Quoting James Baldwin
James Arthur Baldwin has become a star on facebook, thirty five years after his death. People love to quote him, and post artsy pictures of his face. Over the past year I have seen three Baldwin memes that required action. Once you start to research, there is no telling what you are going to find.
“I can’t believe what you say because I see what you do.” This item is from a 1966 article that Mr. Baldwin wrote for The Nation. “One is in the impossible position of being unable to believe a word one’s countrymen say. “I can’t believe what you say,” the song goes, “because I see what you do”—and one is also under the necessity of escaping the jungle …”
“The song goes” is what the memes leave out. Ike Turner wrote the song. The Ikettes sing “I can’t believe…”, while Tina goes “agh, agh, agh, agh, agh, agh, agh, agh, agh.” Ike knew about being a no-good man. Tina looks a lot better in a short skirt than Mr. Baldwin did.
“I’d like to leave you with one more short quote from James Baldwin, “Whoever debases others is debasing himself.” This is from a June, 2020 video about racism. This quote is from Letter from a Region in My Mind, a 1962 essay in The New Yorker. “Letter…” clocks in at 22,114 words. Mr. Baldwin could crank out the word count.
“Letter…” covers a lot of ground. The “debase” quote comes in after Mr. Baldwin describes a visit to Elijah Muhammad, leader of the Nation of Islam. Soon, Mr. Baldwin starts talking about race in the United States. One quote stood out: “But white Americans do not believe in death, and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them.”
“By this time, I was in a high school that was predominantly Jewish. This meant that I was surrounded by people who were, by definition, beyond any hope of salvation, who laughed at the tracts and leaflets I brought to school, and who pointed out that the Gospels had been written long after the death of Christ. … My best friend in high school was a Jew. He came to our house once, and afterward my father asked, as he asked about everyone, “Is he a Christian?”—by which he meant “Is he saved?” I really do not know whether my answer came out of innocence or venom, but I said, coldly, “No. He’s Jewish.” My father slammed me across the face with his great palm, and in that moment everything flooded back—all the hatred and all the fear, and the depth of a merciless resolve to kill my father rather than allow my father to kill me—and I knew that all those sermons and tears and all that repentance and rejoicing had changed nothing.”
“The place in which I’ll fit will not exist until I make it.” This quote proved more difficult to chase down. It does not appear in any of Mr. Baldwin’s work. The earliest mention appears to be behind The New Yorker paywall. “During his wanderings, Baldwin warned a friend who had urged him to settle down that “the place in which I’ll fit will not exist until I make it.” There is no link to a source.
The New Yorker article is cited by Lithub, which is then cited by New Transcendentalist. “These Timely James Baldwin Quotes … ,” from Bustle, credits the quote to “a 1957 letter to Sol Stein.”
Sol Stein “attended DeWitt Clinton High School, where he served on the Magpie literary magazine with Richard Avedon and James Baldwin.” We don’t know if Mr. Stein was the one who made David Baldwin slap his step-son. A paywalled article, about the correspondence between Mr. Stein and “Jimmy,” does not mention the “place in which I’ll fit” quote.
The WaPo article did have a mind-blowing quote. “In the introduction to the book, Baldwin would ponder his influences: “When one begins looking for influences, one finds them by the score. … the King James Bible, the rhetoric of the store-front church, something ironic and violent and perpetually understated in Negro speech…” I saw this quote in 1976, in a college textbook. At the time, I thought this was an amazing quote. It stayed in my mind until the next life changing detail came along, not to be thought of again for forty six years.
Chamblee54 has written about Mr. Baldwin before. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.” UPDATE: @QuoteResearch Replying to @chamblee54 @HilalIsler @lithub “It appeared in a 1957 letter from James Baldwin and Sol Stein reprinted in “Native Sons” (2004) edited by Sol Stein. I am planning to create a QI article on this topic” @QuoteResearch “Please get over the notion, Sol, that there’s some place I’ll fit when I’ve made some ‘real peace’ with myself : the place in which I’ll fit will not exist until I make it. You know and I know that the ‘peace’ of most people is nothing but torpor.” … James Baldwin to Sol Stein UPDATE: I was writing a story about Flannery O’Connor. I wanted to quote this post, but could not find the link. Neither google nor duckduckgo would show me this post. I had to go to the chamblee54 archive, and scroll through October 2022 until I found the post. This is a repost from 2022.
I Brought My Own Pears
How many South Americans does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A Brazillian.
My grandpa has the heart of a lion, and a lifetime ban from the zoo.
What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic? About half way
So a squirrel living in a pine tree one day feels a shaking, looks down, and sees an elephant climbing the tree. The squirrel asks: “What are you doing climbing my tree?”
”Well, I’m coming up here to eat some pears” “This is a pine tree, there are no pears.”
“Well I brought my own pears.”
Why can’t Ray Charles see his friends? Cause he’s married.
If you ever get cold, just stand in a corner for a bit. They’re usually around 90 degrees.
When my Grandad was 65 he started running a mile a day to keep fit.
He’s 70 now and we have no idea where he is.
Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees? …….because they’re really good at it.
I think I want a job cleaning mirrors. it’s just something I could really see myself doing.
There are two monkeys in a bath tub. One says to another: oohoohahah!
The other says: Maybe add a little more cold water.
Did you hear about the two guys that stole a calendar? They each got six months.
Whats the difference between a dirty bus stop, and a lobster with breast implants? Ones a crusty bus station the other is a busty crustacean
So this guy walks into his bedroom with a chicken under his arm. His wife is laying in bed. The guy says, “This is the pig I fuck when you are not in the mood.”
”You fucking idiot. That’s not a pig!” “I was talking to the chicken.”
Two fish are in a tank. One is driving and the other one is operating the gun.
Two soldiers are in a tank. They both drown.
A priest, a rabbi, and a whale walk into a bar. The priest says, “Well I believe Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God and my lord and savior, so I’ll have some wine.”
The rabbi says, “Well I don’t believe the messiah has yet walked the earth, so I’ll have Manischewitz wine.” The whale says “EEOONNHH”
What do you call a chicken coop with 4 doors? a chicken sedan.
Why aren’t there any knock knock jokes about freedom? Because freedom rings
What’s a hillbilly’s favorite thing to do on Halloween? pumpkin
What happened to the cow that jumped over the barbed wire fence? Udder destruction.
Where do animals go when their tails fall off? The retail store
What time does Sean Connery get to Wimbledon? Tennish.
What did the doctor say to the midget waiting in the lobby?
You’re just going to have to be a little patient.
A magician was driving down the road when he turned into a driveway.
What do you call a fish with no eyes? Fsh!
“I went to a zoo. It was completely empty, except for a single dog. It was a Shih Tzu.”
“Dad, I’m hungry.” “Hi, Hungry. I’m Dad.”
“I’m thirsty.” “Hi, Thursday, I’m Friday, let’s go out on a Saturday and have a Sunday.”
The only joke my dad ever told me was that he’d quit beating me. I was in stitches.
A man with carrots in his ears walks onto a bus, the bus driver says “Sir, why do you have carrots in your ears?” “WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I HAVE CARROTS IN MY EARS!”
Did you hear about the Mexican train killer? They say he had locomotives.
Nobody knows who to blame for these alleged jokes. Chamblee54 does not claim authorship, and would deny it if he did. This material was previously published. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
Tom Spanbauer RIP
Facebook brought some sad news Wednesday morning. “Dear Friends. On Saturday September 21st 2024, my beloved husband and best friend, astonishing literary talent, adored friend and brother and uncle and teacher, Tom Spanbauer, left us all to continue his exquisite dance beyond what his body could maintain. After years of struggling with Parkinson’s Disease he passed from heart failure after enjoying one of the calmest and most peaceful days he had had in a long time. …”
Tom Spanbauer (no middle name) had a rough old age. In addition to eight years of Parkinson’s, Tom was “diagnosed with “full-blown” AIDS in 1996.” In 2014, Chuck Palahniuk took a journalist out to Tom’s house. “Palahniuk is a little concerned about our arrival time: we are forty-five minutes early. Spanbauer is sick—he was diagnosed with AIDS in 1988—and has a strict schedule of when he must eat. We’ll be interrupting his lunch.”
Tom was a writer, who also taught “Dangerous Writing.” Working mostly out of his Portland house, Tom taught workshops for many years. His star student was Chuck Pahlaniuk, the author of “Fight Club,” and an all around piece of work. Chuck mentioned on Joe Rogan Experience that Tom was his teacher. This got me thinking. It turns out that Chuck Palahniuk … the man who invented the first rule of fight club … is gay.
Chuck wrote about Tom’s passing on Chuck Palahniuk’s Plot Spoiler, his substack. “He died two days ago of a heart attack, suddenly while eating, at home with family. As his students, we made buttons printed with the slogans of Minimalism, each a quote from Tom, and we wore the buttons for months. Mine read “Establish Your Authority, and You Can Do Anything” which was a Tom rule.” A year earlier, Chuck had some comments about Dangerous Writing.
“I wasn’t surprised. This is what it takes to write a good book. My best writing teacher, Tom Spanbauer, taught me as much. Tom called it “Dangerous Writing,” and by that he meant that a writer had to explore an unresolved personal issue that couldn’t be resolved. A death, for instance. Something that seemed personally dangerous to delve into. By doing so the writer could exaggerate and vent and eventually exhaust the pain or fear around the issue, and that gradual relief would keep the writer coming back to work on the project despite no promise of a book contract or money or a readership. … These people have no idea how unpleasant the act of writing can be. To go back to Tom Spanbauer, Tom calls writing a first draft “Shitting out the lump of coal.” Meaning it’s slow and painful. Even using the best metaphor in the world, Dangerous Writing requires long chunks of isolation. The isolation is the least of it. But at least when the draft is done you feel relief. It’s your shit. Since we’re on the subject, everyone’s shit smells good to them because it’s the smell of relief. Proof the pain is gone. On the other hand, someone else’s shit just smells bad.”
In 1993, Tom was the keynote speaker at the Gay Spirit Visions conference. Tom was riding high on the popularity of The Man Who Fell In Love With The Moon. I decided that I wanted to read TMWFILWTM, but could not find a copy. Finally, Buddy May agreed to lend me his copy, and I spent a few late nights reading it final-exam style.
After the closing circle, Buddy got Tom to autograph his copy of TMWFILWTM. When I looked at it, I noticed that my bookmark was still in the book. I got Tom to autograph my bookmark.
Pictures today are from Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library. These images are from “… a collection of images of downtown Atlanta streets that were taken before the viaduct construction of 1927 – 1929. Later, some of the covered streets became part of Underground Atlanta.” The renovation at Underground never stops.
9-11 Part Two
For a long time, I posted my 9-11 story every year, on September 11. This year, the Presidential debate was on September 10, and it dominated “the conversation” on September 11. Maybe we are moving on, and giving 9-11 its proper place in history.
2001: A Space Odyssey came out in 1968. 2ASO presented a vision of the future. It turns out the reality of 2001 was “terrorists” using our space age technology against us, with devastating results. HAL, the murderous computer, may have been the one prophecy that did come true.
9-11 was a watershed moment. 9-11 was caused by what came before, and affected what came after. We will never know the full story. 2001 was neck deep in the digital revolution, giving the conspiracy talkers a handy forum for their wonderful opinions. Unfortunately, not everyone has integrity, or good intentions. Whether 9-11 was an inside job, or a terrorist attack, the US government gained a great deal of power. Most of the things they did with it did not work out very well. This has also powered the conspiracy industrial complex.
In the last five years,Whe we have had four watershed events: COVID 19, George Floyd, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and October 7. Each component of this grand slam has similarities and differences to each other, and to 9-11. All five events have had a fruit basket turnover effect. Liberals have become conseratives, conservatives have become liberals, and many have wondered why we need those labels anyway. Hypocrisy has become the national pastime.
This is the first paragraph, faithfully pasted in every year: “This is my 911 story. I repeat it every year at this time. Every year I say this will be the last time. This year is a mess. We are destroying the village to save it. The action part of 091101 was over by 11 am. This quagmire drags on and on. Nobody knows how things will turn out.”
One more paragraph is worth repeating: “I became alienated from Jesus during these years. Once, I had once been tolerant of Christians and Jesus, as one would be with an eccentric relative. I began to loath the entire affair. I hear of others who found comfort in religion during this difficult time. That option simply was not available for me.” After September 11/October 7, this fear and loathing has extended to most popular versions of Yahweh worship.
Pictures from Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library. “This item is part of a collection of images of downtown Atlanta streets that were taken before the viaduct construction of 1927 – 1929. Some of the covered streets became part of Underground Atlanta.”
Cliff Bostock
@SobSax “Longtime Creative Loafing writer and editor Cliff Bostock has died after a long battle with cancer. Hs article for Creative Loafing’s 50th anniversary issue, its last in print, discussed …”
I had not heard anything from Cliff in a while. In the early nineties, you could not avoid him. He wrote restaurant reviews for Creative Loafing, and intensely personal pieces for Etc. That article gives you a feel for the voice of Cliff Bostock.
Cliff had a story, and a point of view. Defiantly gay, scarred by the AIDS calamity, Cliff said plenty of things you are not supposed to say. For a while, he was pumping out 3,000 words a week, for anyone who cared to read. “Intensely personal” may not be adequate to describe his output. One person said he would rather walk naked down Peachtree Street, than publish things like that.
It turns out that Cliff had been writing for Georgia Voice. Fagrags are not what they used to be. Cliff was, as usual, vocal about his experience. (March 8 April 6 June 7) Glioblastoma multiforme was the vehicle for this one way journey.
AIDS is a constant presence here. I believe I once saw Cliff write something about getting tested, followed by a staunch refusal to give his own results. Whatever the outcome, Cliff managed to hang on to life until now, which is an achievement. “I often feel like my mind is hosting a marathon séance, with dead friends constantly popping into my head.”
In the early oughts, Gay.com was an online hangout. Cliff adopted the name Bachelard, and made his presence known. I was PiersGavestonJr … two chatters named after Frenchmen. Cliff said that he met me at a meet-and-greet, but I am not sure. … If you type gay.com into a browser, you will go to Los Angeles LBGT Center. Pictures today are from Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library I do not know if Cliff ever reviewed Krystal.
Dump
You have probably heard Donald Trump quoted as saying the White House is a dump. The quote was in a Sports Illustrated article, First Golfer: Donald Trump’s relationship with golf has never been more complicated. This comment is one of many unflattering comments about DJT in the article. Once the dump comment got publicity, it was *officially* denied. @realDonaldTrump “I love the White House, one of the most beautiful buildings (homes) I have ever seen. But Fake News said I called it a dump – TOTALLY UNTRUE” This is a repost.
Facebook jumped into the matter with a tasteful meme. The top part is the TrumpDump comment. The bottom part is a picture of BHO, with a quote: “In the evening, when Michelle and the girls have gone to bed, I sometimes walk down the hall to a room Abraham Lincoln used as his office. It contains an original copy of the Gettysburg Address, written in Lincoln’s own hand. …”
Most BHO quotes are legitimate. He is still a celebrity, and a record of his every word exists. It is not like historic quote magnets like Marilyn Monroe and Mark Twain. When you see a beautifully illustrated quote, with a famous dead person at the bottom, the odds are very good that the famous dead person did not say it.
This does not stop a skeptic. Once you get started investigating, there is no telling what you are going to find. The BHO quote is documented by Huffington Post, Obama Pens Letter Commemorating Gettysburg Address On 150th Anniversary Of Remarks. The Lincoln bedroom at the White House does have one of the Copies of the Gettysburg Address.
The comments by BHO were originally posted at WhiteHouse.gov. When you follow the HuffPo link, you see this: “Thank you for your interest in this subject. Stay tuned as we continue to update whitehouse.gov.” The letter from BHO is no longer on WhiteHouse.gov. A cached copy is available.
Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
Famous Last Words
The elephant in the room is a popular internet cliche. In this picture, the elephant looks like the ghastly wallpaper, both of which are best ignored. I wanted to make a comment. The only appropriate thing to do, in a situation involving wallpaper and an elephant, is to quote Oscar Wilde, on his deathbed. “This wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. Either it goes or I do.”
When discussing Oscar Wilde, elephants, and wallpaper, it is important to get the correct quote. Mr. Google has a great deal to say, on the subject of last words. Peggy Lee sang about it. Unfortunately, the chanteuse was in very bad health at the end of her life. Peggy Lee probably did not say “Is that all there is?” on her deathbed.
On October 14, 1977, Bing Crosby “… finished 18 holes of golf carding an 85 … After his final putt Bing … remarked “It was a great game.” As he was walking to the clubhouse … he collapsed from a massive heart attack. … “We thought he had just slipped,” said one of his golfing companions.”
Adelaide Eugenia Bankhead “… first child, daughter Ada Eugenia, was born on January 24, 1901. The following year, Tallulah was born on their anniversary. Ada died tragically of blood poisoning just three weeks following Tallulah’s birth. On her deathbed, she told her sister-in-law to “take care of Eugenia, Tallulah will always be able to take care of herself”. This, like many other legendary last words, may too good to be true.
The Atlantic had a tasteful feature, “What Are the Best Last Words Ever?” Here are a few.
John Adams July 4, 1826 “Thomas Jefferson survives.”
Unbeknownst to Mr. Adams, Mr. Jefferson had died about five hours earlier.
Richard Feynman “I’d hate to die twice—it’s so boring”
O. Henry appeared to have stopped breathing, but was he really dead? Touch his feet, suggested one of the mourners clustered around his bed: Nobody ever died with warm feet. Whereupon, the short-story writer raised his head from the pillow, mumbled “Joan of Arc did,” and fell back dead.
Dylan Thomas “I’ve had 18 straight whiskeys. I think that’s the record.”
Union Major General John Sedgwick “They couldn’t hit an elephant at this distance.” Said while reprimanding his men for ducking for cover, just before he was killed at the Battle of Spotsylvania.
Ludwig Von Beethoven “I shall hear in heaven.”
An unverified tumblr contributes a few more zingers.
Edgar Allan Poe “Lord help my poor soul.”
Thomas Hobbes “I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap into the dark.”
Alfred Jarry “I am dying…please, bring me a toothpick.”
Washington Irving “I have to set my pillows one more night, when will this end already?”
Leo Tolstoy “But the peasants…how do the peasants die?”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe “More light.”
Karl Marx “Go on, get out! Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough!”
Voltaire “Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies.”
François-Marie Arouet was asked by a priest to renounce Satan.
James Joyce “Does nobody understand?”
A certain popup crazy website has a few more last words. Some of these were really said. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
James Dean “That guy’s gotta stop… He’ll see us.”
Henry James “So here it is at last, the expected thing.”
Marie Antoinette “Pardon me, sir, I did not do it on purpose.”
George Appel “Well, gentlemen, you are about to see a baked Appel.” Mr. Appel was executed by electric chair in 1928; these were his last words. Here’s two more: “Gents, this is an educational project. You are about to witness the damaging effect electricity has on Wood.” Said by Fredrick Charles Wood before he was electrocuted in 1951. “Hey, fellas! How about this for a headline for tomorrow’s paper? ‘French Fries!’” James French, 1966.
Religion And Perfume
Religion and perfume have several things in common. They are both fun to smell, but dangerous to swallow. A tasteful drop behind the ear is pleasant. Too much, and you will run from the room gasping for breath. Both are cheap products, sold in a fancy bottle, at a steep markup.
Before easy access to water, people did not bathe every day. To cover up the aroma of human existence, many used fragrances. This too is similar to the function of religion.
Perfume has been considered a feminine product. In a clever marketing move, a masculine scent was called cologne, and sold to men. Religion is gross to many people, so it is sold as faith.
Smell is a driving force in animal behavior. Ants used smell to communicate, and perform feats in numbers which would be impossible as individuals. Smells go directly to the brain, without filtering and processing like sounds, sights, and tastes. Religion is the emotional equivalent of odors. This is a repost. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
What Denomination Are You?
This feature was written in 2014. The link to the quiz no longer works. There have been changes in the laws, and attitudes, of our society. … The fbf put up a link to an internet quiz, What Christian Denomination Should You Actually Be a Part Of? As the reader(s) of this blog might discern, I am an acknowledged non christian. My favorite denomination is the twenty.
The first question is “What is the source of your beliefs?” The choices include scripture, uncertainty, conscience, and people who talk about scripture. This question presupposes the omnipotence of the belief paradigm. In other words, not everyone feels that what you believe is a big deal.
I have three “fundamental” beliefs regarding xtianity. God does not write books. Jesus has nothing to do with life after death. It is none of your business. Are these concepts an allergic reaction to years of christian noise, both joyful and joyless? Is it a weary soul talking common sense? Who came first, the chicken, or the egg? Do you really need to know?
The second question is “how is one “saved?”” This is a big deal to Jesus worshipers. The xtian obsession with life after death makes me want to run screaming. The seldom heard option offered here is “I don’t know/no opinion.”
One concept is that what happens to the dead is none of the living’s business. Maybe, if you have faith in God, things will turn out ok. When you devote every sunday morning to screaming about so called salvation, you advertise a lack of faith in God.
Third is “what are your opinions on war?” This is one of those contradictions. You just have to understand. An abortion is bloody murder. When Israel shells a school housing refugees, it is justifiable self defense. The reconciliation of beliefs and practices is a source of brain damage. This is not a spiritually uplifting practice.
In many questions, you must choose the least bad answer. This is typical. For what type of worship suits you, being home churched is not an option. For what definition of the trinity best describes your belief, there are no good answers. I feel that the concept of a triune God is a grotesque violation of the First commandment.
The first commandment says to have no other God before you. In Jesus worship, this one God expands to at least six: God, Jesus, Holy Ghost, The Bible, Satan, and Salvation.
There are a few more questions. There is a Catholic slant to this quiz, with emphasis on the Virgin Mary. There is the concept that authority in today’s church was passed down from the disciples. Hopefully, Judas was not included. Finally, there is a question about Gay marriage. Maybe this quiz was designed by a Catholic divorce lawyer.
The answer was probably as good as could be expected. “You should really be Non-Denominational! You’ve never understood why people get so caught up with labels, creeds, and institutions. For you, faith is what matters. You have a personal relationship with God and you’re not so worried about being a member of any specific group or sect. You enjoy Bible study, casual gatherings, and a church where everyone is welcome regardless of theological labels.”
Whatever. Why study a book that teaches people to hate you? Maybe the advertisers at this quiz are getting a spiritual return on their investment. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
The Funeral Of Elvis
This is a repost. I was going to write about some depressing subject. People that are not kind to each other. People in Israel and people in Gaza just don’t seem to get along. Either Donald John Trump or Kamala Devi Harris is going to be our next President. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
There is a saying, “if a story seems too bad to be true, it probably isn’t”. I tried to google that phrase, and got confused. Then he seemed to remember reading it in a column by Molly Ivins. Another google adventure, and there was this video. Miss Ivins, who met her maker January 31, 2007, was promoting a book. She sat down with a bald headed man to talk about it. I could only listen to 24:30 of this video before being seized with the urge to write a story. There is a transcript, which makes “borrowing” so much easier. This film has 34 minutes to go, which just might yield another story.
Molly Ivins was a Texas woman. These days there is a lot of talk about Texas, with Governor Big Hair aiming to be the next POTUS under indictment. Mr. Perry claims that his record as Texas Governor qualifies him to have his finger on the nuclear trigger. Miss Ivins repeats something that I had heard before… “in our state we have the weak governor system, so that really not a great deal is required of the governor, not necessarily to know much or do much. And we’ve had a lot of governors who did neither. “ It makes you wonder how much of that “economic miracle” is because of hair spray.
Texas politics makes about as much sense as Georgia politics. For a lady, with a way with words, it is a gold mine. “the need you have for descriptive terms for stupid when you write about Texas politics is practically infinite. Now I’m not claiming that our state Legislature is dumber than the average state Legislature, but it tends to be dumb in such an outstanding way. It’s, again, that Texas quality of exaggeration and being slightly larger than life. And there are a fair number of people in the Texas Legislature of whom it could fairly be said, `If dumb was dirt, they would cover about an acre.’ And I’m not necessarily opposed to that. I’m–agree with an old state senator who always said that, `If you took all the fools out of the Legislature, it would not be a representative body anymore.'”
We could go through this conversation for a long time, but you probably want to skip ahead and look at pictures. There is one story in this transcript that is too good not to borrow. For some reason, Molly Ivins went to work for The New York Times, aka the gray lady. In August of 1977, she was in the right place at the right time.
Mr. LAMB: And how long did you spend with The New York Times as a reporter?
Ms. IVINS: Six years with The New York Times. Some of it in New York as a political reporter at City Hall in Albany and then later as bureau chief out in the Rocky Mountains.
Mr. LAMB: Would you take a little time and tell us about reporting on the funeral of Elvis Presley?
Ms. IVINS: Oh, now there is something that when I’ve been standing in the checkout line at the grocery store and if I really need to impress people, I just let fall that I covered Elvis’ funeral. And, boy, people just practically draw back with awe. It may yet turn out to be my greatest claim to fame.
I was sitting in The New York City Times one day when I noticed a whole no–knot of editors up around the desk having a–a great scrum of concern, you could tell. It looked sort of like an anthill that had just been stepped on. And it turns out–The New York Times has a large obituary desk, and they prepare obituaries for anybody of prominence who might croak. But it turns out–you may recall that Elvis Presley died untimely and they were completely unprepared.
Now this is an enormous news organization. They have rock music critics and classical music critics and opera critics, but they didn’t have anybody who knew about Elvis Presley’s kind of music. So they’re lookin’ across a whole acre of reporters, and you could see them decide, `Ah-ha, Ivins. She talks funny. She’ll know about Mr. Presley.’
So I wound up writing Elvis’ obituary for The New York Times. I had to refer to him throughout as Mr. Presley. It was agonizing. That’s the style at The New York Times–Mr. Presley. Give me a break. And the next day they sold more newspapers than they did after John Kennedy was assassinated, so that even the editors of The New York Times, who had not quite, you know, been culturally aton–tuned to Elvis, decided that we should send someone to report on the funeral. And I drew that assignment. What a scene it was.
Mr. LAMB: You–you say in the book that you got in the cab and you said, `Take me to Graceland.’ The cabbie peels out of the airport doing 80 and then turns full around to the backseat and drawls, `Ain’t it a shame Elvis had to die while the Shriners are in town?’
Ms. IVINS: That’s exactly what he said. `Shame Elvis had to die while the Shriners are in town.’ And I kind of raised by eyebrows. And sure enough, I realized what he–what he meant after I had been there for awhile because, you know, Shriners in convention–I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a whole lot of Shriners in convention, but they were having a huge national convention that very week in Memphis. And they tend to wear their little red fezzes, and sometimes they drink too much and they march around the hotel hallways tooting on New Year’s Eve horns and riding those funny little tricycles and generally cutting up and having a good time. That’s your Shriners in convention, always something very edifying and enjoyable to watch. But they–every–every hotel room in Memphis was occupied with celebrating Shriners, and then Elvis dies and all these tens of thousands of grieving, hysterical Elvis Presley fans descend on the town.
So you got a whole bunch of sobbing, hysterical Elvis fans, you got a whole bunch of cavorting Shriners. And on top of that they were holding a cheerleading camp. And the cheerleading camp–I don’t know if your memory–with the ethos of the cheerleading camp, but the deal is that every school sends its team–team of cheerleaders to cheerleading camp.
And your effort there at the camp is to win the spirit stick, which looks, to the uninitiated eye, a whole lot like a broom handle painted red, white and blue. But it is the spirit stick. And should your team win it for three days running, you get to keep it. But that has never happened. And the way you earn the spirit stick is you show most spirit. You cheer for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You cheer when the pizza man brings the pizza. You do handsprings end over end down the hallway to the bathroom. I tell you, those young people will throw–show an amount of spirit that would just astonish you in an effort to win that stick.
So here I was for an entire week, dealing with these three groups of people: the young cheerleaders trying to win the spirit stick, the cavorting Shriners and the grieving, hysterical Elvis fans. And I want to assure you that The New York Times is not the kind of newspaper that will let you write about that kind of rich human comedy.
Mr. LAMB: Why?
Ms. IVINS: Because The New York Times, at least in my day, was a very stuffy, pompous newspaper.
Mr. LAMB: What about today?
Ms. IVINS: A little bit better, little bit better than it was.
Mr. LAMB: And…
Ms. IVINS: Has–has–it has a tendency, recidivist tendencies, though. You–you will notice if you read The Times, it–it collapses into pomposity and stuffiness with some regularity.
Mr. LAMB: Why did you leave it?
Ms. IVINS: Well, I–I actually got into trouble at The New York City Times for describing a community chu–chicken killing out West as a gang pluck. Abe Rosenthal was then the editor of the Times and he was not amused.
Mr. LAMB: Did–but did they let it go? Did they let it…
Ms. IVINS: Oh, no. It never made it in the paper. Good heavens, no. Such a thing would never get in The Times in my day.
POSTSCRIPT I found some pictures, marked up the text, and was ready to post the story. He decided to listen to a bit more of the discussion between Molly Ivins and the bald headed man. When he got to this point, it became apparent that he could listen to Molly Ivins talk, or he could post his story, but he could not do both at the same time.
Ms. IVINS: Oh, well, of course, I’m gonna make fun of it. I mean, Berkeley, California, if you are from Texas, is just hilarious.
Mr. LAMB: Why?
Ms. IVINS: Well, of course, it is just the absolute center of liberalism and political correctness. And it is a veritable hotbed of people, of–bless their hearts, who all think alike, in a liberal way. And, of course, I’m sometimes called a liberal myself, and you would think I would have felt right at home there. But I just am so used to–I’m so used to Texas that I found the culture at Berkeley hysterical.
The God Of Word
The facebook comment started with “Christ had so little regard for … ” I gave into the temptation to comment. “Are you talking about Jesus? Not everyone agrees that he was the Christ.” The internet showed mercy, and only one stranger replied. “I think the bigger picture is being overlooked for semantics here… ” Talking, in or out of vain, is a big deal here. This is a repost.
People like to express opinions about the teaching of Jesus. The source of 99% of these thoughts is the bible. It is a fundamental belief that “the bible is the word of God.” I have disagreed with this notion for a long time. This is not the same as not believing in the existence of God.
I started to type a facebook reply, and then thought better of it. Sunday afternoons are a gift, even if they are uncomfortably hot. It is too fine a day to argue religion on the internet. Before he stopped, one thought did occur to him. If the bible is the word of God, then maybe Jehovah is the God of word. If you saw a mushroom cloud rising over Brookhaven …
Christianism is a religion of beliefs, rather than practices. The idea of getting people to agree with your beliefs is key to the Jesus experience. Many of these beliefs are noted in the bible. It is as if people make a God out of a book. When these high powered thoughts are expressed, then the semantics can get overwhelming.
As for the teaching of Jesus, all we know is what the Council of Nicea chose to tell us. We don’t have very much. What we do have is conveniently selected to fit the agenda of the speaker. What someone says about Jesus tells us more about that person than it does about Jesus. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.
UPDATE This post starts with by quoting a facebook post. The link no longer works. The former facebook friend … a person who I helped move twice … blocked me.
After George HW Bush died, the ffbf was trashing the former President, using the phrase “I am not going to whitewash history.” I commented that it would be better for his karma to be a bit kinder towards the former President. The ffbf did not like that, and blocked me.
Blue Tail Fly
Q: What does “Jimmy crack corn” mean, and why does he not care?—Matt, Columbus, Ohio
I was trolling stupidquestion.net when there was a convergence of stupidity. (The site does not exist in 2024.) All my life I had heard Blue Tail Fly, and been embarrassed. And there, in (pardon the expression) black and white, was someone who wondered the same thing.
It seems as though BTF started out as a minstrel song. For those who don’t know, minstrel shows were white people putting on black makeup, and imitating African Americans. That is another reason you seldom hear BTF today.
Dave Barry took a poll once to find out the stupidest song of all time. The overwhelming winner/loser was MacArthur Park. The combination of over the top show stopping, while singing about a cake left out in the rain, makes this ditty a duh classic.
In the spirit of corny convergence, the video is a karaoke version featuring Donna Summer. Miss Summer is a talented singer, who happened to connect with Giorgio Moroder. Lots of singers could have hit the big time by fronting those records. Donna Summer hit the jackpot.
For a proper post, there needs to be a third stupid song. This is not about stupid bands, singing about being D U M B. Even though they totally don’t belong, there is a video of The Ramones included. I saw the Ramones at the Agora Ballroom in 1983. This was after their prime, and before a homeless man caught the Ballroom on fire.
We still need a third stupid song, and I want to get this posted with as little research as possible. Just like some writer was once given twenty minutes to write a song, and he decided to do the worst song he could think of. The result was Wild Thing. I used to have a 45 of someone who sounded like Bobby Kennedy singing Wild Thing. Let the good times roll.
These four hundred and six hastily chosen words are a repost. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”. This was downtown Atlanta in 1941.
Chamblee54 
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