Archive for February 7, 2017

Tribute to a Teacher

Posted in CULTURE & POLITICS, ME, OBITS with tags on February 7, 2017 by travsd

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I learned this weekend the devastating news that a pivotal person in my life was near death. Even hearing that it was close in these raw, heartbreaking days was enough to double me over with grief. I cried myself to sleep at four in the afternoon. I just now got the news that she had passed — how perfect to hear it at the same time I learn the news about Betsy Devos’ confirmation as Secretary of Education. For my friend Lee Mania was a schoolteacher. She must have been so distraught at the developments of the past few weeks. I hate to even think of her witnessing the country we’re about to become. Her passing now is merciful.

Lee was my best friend’s mom, and she came into my life when I was about 11 or 12 years old, at a time in my life when she was the IDEAL person to have nearby. The way some kids sprout up like bean poles, or suddenly grow beards, or bulky biceps, I felt the thoughts in my head, the words on my tongue expand and multiply with terrifying, dizzying swiftness. And with my home life I could have gone in so many ways — I kid you not, I could have been Timothy McVeigh. There was anger and violence and alcoholism and dark, dark discourse behind the walls of my own house. And there was real danger of my echoing it, perpetuating it. But I had a number of great teachers. Including Lee, who wasn’t my teacher, but taught me. To this day, I think of her as one of the most brilliant people I ever knew. She was incredibly articulate, erudite and funny. She bantered. And she talked to young people (she taught fifth grade) with the kind of respect most grown-ups reserve for other adults. She was the first adult in my life who seemed to sense who I was and knew how to talk to me, how to converse in such a way so to include ALL of me, and in so doing, she catalyzed my transformation into who I am right now. That’s not too strong to say.

Lee was kind and patient and the most rational person I had ever met. In fact, her parenting style was so calm, I didn’t even recognize it as such at first. They used to have this little Japanese car; I’d slam the lightweight door shut when I got in, adolescent fashion, and she’d say “You know, you really don’t have to slam that.” She must have had to say it 50 times before I understood that she was asking me not to do it. That was not how behavior got corrected in my house.

Her son Matt was my best friend from grades 7 through 12. When I was about 13 she brought the pair of us to the JFK Library up in Boston soon after it opened. A small thing for them, to have me along. For me, it was the sort of thing that changed my life. And so much that she valued, like her love of Bob Dylan, got transmitted to me by hanging out with her son.

Yeah, I’m an absolute fuckin’ wreck right now. But there’s something just kind of perfect about her leaving us just now. Just perfect. All I got at the moment besides sorrow is a world of gratitude and a determination to deserve the investment she made in me. Lee, you were a really, really good teacher.

“It Can’t Happen Here”

Posted in BOOKS & AUTHORS, CRITICISM/ REVIEWS, CULTURE & POLITICS with tags , , , , , , on February 7, 2017 by travsd

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Today is the birthday of the great American author Sinclair Lewis (1885-1951).

And today I must take this opportunity to apologize to the members of my old book club. Ten or 15 years ago at my behest we made Lewis’s 1935 novel It Can’t Happen Here the monthly pick. I’d gone through my initial Sinclair Lewis phase in my early twenties, when I read his best known novels Main Street (1920), Babbitt (1922), Arrowsmith (1925), Elmer Gantry (1927) and Dodsworth (1929). It Can’t Happen Here had been next on my list. I love such dystopian visions, so it was a book I’d wanted to read for a long time. I owe my old pals the apology because at the time I argued that “it” (a Fascist takeover of the United States) could never happen in 21st century America. My reasoning was essentially that the country had become too diverse and (silly me) that though there were still many racists about, there weren’t enough to tip the balance electorally. I actually said that! And my book-club friends, who were all Democrats but no wild left-wingers by any means, being all businessmen, bankers, corporate lawyers, and guys of that ilk, were like: “You’d be surprised.” And was I ever surprised. Most unpleasantly. Much like the dupes and naifs of Lewis’s own day (who inspired the book’s title) I always assumed that in the clinch, America was above all that. For a peek at how naive I was even just a few years ago, you can see my earlier post on Lewis and the novel here. 

It Can’t Happen Here paints a dystopian picture of what would happen if an American Fascist party gained control of the national government. This was in 1935. Mussolini had been ruling Italy for some time, but Franco was not yet dictator of Spain, and the Nazis had only been in power for two years, with most of their most heinous atrocities still ahead of them. Lewis’s portrait of oppression is thus mild in light of what would happen in later decades (murder on a genocidal scale), not only in the Fascist countries but in Soviet dominated Eastern Europe, Communist China and elsewhere. Still Lewis had his native inspiration in the form of the Ku Klux Klan, the German-American Bund, and demagogic Louisiana politician Huey Long, who had Presidential designs but was assassinated that year.

But today the parallels with Donald Trump seem uncanny, particularly the unholy marriage of corporate oligarchs and rank and file lower class racists who form a paramilitary militia in the book called the “Minute Men” (sound like the “Tea Party”?) And as with Trump, the book’s blowhard dictator-villain, named by the always-satirical Lewis “Buzz Windrip” can’t deliver on his fantasy campaign promises. Luckily this eventually causes the collapse of support for his regime. The book may be read for partial inspiration. It’s hero, a newspaper editor participates in a healthy underground, though when Windrip is eventually toppled, his army general replacement seems hardly better. The historical trend is that when the power of an office has expanded, it is seldom voluntarily relinquished by a tyrant’s successors. Which is why you always wind up looking at phrases you thought you’d never see, such as “Obama’s drone strikes”. Still you must hope. And It Can’t Happen Here does end on a hopeful if inconclusive note, with the forces of Good still fighting the forces of Evil. And in the end, that’s always the best you can hope for, even if we sometimes live in blissful ignorance of just how evil Evil can be.

Tonight: Victrola Burlesque

Posted in Burlesk, Contemporary Variety, PLUGS with tags , , , on February 7, 2017 by travsd

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R.I.P. Professor Irwin Corey: Dead at 102

Posted in Comedians, Comedy, Jews/ Show Biz, OBITS, Stand Up with tags , , , on February 7, 2017 by travsd

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There’s been lots of chatter on social media since last night and I finally got definitive word from Bob Greenberg: Professor Irwin Corey has passed away at age 102.  Those old enough to remember him from tv, may justifiably ask, “Professor Irwin Corey is still alive???” But here in New York he remained very much present and visible in at least two of the circles I run with. The subset of the comedy community that respects its old timers knows him well, of course. As does the progressive activist community. Irwin was very active well past the century mark, still going out, still being “public” amongst those two groups, attending their dinners and functions and parties and meetings, interacting with people, cherishing the limelight. And, as always happens when you approach and then pass 100, he’s gotten more press than usual in the local papers in recent years.

Irwin’s schtick was very vaudeville: he affected the distracted, disheveled look of the academic intellectual much popularized by Einstein: ill fitting clothes and long, messy hair. He was a kook who would spout nonsense, confusing the convulsed audience while purporting to enlighten them. He started this bit at night clubs and cabarets in the ’40s. In the ’60s, he caught on with the counterculture and tv. By the ’70s, since he was so well recognized, he got lots of bit parts in movies.

At the same time, he was extremely left wing, a radical of the type that had become quite rare in America by the turn of the 21st century. He surely must have been flipping out these last few weeks.

Bob Greenberg, who was his good friend, posted this message last night:

“Irwin passed away at 6:27 PM tonight in his home. He had just eaten Vanilla Ice Cream Swirl followed by Egg Drop Soup. (The Ice Cream didn’t satisfy him so he sent his son out to get the soup.) After the soup he complained that the covers were too heavy on his feet. (This was odd since he usually complained that there wasn’t enough covering him.) His Nurse adjusted them and when she looked up he was gone. “

Farewell to the “World’s Foremost Authority”.

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