i>dismissed</i>!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Smart kid texts the guy next to him: "She didn't even ask us why Cohen would do that."</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next stanza shifts again, this time from nature's rivers and hills to miserable humans. Literalists may be reminded of the nonliteral tale of Lazarus and Dives (the rich man) in which the former dies and is carried by angels to Abraham, after which Dives dies and is hauled off to Hades where he pleads with Abraham to "send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water to cool my tongue, for I am in agony in this fire" (Luke 16:19-32).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Literalists are my arch enemy, but I will concede that Cohen might have been alluding to this passage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The literati, on the other hand, will see through the metaphorical "burning hearts in hell" to all of us who are in any way ill, broken, cast out, repressed, depressed, stifled, in a dark place, hoping to "gaze upon the chimes of freedom <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=chimes+of+freedom+lyrics&oq=chimes+of+f&aqs=chrome.1.0l2j69i57j0l3.8502j0j8&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8" target="_blank">flashing</a>.":</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> Let your mercy spill</i></span><i><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> On all these burning hearts in hell</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> If it be your will</span><br style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> To make us well</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're a long way from, "I'll speak if it's your will." What happened? Was Cohen sidetracked? Or did he have his narrator's perception change? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if, while awaiting a response to his invocation, pondering what praises he would sing, he saw a more urgent need, one that would preempt a Wordsworthian paean to nature? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These questions remind me of my reductivist take on the Psalms: Their two topics are, one, "God, you and your creation are great" and two, "God, don't kill us." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Cohen's poem, while God (or whoever "you" is or are) is vetting the supplicant's resume, a still small voice moves him from Psalm topic one to Psalm topic two.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No longer an epic composer, the narrator becomes "An infant crying in the night / An infant crying for the light / And with no language but a cry"**:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <i>And draw us near</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> And bind us tight</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> All your children here</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> In their rags of light</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> In our rags of light</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> All dressed to kill</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> And end this night</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> If it be your will</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just an aside: "And end this night" -- how many times have I asked for this since Trump was elected?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Three minutes before the bell, a teacher would pose these questions:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Does 'bind us tight' make you feel safe in your mommy's arms or like a frustrated baby Jesus, his freedom abolished and his potential confined in swaddling clothes?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Is 'rags of light' a paradox or oxymoron? Does it create an image or suggest an abstract condition?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"How does 'dressed to kill' change your reading of 'rags of light'? The former suggests you're going clubbing or to the prom. Does the context make the phrase more sinister?</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22NwzKItNDrEH7q3c4fr3iHGkT47d-Xm9kBiaVQdVl5GzERb5fdFccfUk6fJEBRipFBVRK8_J_4XxvoK9y1gSlOo-9KpSvWTtFZnIkG54FDvtStN23EuKNUKP2Upsdb24puFMZwWxMKLv/s1600/dressed+to+kill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22NwzKItNDrEH7q3c4fr3iHGkT47d-Xm9kBiaVQdVl5GzERb5fdFccfUk6fJEBRipFBVRK8_J_4XxvoK9y1gSlOo-9KpSvWTtFZnIkG54FDvtStN23EuKNUKP2Upsdb24puFMZwWxMKLv/s320/dressed+to+kill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or is this guy dressed to kill?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"And speaking of sinister, are the poem's first two lines a foreshadowing of the last two? Do you interpret 'night' as referring to our benighted, ignorant, aimless, untethered, feckless condition or to ending the whole damn thing, our universe and all the others, total closing time, shut the door? If it's the latter, the narrator will certainly 'speak no more.' Am I right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Anyone? Zasu?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>*Editor's note: The author of this piece is clearly flummoxed over whether he is analyzing Cohen's art or Cohen's narrator's ambitious musings. Forgive him, if it be your will.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>**From Tennyson's </i>In Memoriam<i>, describing how the Victorians felt when Science reared its ugly factual head.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>And here's the poem we've been discussing:</i></span><br />
<div class="G1VCxe kno-fb-ctx" jsname="rdVbIe" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-top: 12px;">
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">That I speak no more</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">And my voice be still</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">As it was before</span></div>
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I will speak no more</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I shall abide until</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I am spoken for</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span></div>
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">That a voice be true</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">From this broken hill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">I will sing to you</span></div>
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">From this broken hill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">All your praises they shall ring</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">To let me sing</span></div>
<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">From this broken hill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">All your praises they shall ring</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">To let me sing</span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="G1VCxe kno-fb-ctx" jsname="wq5Syf" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<div class="iw7h9e" data-mh="-1" jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If there is a choice</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Let the rivers fill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Let the hills rejoice</span></div>
<div class="iw7h9e" data-mh="-1" jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">Let your mercy spill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">On all these burning hearts in hell</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">If it be your will</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">To make us well</span></div>
<div class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="128" data-mhc="1" jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px; max-height: 128px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s ease 0s;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">And draw us near</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">And bind us tight</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">All your children here</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">In their rags of light</span></div>
<div class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="128" data-mhc="1" jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px; max-height: 128px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s ease 0s;">
<span jsname="YS01Ge">In our rags of light</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">All dressed to kill</span><br />
<span jsname="YS01Ge">And end this night</span></div>
<div class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="128" data-mhc="1" jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px; max-height: 128px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s ease 0s;">
If it be your will..</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-891455639054565089.post-91107266505999756272018-11-27T07:39:00.001-08:002021-02-10T05:31:52.381-08:00Other Mothers<div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Other Mothers"</span></div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div>One of the books I enjoyed reading to my beloved offspring when they were young was called </span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Are You My Mother? </i><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">This baby bird somehow gets separated from her mom, so everything she encounters is a possible mother, so she asks just in case. Every page featured a new possibility -- I think one of them was a bulldozer, for God's sake!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/47/Areyoumymother.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/47/Areyoumymother.gif" width="231" /></span></a></div>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Since that book is still around today, there must be some truth in it, some wisdom that sneaks in with the delight it offers children. Most kids, I guess, spend some time in daycare or with teachers, babysitters, or someone like that while their parents go off to work with a broken heart.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I had a few substitute moms before my first-grade teacher took over that role, and I learned a lot from them even though they weren't actual teachers.</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> I was dumber than dirt, barely a post-toddler goober, and they were old and wore dresses, so whatever they told me, I accepted as truth. And however they acted was the right way to act.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I'd heard many fairy tales and seen Disney's</span><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> Snow White</i><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">, so I knew mothers could be pretty easily divided into Fairy Godmothers and Wicked Witches.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For a while, though, I was privileged to keep the company of my actual mom, but it wasn't so easy for either of us. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">She tells me my dad was trying to farm in those days, so, through no choice of her own, she took me out in the fields where she and my dad worked in tobacco and whatever else they were growing. She tells me now that it was way too hot for me to be out there, and the mosquitoes were all over me and it made her very sad to see me like that.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But what else could she do? As every farmer knows, the fields have to be worked. You turn your back on crops for a second, and they'll die on you every time. If you can't afford to pay somebody to look after your children, you bring'em with you. It ain't gonna kill'em. Didn't kill <i>me</i>.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Some years passed, the crops rebelled against my dad and died in their various ways, and forced him and my mom to get jobs in town. She worked in shifts at what was called the Metal Plant. Sometimes she went to work at around 4 p.m. and came back around midnight. Other times, she'd go to work in the morning and work to 4.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">At the Metal Plant she worked on an assembly line sitting in front of a very loud and very dangerous machine, and she wore gloves that attached to another machine whose job it was to pull her hands back so they wouldn't get chopped off.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">While she was at the Metal Plant, someone had to watch me and my sister Martha. Often that turned out to be my dad's mother. Some people claim she was a twisted, crazy, wicked old witch, but I was with her many a day and so I know better: People were just being nice when they called her that.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Whatever her shortcomings, she did give me some religious education. She taught me about hell, for example, mainly by way of her own shrunken heart.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140510020718/spongebobandfriendsadventures/images/b/bd/Witch-the-witch-from-snow-white-31444288-432-346.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Must remember to bring this lady an apple</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140510020718/spongebobandfriendsadventures/images/b/bd/Witch-the-witch-from-snow-white-31444288-432-346.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span></a></div>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">About the time Martha got old enough to go to school, my mom's mother took over the childcare chores. What a nice change that was! A Southern Baptist Sunday-School teacher, she was basically a Fairy Godmother with a bit of sternness worked in just to keep it real. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">She sort of worked me into any chore she was doing, whether it was picking blackberries, cooking dinner, or sitting around a gigantic quilt suspended from her ceiling in what was called a quilting bee, listening to a whole bunch of her women friends gossip away.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://padavisblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/glinda.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://padavisblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/glinda.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">There was no TV and, of course, no video games, not even a phone, and the only tablets in the house were aspirins, so I was "always under foot," as they say, probably bugging the crap out of Grandmother with my endless questions, many of them focusing on her sewing machine with its impressive wrought iron pedal and some mysterious process called "changing the bobbin." </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">She made me promise never to touch the sewing machine when she wasn't around, so I only completely screwed up the thing a few times by touching it.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But the female who taught me most of all during my preschool years was my sister Martha. She was, of course, no sort of godmother or witch, but rather a fairy or a wizard. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Consequently, many of her lectures came from her endless imagination. She must have been about five when she realized there were countless wonderful things to know that had little to do with what our five senses could tell us. She was part Dr. Seuss, part Calvin of "Calvin and Hobbes," part eternal storyteller who didn't bother with separating facts from fiction. Whatever her imagination seized as beauty was true.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For example, she topped me on a walk through the pastures one day to point out the rays of light issuing from behind a silver-lined cloud. She put her hand on my arm and stopped me in my tracks. "Look up there at that cloud," she said."That's where God lives." </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Once we were fighting off boredom in the car while Mama Joyce was grocery shopping, and I saw our doctor walking down the sidewalk. For some reason, I began to wonder what happened to doctors when they got sick. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Who the heck did they go to? So I asked Martha about this, and she responded immediately. "You ever see pictures of those guys wearing Smoky the Bear hats and red coats and they ride around on horses? They're from Canada and they're called 'mounties.' Well, their job is to doctor doctors. That's who doctors go to when they're sick!"</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That made such good sense! Why did I never think of that? What else would guys dressed like that do?</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Martha was most helpful to me, though, by being a human "flash-forward-two-years" machine. When I was 3, in other words, her actions and teachings taught me moment by moment what it was like to be 5. </span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I didn't have to guess about what to look forward to or to dread in the days ahead -- she showed me. I learned, for example, to dread vaccinations and to look forward to the school Christmas play.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So I was always seeing what life would be like around the next bend while she taught me everything I needed to know, from tying shoes to buttoning shirts to making up the bed to washing dishes to catching fireflies.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And when she made my days much emptier by going off to school, she brought all the exciting things she learned back home to me. She showed me what letters looked like and how they sounded. She showed how 1 + 1 equaled 2.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But most exciting of all was the afternoon she raced off the bus and up the stairs to our old house, pulled out some paper and showed my how just three letters, when put in the right order, made the sound of my own name: r - o - y. Martha glowed like that cloud she'd shown me in the pasture, while I was rapt, stunned by this magic.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">This was more than I deserved! Those letters at school -- she brought them home to me and made my name. The Universe was a generous place indeed. And how Martha and I basked in its generosity.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EtLFVUzBbbRsF5DjNxYPXLKsbOAmIR-aiIKSLkB2Q0EfeTPS-Ju4k8WchxsRBVwANDeQ1cjirTXJ4_7f5TPMKShwq3RsUw400SQqBa796O08a04w_hk7BIMHtgugMpUVaikry-gK2GHB/s1600/Martha.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EtLFVUzBbbRsF5DjNxYPXLKsbOAmIR-aiIKSLkB2Q0EfeTPS-Ju4k8WchxsRBVwANDeQ1cjirTXJ4_7f5TPMKShwq3RsUw400SQqBa796O08a04w_hk7BIMHtgugMpUVaikry-gK2GHB/s1600/Martha.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Martha: My sister, my teacher</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Roy Starlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08998376320870001861noreply@blogger.com0