Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Hi-Yo, Silver!

In the 1940s and 1950s, veteran announcer Fred Foy introduced the Lone Ranger on radio and TV thusly:

Hi-Yo, Silver!

A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty ‘Hi-Yo, Silver!’ The Lone Ranger!

With his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early Western United States. Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice!

Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear! From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again!”

Americans were introduced to the Lone Ranger, Tonto, and their valiant steeds Silver and Scout in the early 1930s. Today, the Lone Ranger is considered ancient history — just some do-gooder cowboy from yesteryear. More often than not, he is now a source of humor mixed with ridicule, à la Colonel Sanders.

That’s a shame. The Lone Ranger is an appealing character and a man, albeit fictional, of admirable integrity.

The Lone Ranger was created for radio in 1933 by writer Fran Striker and producer George Trendle. The program first aired on radio station WXYZ in Detroit. Within a few years, it was being carried on over 400 radio stations across the country.

Striker and Trendle gave the Lone Ranger a compelling backstory. He is a Texan named Reid, first name originally not given. He is the only survivor of a group of six Texas Rangers, one of them Reid’s older brother Daniel, who were ambushed by outlaws.

Tonto finds the wounded Reid and helps him recover. Thereafter, wearing a black mask made from his late brother’s vest, Reid roams the west as the Lone Ranger, helping those in need and fighting evil and injustice.

The Lone Ranger is a man of impeccable character who follows a strict moral code. He never shoots to kill. He doesn’t drink, smoke, or womanize. His grammar and pronunciation are always precise. He is an intelligent version of Dudley Do-Right, minus the humor.

From 1949 until 1957, a popular TV version of the radio show was aired starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels.

Six Lone Ranger movies have been made, the first in 1956, the most recent in 2013. A comic strip, various comic books, and 18 novels also have been published.

The Lone Ranger has given us some wonderful cultural tropes — Fred Foy’s dramatic introduction. The cry of “Hi-Yo, Silver! Away!” Silver bullets left as calling cards. The theme music from the William Tell Overture. A bystander inevitably asking, “Who was that masked man?”

LR&T

And then there is “kemosabe,” as Tonto calls his masked companion. Usually, the term is described as meaning “faithful friend” or “trusty scout.”

The meaning has generated jokes, too. In one, kemosabe means the rear end of a horse. In another, it means “meathead.”

Maybe the meaning is cloudy, but there is evidence of the word’s origin. Jim Jewell, who directed the radio show from 1933 until 1939, said the name came from a boys’ camp in Michigan, Kamp Kee-Mo-Sah-Bee, founded by Jewell’s father-in-law.

The father-in-law is believed to have taken the name from a 1912 book on Indian lore by one of the founders of the Boy Scouts. In the book, the term kee-mo-sah-bee is said to mean “scout runner.”

The term may have come from the Minnesota Ojibwe word giimoozaabi, which means “he who peeks” or maybe “sneaks.”

One last anecdote before I allow the Lone Ranger to ride into the sunset…

After the TV series ended in 1957, actor Clayton Moore began a 40-year career of making public appearances as the Lone Ranger, masked and in costume.

In 1979, TV producer Jack Wrather, who had obtained the legal rights to the Lone Ranger, was preparing to release the film “The Legend of the Lone Ranger,” in which Moore did not appear.

Convinced that Moore’s public appearances would hurt the film at the box office, Wrather obtained a court order that blocked Moore from appearing in public as the Lone Ranger.

Moore counter-sued, and he continued making public appearances wearing Foster Grant sunglasses instead of the black mask.

Moore C

The lawsuit was a disaster for Wrather. Public opinion overwhelmingly was with Moore. Wrather became “the man who sued the mask off the Lone Ranger.” When Wrather’s movie came out in 1981, it lost money and, for good measure, was panned by critics.

In late 1984, Wrather was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Soon thereafter, he lifted the restraining order, freeing Moore to resume his appearances as the Lone Ranger. Two months later, Wrather died.

Wrather’s final gesture to Moore was noble and generous. It was worthy of the Lone Ranger himself.

 

This Just In

RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA — The North Carolina Supreme Court has ruled that flipping off a law enforcement officer is not sufficient grounds for the officer to make a traffic stop or file criminal charges.

The decision overturned a lower court ruling regarding the 2017 incident of a Stanly County man who drove past a state trooper helping a stranded motorist and gave the officer the finger. The trooper pursued and stopped the man and cited him for disorderly conduct.

Lawyers for the state claimed the trooper was justified, but the Supreme Court said the evidence was “insufficient to conclude defendant’s conduct was likely to cause a breach of the peace.”

The North Carolina chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union filed a brief in the case which stated that raising the middle finger is “protected speech.” An ACLU attorney called the incident “a textbook example of how public officials criminalize dissent and criticism.”

Middle finger

PALM COAST, FLORIDA — When sheriff’s deputies arrived at a house believed to contain drugs and drug paraphernalia, they found a welcome mat that read “Come back with a warrant.”

So we did,” said Sheriff Rick Staly.

Deputies obtained a warrant from the court and returned to the house. Inside, they confiscated a large amount of the opioid fentanyl, a supply of syringes, and other drug-related items.

Staly said three adults and one child were inside the house. Charges are expected to be filed against the adults. The Florida Department of Children and Families was contacted regarding disposition of the child.

Warrant

LUND, SWEDEN — the City of Lund spread more than a ton of chicken manure in a local park to discourage people from gathering there to celebrate an upcoming festival.

The manure was spread in Lundagård Park just before the festival of Walpurgis Night, a European festival in which revelers celebrate the end of winter with bonfires and dancing. Officials said the city acted because of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Gustav Lundblad, chairman of Lund’s environmental committee, said spreading the manure served two purposes: it fertilized the park, and it kept people from celebrating there.

Lundblad said he regretted that an unpleasant odor drifted to other parts of the city, but he was pleased that the manure served its purpose.

Chicken manure

 

A Gift from Ogun

The unexpected tale below is one of a handful of short stories from the 1950s credited to Irving Fang. I Googled him, and the only Irving Fang I found was a long-time Professor Emeritus at the University of Minnesota. The professor taught and wrote about computers and mass media until his death a few years ago at age 87.

During his tenure, he published a dozen highly-regarded books on the media — such titles as “A History Of Mass Communication: Six Information Revolutions” and “Alphabet to Internet: Media in our Lives.”

Did young Irving Fang abandon light fiction and enter academia to write scholarly tomes, or was that some other Irving Fang? The Google didn’t say.


———

Just Desserts

By Irving Fang
Published in Science Fiction Stories, July 1958

The Oba of Benin Province in central Nigeria disliked making these secretive trips.

He would be much more comfortable, he reminded himself, if he had remained in his palace among his four wives. He should let the petty chiefs or the British courts hand out justice, especially during the season of the Harmattan, when the winds from the Sahara brought fine grains of sand over the jungle, stinging the eyes and filling the nostrils.

But there was Mr. Ruggs to think about. The British District Officer of Benin Province had not been pleased at finding that two of the Oba’s tax collectors had taken bribes.

And the Oba’s political enemies would love to discover more proof that he was not fit to reign. The Oba, who had ceremoniously eaten a portion of the heart of the Oba before him, would live to see his enemies crawling in the dust before him.

So he had taken of late to touring away from the capitol whenever he learned of a wrongdoing. If he administered justice on the spot, he would show his interest in the public welfare. Also, the crime would not be listed on the public records.

Now he sat on a camp chair in a clearing in the center of the village of Ikgenge, a portly man in his fifties, his white hair a sharp contrast to his deep brown skin. His bright blue robe was getting gray with sand, despite the wide palm fronds held above his head by two of the palace royal guard.

Three accused thieves, flanked by files of constables, marched up and prostrated themselves fully before him in the proper manner, sprawling with fingertips outstretched, their foreheads in the dust.

The Oba languidly motioned twice with his thick hand. The first wave permitted the men to rise. The second informed the chief constable of Ikgenge that he could proceed with the reading of the charges.

The chief constable was proud of his opportunity, obviously, to demonstrate before the Oba himself that here was a man of intelligence and learning — the type of chief constable who was able not only to write, but to read what he had written.

He puffed out his barrel of a chest, pulled in his equally large barrel of a stomach, and bowed low. Then he straightened and proceeded to the business at hand, first looking severely at the accused trio.

He opened his notebook and began: “Musa Adetunji, Ayo Badaru, and Oseni Ishola stand accused of the crime of thievery.”

At this the crowd of villagers around the clearing murmured a low, prolonged “Ohhh!”

The chief constable looked around sternly, then pulled a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from his pocket and clamped them firmly on his nose. He proceeded:

It was noted by me, Chief Constable Adenekan Akanni, that the accused men were adding new roofing to their houses. It was also noted by me, Chief Constable Adenekan Akanni, that the substance used by the accused to roof their houses was not of tins from gasoline containers, but was of metal of the best quality.

Upon questioning the accused as to the nature of how they came into the possession of this roofing, I learned from the accused that they had not purchased it.”

Another drawn-out “Ohhh!” from the crowd produced another stern look, this time from over the tops of the gold-rimmed spectacles. The Oba of Benin, meanwhile, brushed at a mosquito.

When the accused by the chief constable were asked from where the new roofing came, the accused all declared that they had found it in the bush, at a time when they engaged themselves in the pursuit of hunting.

The accused further stated that they were unable to recall the exact place they came upon the roofing metal.

As chief constable of Ikgenge, I examined the evidence upon the roof and concluded they had come upon it by means of thievery. They are therefore so charged,” he concluded, closing his notebook and carefully replacing his glasses in his pocket.

The Oba shifted his weight in the camp chair. “Bring me a piece of the roofing,” he said.

A young constable stepped forward bearing a jagged chunk of dull, bluish-gray metal that had been flattened with a rock. The Oba took it, studied it closely, then handed it to one of his aides.

How do you plead?” the Oba asked the trembling trio.

I am innocent, Your Highness,” Musa Adetunji said fervently.

I, too, am innocent, Your Highness,” Ayo Badani said. “No matter how my belly cries for food, I would not take the property of another man.”

Oseni Ishola’s knees shook violently, and all he could manage was a wide-eyed nod of his head.

Are you innocent also?”

Y-Yes, Your Highness,” Oseni stammered.

The Oba frowned, brushing at another mosquito. “Where did you find the metal?”

Ayo, the tallest of the three, replied, “Your Highness, we were hunting for small animals in the bush two days from here. We had found none and we were hungry. The day was hot and the Harmattan sand was blowing on us. Suddenly, we heard a noise.”

Your Highness,” Musa interrupted, “from the sky came a great round piece of metal, and it fell almost on top of us.” Gasps went up from the crowd.

Why did you not tell this to the chief constable?” the Oba asked.

We were afraid he would laugh at us,” Musa said. The crowd laughed.

We were afraid he would not believe us,” Ayo added. The crowd gave a disbelieving set of sniggers.

Why do you tell this story now?” the Oba asked.

We know the Oba will believe us,” Ayo answered.

It is the truth,” Musa declared. Oseni Ishola nodded vigorously. The crowd murmured acceptance of the story.

Proceed,” said the Oba.

We were afraid to approach the metal,” Musa said. “We were also afraid to run. We waited. Nothing happened. I said to my friends that the metal had been sent to us from Ogun.”

At the mention of Ogun, the powerful god of iron, a great “Ohhh!” went up from the assembled villagers. Even the Oba sucked in his breath.

Ogun, the most potent of all the gods, the god who had given such strength to the British, Ogun had favored three of their fellows. Surely, their village was smiled upon and would be lucky.

But,” the chief constable protested to the accused men, “you did not tell me that Ogun had presented you with the new roofing.”

The crowd jeered at the chief constable.

The Oba held up his hand and the crowd fell silent. After his initial surprise, he realized there must be more to the story than a gift from Ogun. He had seen airplanes on his visits to Lagos, the capitol city of Nigeria. He reasoned this was an airplane and further reasoned that airplanes do not fly by themselves.

He turned to the three accused before him. “What else did you see?”

Nothing, Your Highness,” Musa said nervously. “We carried away as much of the metal as we could. We made new roofs for our houses.”

We ere very hot and hungry,” Ayo added. “But Ogun gave us strength to bear away a great portion of his gift.

The Oba frowned again. “What became of the man inside the metal?”

The three men fell back a step as if they had been struck. Their bodies shook and sweat poured from their brows. Then, one by one, they again prostrated themselves before their ruler.

The Oba grew angry. “Stand up,” he said, “and tell me of the man.”

The accused rose to their feet. “They were not men,” Ayo said sincerely.

How many were there?”

Two,” said Ayo. “They were small, about so high,” he indicated, holding his hand to the level of his waist. “And they were the color of fresh plantain.”

Yellow-green men, three feet high, the Oba thought. He had not known there were such men.

Ayo speaks the truth,” Musa said. “Your Highness, they were the color of plantain, very small, and they stood and walked on three legs.”

The assembled villagers “Ohhhed” very loudly.

They had very long ears which stuck from the tops of their heads,” Ayo recalled.

The Oba of Benin turned to the third accused. “Oseni Ishola,” he said, “the men who stand accused with you have described the two in the metal as small, the color of fresh plantain, with three legs and long ears on top of their heads. Yet you say nothing.”

Oseni gulped. “Your Highness, they speak true.”

Can you tell any more about them?” the Oba asked.

Oseni Ishola thought for a long while. Then he smiled bashfully and said, “They tasted like chickens.”

Oba of Benin

Ewuare II, the current Oba of Benin.

 

Last week, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY) made a speech on the House floor that was a pleasure to hear and will be remembered for a long time. I chased down the transcript.

———

Thank you, Madam Speaker. And I would also like to thank many of my colleagues for the opportunity to not only speak today, but for the many members from both sides of the aisle who have reached out to me for support following the incident this week.

About two days ago, I was walking up the steps of the Capitol when Representative Yoho [Rep. Ted Yoho, R-FL] suddenly turned a corner — and he was accompanied by Representative Roger Williams — and accosted me on the steps right here in front of our nation’s Capitol.

I was minding my own business, walking up the steps, and Representative Yoho put his finger in my face. He called me “disgusting.” He called me “crazy.” He called me “out of my mind.” And he called me “dangerous.”

And then he took a few more steps, and after I had… recognized his comments as rude, he walked away and said ‘I’m rude? You’re calling me rude?’

I took a few steps ahead and I walked inside and cast my vote, because my constituents send me here each and every day to fight for them and to make sure they are able to keep a roof over their head, that they are able to feed their families, and that they are able to carry their lives with dignity.

I walked back out, and there were reporters in the front of the Capitol, and in front of reporters, Representative Yoho called me, and I quote, “a fucking bitch.”

These were the words that Representative Yoho levied against a congresswoman, the congresswoman that not only represents New York’s 14th Congressional District, but every congresswoman and every woman in this country, because all of us have had to deal with this in some form, some way, some shape, at some point in our lives.

And I want to be clear that Representative Yoho’s comments were not deeply hurtful or piercing to me, because I have worked a working class job. I have waited tables in restaurants, I have ridden the subway. I have walked the streets in New York City. And this kind of language is not new. I have encountered words uttered by Mr. Yoho and men uttering the same words as Mr. Yoho while I was being harassed in restaurants. I have tossed men out of bars that have used language like Mr. Yoho’s, and I have encountered this type of harassment riding the subway in New York City. This is not new. And that is the problem.

Mr. Yoho was not alone. He was walking shoulder to shoulder with Representative Roger Williams. And that’s when we start to see that this issue is not about one incident. It is cultural.

It is a culture of lack of impunity, of accepting of violence and violent language against women, an entire structure of power that supports that. Because not only have I been spoken to disrespectfully, particularly by members of the Republican party and elected officials in the Republican Party, not just here, but the President of the United States last year told me to “go home to another country,” with the implication that I don’t even belong in America. The Governor of Florida, Governor DeSantis, before I even was sworn in, called me a “whatever-that-is.”

Dehumanizing language is not new. And what we are seeing is that incidents like these are happening in a pattern. This is a pattern of an attitude towards women and dehumanization of others.

So while I was not deeply hurt or offended by little comments that were made, when I was reflecting on this, I honestly thought that I was just going to pack it up and go home. It’s just another day, right?

But then yesterday, Representative Yoho decided to come to the floor of the House of Representatives and make excuses for his behavior. And that I could not let go. I could not allow my nieces, I could not allow the little girls that I go home to, I could not allow victims of verbal abuse and worse, to see that — to see that excuse — and to see our Congress accept it as legitimate, and accept it as an apology, and to accept silence as a form of acceptance. I could not allow that to stand, which is why I am rising today to raise this point of personal privilege.

And I do not need Representative Yoho to apologize to me. Clearly, he does not want to. Clearly, when given the opportunity, he will not, and I will not stay up late at night waiting for an apology from a man who has no remorse over calling women and using abusive language towards women.

But what I do have issue with is using women, our wives and daughters, as shields and excuses for poor behavior.

Mr. Yoho mentioned that he has a wife and two daughters. I am two years younger than Mr. Yoho’s youngest daughter. I am someone’s daughter too.

My father, thankfully, is not alive to see how Mr. Yoho treated his daughter. My mother got to see Mr. Yoho’s disrespect on the floor of this House towards me on television. And I am here because I have to show my parents that I am their daughter, and that they did not raise me to accept abuse from men.

Now, what I am here to say is that this harm that Mr. Yoho levied — tried to levy — against me was not just an incident directed at me, but when you do that to any woman, what Mr. Yoho did was give permission to other men to do that to his daughters. In using that language in front of the press, he gave permission to use that language against his wife, his daughters, women in his community, and I am here to stand up to say that is not acceptable.

I do not care what your views are. It does not matter how much I disagree, or how much it incenses me, or how much I feel that people are dehumanizing others. I will not do that myself. I will not allow people to change and create hatred in our hearts.


And so what I believe is that having a daughter does not make a man decent. Having a wife does not make a decent man. Treating people with dignity and respect makes a decent man. And when a decent man messes up, as we all are bound to do, he tries his best and does apologize. Not to save face. Not to win a vote. He apologizes genuinely to repair and acknowledge the harm done so that we can all move on.

Lastly, what I want to express to Mr. Yoho is gratitude. I want to thank him for showing the world that you can be a powerful man and accost women. You can have daughters and accost women without remorse. You can be married and accost women. You can take photos and project an image to the world of being a family man and accost women without remorse and with a sense of impunity.

It happens every day in this country. It happened here on the steps of our nation’s Capitol. It happens when individuals who hold the highest office in this land admit — admit — to hurting women and using this language against all of us.

But once again, I thank my colleagues for joining us today. I will reserve the hour of my time and I will yield to my colleague, Rep. Jayapal of Washington. Thank you.

———

Several other House Democrats spoke after her. They had a tough act to follow.

Few Democrats get under the skin of the conservatives like AOC. She has a knack for making Republican politicians, chiefly the men, apoplectic with rage. They seem to abandon reason when she is involved. Invariably, they accuse her of being a socialist. Oh, the horror.

Who cares if she’s a socialist? More to the point, she believes in egalitarianism, not the “I’m for me first” philosophy of the Republicans. She supports Medicare for all, the Green New Deal, addressing climate change, and not being a jerk to women. Good for her.

The congresswoman has valuable skills, and she is a potent weapon for the Democrats. I hope the party has the sense to use her intelligently.

AOC

 

More poetry that isn’t pretentious and a waste of time…

———

Housekeeping

By Natasha Tretheway

Tretheway N

Natasha Tretheway (B. 1966)

We mourn the broken things, chair legs
wrenched from their seats, chipped plates,
the threadbare clothes. We work the magic
of glue, drive the nails, mend the holes.
We save what we can, melt small pieces
of soap, gather fallen pecans, keep neck bones
for soup. Beating rugs against the house,
we watch dust, lit like stars, spreading
across the yard. Late afternoon, we draw
the blinds to cool the rooms, drive the bugs
out. My mother irons, singing, lost in reverie.
I mark the pages of a mail-order catalog,
listen for passing cars. All day we watch
for the mail, some news from a distant place.

———

I Wanna Be Yours

By John Cooper Clarke

Clarke JC

John Cooper Clarke (B. 1949)

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I will never rust
If you like your coffee hot
let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your raincoat
for those frequent rainy days
I wanna be your dreamboat
when you want to sail away
Let me be your teddy bear
take me with you anywhere
I don’t care
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your electric meter
I will not run out
I wanna be the electric heater
you’ll get cold without
I wanna be your setting lotion
hold your hair in deep devotion
Deep as the deep Atlantic ocean
that’s how deep is my devotion

———

Nature” Is What We See

By Emily Dickinson

Dickenson-E

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (1830-1886)

Nature” is what we see –
The Hill – the Afternoon –
Squirrel – Eclipse – the Bumble bee –

Nay – Nature is Heaven –
Nature is what we hear –
The Bobolink – the Sea –
Thunder – the Cricket –

Nay – Nature is Harmony –
Nature is what we know –
Yet have no art to say –
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

———

A Love Song for Lucinda

By Langston Hughes

Hughes-L

James Mercer Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Love
Is a ripe plum
Growing on a purple tree.
Taste it once
And the spell of its enchantment
Will never let you be.

Love
Is a bright star
Glowing in far Southern skies.
Look too hard
And its burning flame
Will always hurt your eyes.

Love
Is a high mountain
Stark in a windy sky.
If you
Would never lose your breath
Do not climb too high.

———

Church

By Jacqueline Woodson

Woodson J

Jacqueline Amanda Woodson (B. 1963)

On Sundays, the preacher gives everyone a chance
to repent their sins. Miss Edna makes me go

to church. She wears a bright hat
I wear my suit. Babies dress in lace.

Girls my age, some pretty, some not so
pretty. Old ladies and men nodding.

Miss Edna every now and then throwing her hand
in the air. Saying Yes, Lord and Preach!

I sneak a pen from my back pocket,
bend down low like I dropped something.

The chorus marches up behind the preacher
clapping and humming and getting ready to sing.

I write the word HOPE on my hand.

 

The Questions…

1. Which two planets in our solar system have no moons?

2. What is the capital of Greenland?

3. Who is the all-time best-selling author of fiction?

4. Which state has the smallest population?

5. What is a wobbegong?

The Answers…

1. Mercury and Venus.

2. The capital is Nuuk, pronounced nuke. It is the world’s northern-most capital. It has 18,000 residents, which is about one-third of Greenland’s total population.

3. Agatha Christie. Over two billion of her mystery novels have been sold worldwide.

4. Wyoming. It is the 10th largest in area, with a population of only about 578,000. 31 U.S. cities are bigger than that.

5. A wobbegong, aka “carpet shark,” is a type of bottom-dwelling shark found in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. They are well-camouflaged ambush predators.

The word wobbegong means “shaggy beard” in the language of the aboriginal people of Australia. The mouth of a wobbegong is fringed with small sensory lobes that are, in fact, sort of beard-looking.

Mercury, Venus

Wobbegong

 

My default position on movies is to ignore romantic comedies and chick flicks, most of which are formulaic and silly, usually on purpose. My snooty self prefers intelligent movies — thoughtful films that tell plausible stories in a satisfying manner. In my experience, the good ones come in all genres except rom-coms and chick flicks.

Sometimes, a single scene stands out. I’ve featured some of my favorite movie scenes previously on this blog, namely here, here, and here.

Below are more gems, in my subjective opinion.

———

I Want My Two Hundred Dollahs.”

From “Paper Moon,” 1973

Paper Moon

(In 1936, grifter Moses Pray and nine-year-old orphan Addie Loggins are having lunch in a Kansas diner while waiting for the train that will take Addie to live with her aunt in Missouri. Addie’s mother Essie May recently died in a car wreck, and Moze, who once had a fling with Essie May, has accepted $200 in hush money from the family of the driver.)

Addie (Tatum O’Neal): How good you know my mama?

Moze (Ryan O’Neal, Tatum’s real father): Good enough to know you can be real proud of all the happiness she give to people. Eat your Coney Island.

Addie: You meet her in a barroom?

Moze: Why would you have a question like that?

Addie: I hear Miss Ollie talk to the neighbor lady. They was wonderin’ if you’re my pa.

Moze: Well, don’t the world have a wild imagination. Now eat your Coney Island.

Addie after a long pause: You my pa?

Moze: ‘Course I ain’t your pa. (He pauses.) I’ll getcha some relish. (He retrieves a jar of relish from the next table and spoons some on her hot dog.) There ya are. Coney Island’s no good without relish.

(Addie looks at the hot dog, then glares at Moze.)

Moze: Now, look, I know how ya feel. I lost my ma, too. Even lost my pa. Don’t know where my sister is… Look, I wish I could tell ya I’m your pa, but it just ain’t like that.

Addie: Ya met her in a barroom.

Moze: Just ‘cause a man meets a woman in a barroom don’t mean he’s your pa. Eat your Coney Island.

Addie: Well, then, if you ain’t my pa, I want my two hundred dollahs.

Moze: How’s that?

Addie: I want my two hundred dollahs. I heard you through the door talkin’ to that man, and it’s my money you got, and I want it.

Moze: Now, just hold on a second.

Addie: I want my money. (Then louder) You took my two hundred dollahs!

Moze, as others in the diner turn to look at them: Quiet down, ya hear?

Addie, louder: I want my two hundred dollahs!

Moze: Alright, alright, just hold on. (He smiles at the other customers, then turns back to Addie.) Let me explain somethin’ to ya.

Addie: It ain’t as how you was my pa. That’d be different.

Moze: Well I AIN’T your pa, so get it out of your head, you understand? I don’t care what those neighbor ladies said.

Addie: I LOOK like ya.

Moze: You don’t look nothin’ like me. You don’t look no more like me than that Coney Island. Eat the damn thing, will ya?

Addie: We got the same jaw.

Moze: Lots o’ people got the same jaw.

Addie: But it’s possible, ain’t it?

Moze: No, it AIN’T possible.

Addie: THEN I WANT MY TWO HUNDRED DOLLAHS!

Moze: Alright, maybe we got the same jaw. Same jaw don’t mean the same blood. I know a woman looks like a bullfrog, but she ain’t the damn thing’s mother.

Addie: But you met my mama in a barroom.

Moze: For God’s sake, you think ever’body gets met in a barroom gets a baby?

Addie: It’s possible.

Moze: Dammit, child, anything’s possible, but possible don’t make it true.

Addie, loudly: Then I want my money! (All the other customers are looking at them.)

Moze: Will you quiet down! (Then in a low voice) You don’t have no appreciation, that’s the trouble with you. Maybe I did get some money from that man. Well, you’re entitled to that. And I’m entitled to my share for getting’ it, ain’t I? I mean, if it weren’t for me, where’d you be? Some orphan home, that’s where. You think them folks’d spend a penny to send you east? No sir. But who got you a ticket to Saint Joe? Who got you a Nehi and a Coney Island? And I threw in twenty dollahs extra, plus 85 cents for the telegram. Without me, you wouldn’t have any of that. I didn’t have to take ya at all, but I took ya, didn’t I? (He pauses.) Well, I think that’s fair enough. And we’re all better off. You get to Saint Joe, an’ I get a better car. Fair’s fair. Now drink your Nehi and eat your Coney Island.

Addie: I — want — my — two hundred dollahs.

Moze: I don’t HAVE two hundred dollars no more, and you KNOW it!

Addie, menacingly: If you don’t give me my two hundred dollahs, I’m gonna tell a policeman how ya got it. And he’s make ya give it to me, ‘cause it’s mine.

Moze: But — I — don’t — HAVE IT.

Addie: Then — GIT IT.

(The waitress approaches and addresses Addie.)

Waitress: How we doin’, angel pie? We gonna have a little dessert after we finish up our hot dog?

Addie, staring at Moze: I dunno.

Waitress: What d’ya say, daddy? Whyn’t we get Precious here a little dessert if she eats her dog?

Moze, staring back at Addie: Her name ain’t Precious.

———

“The Prize is Winning.”

From “Bite the Bullet,” 1975

Bite the Bullet

(In 1906, somewhere in the American west, 15 contestants are competing for a large cash prize in a grueling, 700-mile cross country horse race, sponsored by a newspaper. One night during the race, former Rough Rider Sam Clayton and an aging cowboy known only as “Mister” have made camp together. Mister is weak and exhausted, and he admits he has a heart condition.)

Clayton (Gene Hackman) covering Mister with a blanket: Why would a sick old man like you get tangled up in all this? Why in the name of sweet Jesus? What is so important about this gut-twisting, back-busting, man-killing goddamn race? The money?

Mister (Ben Johnson): The prize.

Clayton: The prize IS the money.

Mister: The prize is winning. Lose, you’re nothing. Who remembers a loser, or even cares? Win, you’re somebody. What you done, it’s printed. It’s in the newspaper. And when it’s printed, it ain’t brag. It’s real. Suddenly, everybody knows you, or wants to. Strangers shakin’ your hand. “Pleased to know you. Have a drink. Have a cigar. Meet the wife.” Everybody’s friendly and welcome. And I got a lifetime hunger for being welcome.

Clayton: No family?

Mister, gesturing toward his horse: Him. You know saddle tramps. They sign on, drive the beef a thousand miles. Make your mark, draw your pay, and move on to the next ranch. Another roundup, another drive. Hired, fired and move on.

Clayton: Well, it never bothered me none.

Mister: No, me, neither — when I was 30 years lighter.

Clayton: Ever prospected? Ever hit pay dirt?

Mister: I’ve dug for gold, silver, lead, mercury. I’ve dug more holes than a whole regiment of gophers. Ain’t never dug out a decent day’s wage yet. God, what ain’t I tried? Pony Express rider, Overland Stage driver, lawman, gambler. River man, rancher, rodeo hand, barman, spittoon man, old man. Nothing much to remember. Of course, ain’t nothing much to forget, neither. (He pulls the blanket closer and chuckles.) Nobody’s got much use for an old man. Can’t blame ’em much. That’s why I’m gonna win me this here newspaper race. When I cross that finish line, I get to be a big man. Top man. A man to remember.

(Mister turns and looks up at Clayton, then slowly closes his eyes and slumps over, dead. Clayton stands for a moment in respectful silence.)

Clayton: I didn’t even know your name, Mister.

———

You Smart College Guys!”

From Mister Roberts, 1955

Mr Roberts

(During World War II, the captain of a cargo ship refuses to allow his cargo officer, Lt. Roberts, to transfer to a fighting ship. Captain Morton also refuses to grant long-overdue liberty to the ship’s crew. The ship is in port, and Roberts has convinced one of Morton’s superiors to give the men a night ashore anyway. Morton is furious.)

A sailor on deck, expecting to hear that liberty will be announced: Here we go! Here we go!

Morton: This is the captain speaking. l just found out that there’s men on this vessel expecting liberty. I don’t know how this rumor got around, but I’d like to clear it up right now. On account of cargo requirements and security conditions… which have just come to my personal attention… there will be no liberty while in this here port! That is all. (Morton turns off the microphone and looks at his watch. There is a loud banging on his door.) Come in, Mr. Roberts. Twenty-eight seconds! Pretty good time. You see, l’ve been expecting you.

Lt. junior-grade Doug Roberts (Henry Fonda): Okay, when does this crew get liberty?

Morton: ln the first place, just kindly hold your tongue. l’m still Captain here.

Roberts: When are you gonna let this crew ashore?

Morton: l’m not. lt was not my idea coming to this liberty port. lt seems one of my officers arranged it with a certain port director. Gave him a bottle of scotch whiskey, compliments of the Captain. The port director was kind enough to send me a thank-you note… along with our order. Sit down, Mr. Roberts. Now, l admit l was a little provoked about not being consulted. Then l got to thinking. Maybe we ought to come to this port… so as you and me could have a talk.

Roberts: All right. Take it out on me, but not the men. (A band can be heard playing onshore) Don’t you hear that music? Don’t you know it’s tearing the guys apart? They’re breakable, Captain! l promise you.

Morton: Now you listen to me. l’ve got two things l want to show you. That is the cap of a full commander. l’m going to wear that cap some day, and you’re going to help me. lt won’t do any harm to tell you that you helped me win that palm tree by working cargo. Don’t let this go to your head. When Admiral Finchley awarded me that palm tree, he said, ”You’ve got a good cargo officer. Keep him at it. You’re going places.” And l went right out and bought that hat. And nobody is gonna stand between me and that hat! Certainly not you. Now last week it was agreed that there was to be no more of these ”disharmony” letters.

Roberts: l didn’t say that.

Morton: And what do l find on my desk this morning? Another one. lt says here, ”friction between me and the commanding officer.” That ain’t goin’ in, Mister.

Roberts: How are you gonna stop it?

Morton: l ain’t. You are. Just how much do you want this crew to have a liberty? Enough to stop this ”friction”? Enough to stop writing letters, ever? ‘Cause that’s the only way this crew is going to get ashore, this day or any other day. Now we’ve had our little chat. What do you say?

Roberts: How did you get in the Navy? How did you get on our side? You ignorant, arrogant, ambitious — keeping men in prison ’cause you got a palm tree for the work they did! l don’t know which l hate worse, you or that other malignant growth… How’d you ever get to be commander of a ship? l realize in wartime they have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, but where’d they ever scrape you up?

Morton: There’s just one thing left for you, mister. A general court-martial!

Roberts: Fine, court-martial me! l’m asking for it! lf l can’t get transferred, l’ll get court-martialed! l’m fed up! You’ll need a witness. Call your messenger. l’ll say it over again in front of him. Go on, call him! You want me to call him?

Morton: You’re a smart boy, Roberts. But l know how to take care of smart boys. l hate your guts, you smart college guys! l’ve been seeing your kind around since l was ten years old, working as a busboy. ”Oh, busboy, it seems my friend has thrown up on the table. ”Clean up that mess, boy, will you?” And then when l went to sea as a steward, people poking at you with umbrellas. ”Oh, boy! You, boy! Careful with that luggage, boy!” And l took it. l took it for years! But l don’t have to take it anymore! There’s a war on, and l’m captain of this vessel. Now you can take it for a change. The worst l can do to you is to keep you right here, mister! And here is where you’re going to stay! Now, get out!

Roberts: What do you want for liberty, Captain?

Morton: You are through writing letters, ever.

Roberts: Okay.

Morton: And that’s not all. You’re through talking back to me in front of the crew. When l give an order, you jump!

Roberts: ls that all, Captain?

Morton: No. Anyone know you’re in here?

Roberts: No one.

Morton: Good. Then you’re not to go blabbing this around to anyone, ever. Might not sound so good. l don’t want you to take credit for getting this —

Roberts: You think l’m doing this for credit? You think l’d let anyone know?

Morton: l’ve gotta make sure.

Roberts: You’ve got my word, that’s all.

Morton: Your word! You college boys make such a great show of keeping your word. (He turns on the PA system and picks up the microphone) Now hear this! This is the captain speaking. l’ve got further word on the subject of liberty. lt gives me great pleasure to announce liberty for the starboard section —

Roberts: The whole crew, or there’s no deal! l mean it!

Morton into the microphone: Correction. Liberty for the entire crew will commence immediately. (Loud cheers erupt around the ship.)

Roberts: You don’t have to tell them again. They heard you.

————-

That’s Envy, My Dear.”

From “Harvey,” 1950

Harvey

(In Charlie’s Bar, a doctor and a nurse are trying to convince Elwood P. Dowd, whose best friend is an invisible six-foot-tall rabbit named Harvey, to return with them to Chumley’s Rest, a sanitarium. While they are dancing, Elwood wanders out into the alley. The doctor and the nurse quickly follow him.)

Dr. Sanderson (Charles Drake): Where’re you going, Mr. Dowd?

Elwood (James Stewart): I’m just looking for someone.

Sanderson: Why don’t you come back inside?

Elwood: Oh, all right, if you want me to. I — it seemed to be so pleasant out here. You know, you — you two looked very nice dancing together. I — I used to know a whole lot of dances. The, uh, Flea Hop, and — and, let’s see, uh — the Black Bottom. The Varsity Drag. I don’t know, I — I just don’t seem to have any time any more. I have so many things to do.

Nurse Kelly (Peggy Dow): What is it you do, Mr. Dowd?

Elwood: Oh, Harvey and I sit in the bars — and have a drink or two. Play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people, they turn toward mine, and they smile. And they’re saying, “We don’t know your name, mister, but you’re a very nice fellow.” (Elwood sits down on a bench and looks up at the night sky) Harvey and I — warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We’ve entered as strangers. Soon we have friends. And they come over and they — they sit with us, and they drink with us, and they talk to us. And they tell about the big terrible things they’ve done, and the big wonderful things they’ll do. (He smiles and looks at Sanderson and Kelly) Their hopes and their regrets, their loves and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then, I introduce them to Harvey. And he’s bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that’s — that’s envy, my dear. There’s a little bit of envy in the best of us. That’s too bad. Isn’t it?

Sanderson: How did you happen to call him Harvey?

Elwood: Harvey’s his name.

Sanderson: How do you know that?

Elwood: Uh — there was a rather interesting coincidence on that, Doctor. One night several years ago, I was walking early in the evening down along Fairfax Street. Uh, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth. Do you know the block?

Sanderson: Yes, yes.

Elwood: I’d just put Ed Hickey into a taxi. Ed had been mixing his rye with his gin, and he — I just felt that he needed conveying. Well, anyway, I was walking down along the street, and I — I heard this voice saying, “Good evening, Mister Dowd.” Well, I — I turned around and here was this big six-foot rabbit leaning up against a lamp post. Now, I thought nothing of that, because when you’ve lived in a town as long as I’ve lived in this one, you get used to the fact that everybody knows your name. And naturally, I went over to chat with him. (Sanderson and Kelly lean in, listening intently) And — and he said to me, he said, “Ed Hickey was a little spiffed this evening, or could I be mistaken?” Well, of course, he was not mistaken. I think the world and all of Ed, but he was spiffed. Well, we talked like that for a while, and then — and then I said to him, I said, “You have the advantage on me. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.” And — and right back at me, he said, “What name do you like?” Well, I — I didn’t even have to think twice about that. Harvey’s always been my favorite name. So I said to him, I said, “Harvey.” And he — and this is the interesting thing about the whole thing — he said, “What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey.”

———

We’ll Always Have Paris.”

From “Casablanca,” 1942

Casablanca

(In 1941 Casablanca, police try to arrest Czech resistance leader Victor Laszlo, but are stopped at gunpoint by American expatriate Rick Blaine. Blaine and Laszlo’s wife Ilsa are former lovers, and they are tempted to rekindle the romance. At the airport, police Captain Renault expects Rick and Ilsa to fly together to America. With one hand on the pistol in his pocket, Rick hands the Letters of Transit to the police captain.)

Rick (Humphrey Bogart): If you don’t mind, Louie, you fill in the names. (He smiles) That will make it even more official.

Renault (Claude Raines): You think of everything, don’t you?

Rick: And the names are Mr. and Mrs. Victor Laszlo.

Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman): But why MY name, Richard?

Rick: Because you’re getting on that plane.

Ilsa: I don’t understand. What about you?

Rick: I’m staying here with him [Renault] ’til the plane gets safely away.

Ilsa: No, Richard! No! What has happened to you? Last night, we said —

Rick: Last night, we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: you’re getting on that plane with Victor where you belong.

Ilsa: But Richard, no, I — I —

Rick: Now, you’ve got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we’d both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that true, Louie?

Renault: I’m afraid Major Strasser would insist.

Ilsa: You’re saying this only to make me go.

Rick: I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.

Ilsa, in tears: What about us?

Rick: We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have it — we’d — we’d lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.

Rick: And you never will. I’ve got a job to do too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that. (She is on the verge of crying, and he consoles her.) Now, now. (He raises her chin) Here’s looking at you, kid.

 

 

Tune o’ the Day

Eye in the Sky” is a pleasing soft rock tune from the 1982 album of the same name by the Alan Parsons Project. The song rose to number three on the U.S. charts, the group’s all-time best effort.

The lyrics are considerably less cheerful than the melody. They tell of the end of a relationship when a man discovers that his girlfriend is not who he thought she was. He feels victorious and empowered, but also angry and disappointed.

Parsons said co-writer Eric Woolfson came up with the title after spending time in Las Vegas.

“He had a certain fascination with the hidden cameras that were there watching the tables, taping the games and what have you,” said Parsons. “It was more than just the hidden cameras. It was also kind of 1984 syndrome. It covers the fact we can never be left to our own devices; we will always be watched.”

Eye in the Sky

Eye in the Sky

By the Alan Parsons Project, 1982
Written by Alan Parsons and Eric Woolfson

Don’t think sorry’s easily said.
Don’t try turning tables instead.
You’ve taken lots of chances before,
But I ain’t gonna give any more —
Don’t ask me.
That’s how it goes,
‘Cause part of me knows what you’re thinkin’.

Don’t say words you’re gonna regret.
Don’t let the fire rush to your head.
I’ve heard the accusation before,
And I ain’t gonna take any more —
Believe me.
The sun in your eyes
Made some of the lies worth believing.

I am the eye in the sky,
Looking at you.
I can read your mind.
I am the maker of rules,
Dealing with fools.
I can cheat you blind.
And I don’t need to see any more
To know that
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.

Don’t leave false illusions behind.
Don’t cry, ‘cause I ain’t changing my mind.
So find another fool like before,
Cause I ain’t gonna live anymore
believing some of the lies
while all of the signs are deceiving.

I am the eye in the sky,
Looking at you.
I can read your mind.
I am the maker of rules,
Dealing with fools.
I can cheat you blind.
And I don’t need to see any more
To know that
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.

I am the eye in the sky,
Looking at you.
I can read your mind.
I am the maker of rules,
Dealing with fools.
I can cheat you blind.
And I don’t need to see any more
To know that
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.
I can read your mind.

 

I teach

Unfriend

Honk

Buckle up

 

Thoughts du Jour

Random observations / recollections / stories…

———

Close Inspection

Recently, my son Dustin borrowed my utility trailer to haul some things to the county dump. A few hours later, he returned it to its customary spot outside my garage.

The next morning, when my dog Jake and I got home from our daily walk, Jake got of the car, paused, sniffed the air, made a detour over to the trailer, and began checking it out.

He systematically sniffed the side rails, the tires, and the tongue. I let him take his time. After several minutes of close inspection, he was satisfied and trotted to the back door.

We went inside, Jake got his customary treat, and I texted Dustin to tell him about Jake’s intense interest in the trailer.

It went on an adventure and had a story to tell,” Dustin replied.

Well said.

Jake horizontal

Keeping the Story Alive

In the early 1950s, we Smiths lived in Falls Church, Virginia. One summer, when I was about 10 and my brother Lee was four-ish, our Uncle John from Brooklyn came for a visit.

We were all in the living room chatting, and John asked Lee a question, something innocuous. Lee answered, then laughed heartily and added, “You silly froop!”

Baffled, the rest of the family laughed politely, and the conversation moved on.

Years later, I brought up the incident with Lee and asked him to define froop.

Lee had no recollection of the event. The word froop didn’t ring a bell.

So I asked Mom about it. She remembered the exchange, but had no idea what Lee meant by a froop.

Nowadays, the word froop has several meanings. It can be, for example, a combined form of fruit loop, a froop being, like, an airhead. It’s also a brand of apple-flavored yogurt.

But even if the word dates back to the 1950s, Lee probably was too young to have known the term. Most likely, the word just popped into his head.

Because Lee doesn’t remember the incident, I am the only person on earth who does. This post is my effort to keep the story alive.

P.S. I call Jake a silly froop all the time.

Froop

We Regret the Error

I love this story.

In October 2007, the Los Angeles Times published the obituary of Nolan A. Herndon, 88, a South Carolinian who had been an Army Air Forces navigator during World War II. Herndon participated in the bombing of Japan by “Dolittle’s Raiders” four months after the Pearl Harbor attack.

After the war, Herndon raised cattle and later went into the wholesale grocery business. The lengthy obituary gave details about his war experiences and was mostly accurate.

Mostly.

The day after the obituary was published, this correction appeared in the Times:

The obituary of Nolan A. Herndon in Monday’s California section gave his nickname as “Sue.” In fact, he was known only as Nolan A. Herndon.

In addition, his sons were listed as Nolan A. “Sue” Herndon, Jr. and James M. “Debbie” Herndon. Neither son goes by those nicknames; Sue and Debbie are the names of their wives.

I wonder if a copywriter got fired.

Herndon N

Nolan Herndon, not Sue Herndon.