They still don’t make ’em like they used to

            Here, by something like popular request, are more classic movie awards that Oscar overlooked:

            Best car chase – Bullitt – Steve McQueen careened across 1963 San Francisco without a care or even much of a plot, as if to say that car chases self-justify.

            Best cartoon character – Daffy Duck – He lacked the emotional stability of Bugs Bunny but was arguably funnier.

Best Hair Ever?

            Most original comedy pairing – W.C. Fields and Baby Leroy – The story about Fields spiking the child’s orange juice is not apocryphal. Fields actually did it.

            Best hair job in movie history -  Else Lanchester in Bride of Frankenstein.

            Sappiest tearjerker of all time – An Affair to Remember – Plangent title song attempts to redeem script, fails.

            Most patriotic – Yankee Doodle Dandy – Warner Brothers asked Jimmy Cagney to transition from gangster roles to this bio of George M. Cohen. Released in 1940 with the Grand Old Flag flying, the picture prepared the way for the war we were about to fight.

            Best performance by a horse – Khartoum in The Godfather – Head-in-the-bed sequence ended his career.

            Most heroic in real life – Audie Murphy who fought to a Medal of Honor standard in World War II Italy. He later played himself as a GI in To Hell and Back.

            Best story involving death of central character – Garbo in Camille; John Wayne in Sands of Iwo Jima.

            Most resonant prop – The Maltese Falcon, aka, the stuff that dreams are made of. The blackbird statue was phony looking but it carried the story.

            Best top to bottom casting – From Here to Eternity – Even the smallest roles were impeccably cast and acted. And regardless of how Sinatra got the part of Maggio (I tend to believe the gangster version), he played it to perfection.

            Coolest actor ever – Toss-up between James Dean and Steve McQueen goes to the latter, who had the good sense to avoid Dean’s Actor Studio mannerisms.

Good deeds don’t always work

Good deeds don’t always work

Then the cat freaked. I don’t know why. 

            One Appalachian winter dusk, a neighbor’s  cat appeared at my door. The neighbor’s house was about a half mile away through the woods and I assumed the cat’s arrival was by way of a neighborly visit.

            I put the cat in front of my fireplace and stroked and petted it for a while. The cat even purred, which was a more vibratory sound than I’d imagined, almost a contented growl. I’ve never been good with animals and this was, I sensed, a triumph for each of us. Paws across the species gap. I confess that I cared for this cat. Too much, as it turned out.

            By eight o’clock I figured it was time for the cat to go home where I knew a bowl of that vile gruel felines eat had been lovingly prepared. Trouble was it was bitterly cold; too cold to put any living thing out into the woods and the cat didn’t seem to want to go.

            So I decided to give the cat a lift home. I put it in the car, turned on the heat for the cat’s comfort and headed out slowly along an icy road. And it was okay for the first few yards. Then the cat freaked. I don’t know why; maybe it had never been in a car. Anyway, it started wailing and jumping and scratching. It got on my head, which is hell anytime but especially when you’re trying to keep a car on an icy road.

            “Calm down, dammit,” I reasoned. The cat leapt into the back seat then back into the front. I guess I was supposed to seat belt her or something. Anyway, I got her home and let her out, whereupon she ran not into the warm house but into those very woods where I couldn’t bring myself to release her.

            Moral: If, in the course of a good deed, the recipient of said deed starts to scratch and jump, desist the deed, which wasn’t as good as you originally thought.

Nametags? Kindred spirits don’t need nametags!

         I was having some apples weighed in the supermarket checkout line.

            “Winesap?” asked the lady.

            “No thanks, just the apples,” I riffed. She laughed. It’s a happy thing to make a stranger laugh, and after that we were kindred spirits. I went out of my way to go through her line. There was a compact of merriment, a virtual guarantee that one of us could make the other laugh. And we did too, for six months or so until one day she was gone. They said her husband got transferred, to Houston I think.

            She’s still laughing, probably behind some supermarket counter in Houston. She never wore a nametag and I never knew her name. But I knew her. We were kindred spirits.

Eccentricities aren’t all bad

            At a table adjacent to mine in our local diner sat a boy with blue hair. A crew cut, precisely sculpted, the color vivid with no discordant roots, as though the teenager had said to a stylist, I’ll have blue hair and I want it done right.

            After my meal I stopped by the booth where the boy sat with four companions, two girls and two guys.

            “Uh, excuse me.” The teenagers turned to look at me.  They were not roisterous as teens sometimes are in that restaurant. All seemed subdued and their conversation restrained. “I’m sort of a student of human behavior and I was noticing your hair,” I told the boy. “Why do you have blue hair?”

            He looked at me matter-of-factly, appearing to respect the inquiry. “I’m new in town,” he said. “I wanted to meet people.”

            I nodded. Plainly he had met people – good ones too, from their look and gravitas. “I appreciate your telling me,” I said.

            He nodded pleasantly.

            I remember thinking afterward that it was a perfectly good rationale for having a blue crew cut. I respected him for having blue hair.

            All of us have eccentricities. Very few of us are pragmatic about them.

The case of behaving nobly, badly made

            I cherish the idea of people behaving nobly. Not me personally, of course, because sacrifice ensues and how much fun is that. It’s not like it’s World War II and sacrifice is compelled by a splendid national purpose reducible to three words: Win the War!

            Fast-forward to now and our moral climate of celebrity-induced torpor.  Does America still have a Great National Purpose that compels sacrifice? OK, I’ll propose one: Let America be the most civilized nation ever to exist.

            Are you up for it? There will be sacrifice. For example, we can give up the coercive fun of bullying in all its forms whether by kids or adults. We can stop shouting our national discourse and abandon the ugly certitude that goes with always being right. (Are you listening Bill O’Reilly and Chris Matthews?)

            We can sacrifice lawsuits in disputes you could settle over a cup of coffee.

            We can stop mucking up our Constitutional guarantees with the sludge of incivility. What good is free speech when we use it to jabber talking points? Since when did freedom of religion suggest the right to behave like a book-burning jackass or a homicidal maniac?

            We can sacrifice the idea that the right to carry a gun includes the right to start a gunfight at one’s personal OK Corral.

            Indeed Congress itself can be rendered dysfunctional by mean-spirited debate.

            So that’s a proposal for America’s Great National Purpose: to become the most civilized people ever. It means expanding the definition of excellence to include everyday behavior. Refining our capacity to ennoble and inspirit one another. Disagreeing passionately and yet remembering that all our major disagreements have two viable sides.

            If we can bring it off, the greatest generation may be us. Sacrifice is involved, but believe me when I say that behaving nobly is better than behaving loutishly. I know; I’ve tried both.

            

A morality tale for the slightly tarnished

            My rule of thumb is this: Live the little moments well and the big ones take care of themselves.

            Like the cashier at the convenience store who caught me glancing through a tabloid while in line to pay for gas. As I offered up money for the tabloid, she looked both ways and whispered, “You don’t have to buy it; you can look at it and put it back.”

            We grinned at one another in a moment of absolute understanding.

            The next day, filing random thoughts, I didn’t remember the stories in the tabloid. But I remembered the lady at the convenience store. The subtext of life is actually the text, I decided. Or as someone put it, “It’s not how you behave on the dais when you’re being honored, it’s how you behave on the way to the ceremony.”

            You and I are destined to dispense nobility in those odd, awkward asides where nobility and grace and meanness get defined. The thing is that for the very best stuff you ever do, nobody will hand you an award.

Be very careful with folk wisdom

            Murphy’s Law, for example, is a toxic sump of an idea. Actually, I know Murphy. Used to drink with him at a bar in Baltimore. “Whatever can go wrong will go wrong,” he droned. “And at the worst possible time.”

            “Not necessarily,” I riposted. “I’ve just had a day in which everything went right.” I’d moved through the day with the dexterity of Fred Astaire moving through an RKO storyline. There was dignity in every encounter, subplots resolved, schedules clicked. When I craved a soft drink and the machine wanted 60¢, there in my pocket were two quarters and a dime. That kind of day.

            “Just lucky,” harrumphed Murphy.

            “Aw lighten up, Murphy,” I told him. “The antithesis of your squalid Law is that when things finally do go right, it’ll happen with such luminescence that it buries the angst.”

            Murphy glared at me, belligerent with drink. “Since when are you Mr. Sunny Disposition?” He ordered another dram and a hamburger, managing to spill  ketchup on his vest. “Blast! Just before an important appointment.”

            “Well you now what they say. ‘Whatever can go wrong –‘”

            “Aw shaddup. You got a handkerchief?”

            Murphy’s not a bad guy but he has no more standing to make Law than you or I. Just remember, when things go right, it’ll happen resplendently.

            It’s not a law, but you can take my word for it.

10 clichés from which no good can possibly follow

            You’ve heard these before, usually as preface to an unwanted conversation. Here’s how to fight back:

            Cliché: We need to talk! Response: No we don’t!

            Cliché: There’s good news and bad news. Which do you want first? Response: First a double martini; second, the good news; third, a refill.

            Cliché: My pet did the cutest thing. Response: Sorry, my doctor says I can’t listen to pet stories. It’s a medical thing.

            Cliché: There’s something I need to get off my chest. Response: And I’d love to hear it but I have an appointment in Oklahoma City, Ok.

            Cliché: Viewers may find the following footage disturbing. Response: Then don’t show it, you condescending gargoyle.

            Cliché: May I offer you some constructive criticism? Response: No, but perhaps you’d care to wrestle?

            Cliché: Shall I be frank? Response: Absolutely NOT!

            Cliché: May I see your driver’s license? Response: May I see that strange hat you’re wearing? (More laughs are what cops need.)

            Cliché: I saw the best movie. It starts out…” Response: By all means tell me the entire story. Spare no detail. I have all day. Is there popcorn?

            Cliché: You know what drives me nuts? Response: With me it’s brain cell deterioration.

            And finally America’s single most devastating conversation preface: “I don’t like to spread gossip…” And of course gossip will follow. Just be as kind as you can.

America’s least competent answer man answers your questions

            Q: If my insurance lapses while the premium check is in the mail, am I still covered (Mr. A.H., Bent Tree)

            A: Wow, good question! I have no idea. Sorry.

••••

            Q: Is there a cure for the common cold? (Mr. R.W., Jasper)

            A: Hmmm, I’m not sure. I asked around the office but none of them knew either.

••••

            Q: My husband seems to be losing interest in me, spending more and more time on the golf course. What can I do to put zing back into our marriage? (Mrs. D.B., Tampa, Fl.)

            A: I get a lot of questions about the zing. You’ll probably want to get a good marital advice manual and look in the index under z.

••••

            Q: My silk brocade gown has a nasty stain from Sauce Béarnaise. Any suggestions? (Mrs. F.N., Boston)

            A: Wear something else.

••••

            Q: I’m deeply troubled by our impending moral collapse. American society has become a gibbering morass of gnat-minded technocrats, obsessed with communicating, but having nothing to say. (Mr. C.F.W., Atlanta)

            A: Really? ’Cause, I mean, that’s bad.

••••

            Q: My wife says that “Karl” was one of the Marx Brothers. I say she’s nuts. Who’s right? (Mr. N.N., Marietta)

            A: I’m not sure. I think the Marx Brothers were Chico, Flipper and Gaucho. Or something like that. You could probably look it up somewhere. Or call a TV station; they know stuff like that.

••••

       A Marxist or a Marx Brother?   

  Q: What diet do you recommend? (Mrs. F.W., Forest Park)

            A: It depends on what you want to accomplish. If you’re underweight and yearning to gain back those extra pounds, try dumplings, egg dishes and crème brulee.

••••

            Q: How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? (Miss P.R., Reno, Nv.)

            A: 3.5 cords, chucking at a rate of 6 cords per hour.

Don’t always be open to new ideas

            A pastor friend invited me to a men’s revival rally. Which is fine except that he’s inviting me for the third time, I having declined on each occasion. This time I candidly told him that I find the idea of proclaiming one’s virtue in a crowded auditorium faintly absurd. Why not merely be virtuous?

He recounted some evangelical success stories from past rallies which are irrefutable. He is trying to minister to me, having spotted my rough edges, and I can’t accept his rah rah style of ministration. Is a faith best known by its precepts or by its resonant advocates? I’ve never been sure.

            Anyway I’m not going to the men’s revival rally, whether out of principle or stubbornness. This pastor and I are both trying to enhance the other and neither succeeds.

            He says I’m not open to new ideas. Indeed I am not. I’m more receptive to old ideas, like being left alone to conduct one’s spiritual life as one sees fit.

Groping for wisdom and falling short

Published August 11, 2011 in the Pickens Progress
I’ve always coveted wisdom and yet it eludes me. Seeking to be a wise guy, I emerge a wiseguy.
But you play the hand you’re dealt. Indulge me by considering these random thoughts. Frankly, I can’t get rid of them:
I believe in both absolute truth and absolute freedom of thought. The two are not antithetical.

•••••

A stronger force than law is man’s inclination to obey the law. If compliance weren’t widespread and voluntary, there wouldn’t be enough cops. It is man’s basic decency that keeps us safe in our beds.

•••••

We have tested the limits of power. Let us also test the limits of civility. For example, after defeating Germany and Japan in World War II, the United States began immediately to restore them to the family of nations.

•••••

If there’s nothing you can do, do nothing. When it’s done right, nothing can be an active choice.

•••••

Sanctimony is the worst thing you can do to faith. It is worse than heresy, whose practioners have at leave given the matter some thought.

•••••

Most people argue to win; the wise argue to learn.

•••••

Inspirit anyone you can, anytime it’s possible.

•••••

Reason dictates that reason be suspended when it comes to faith. You believe viscerally or not at all.

•••••

Virtue is more fascinating then evil. Virtue entails greater risk and is more exciting. And, generally speaking, you stay out of jail.

•••••

“Kilroy was here.” Somehow this bit of 1940s G.I. doggerel makes sense. Kilroy was omnipresent and thus a spiritual force.

•••••

Either nobody understands me, or too many people do. In other words, people who say nobody understands me are simply being indulgent. Try understanding others; it’s the key to being understood.

•••••

It is important to learn the lessons of history. But someone has to make history, which means going where the lessons don’t apply.

•••••

I’m in the process of field testing these ideas. It’s one definition of life: field testing potential forms of wisdom.

Be very careful with folk wisdom

            Murphy’s Law, for example, is a toxic sump of an idea. Actually, I know Murphy. Used to drink with him at a bar in Baltimore. “Whatever can go wrong will go wrong,” he droned. “And at the worst possible time.”

            “Not necessarily,” I riposted. “I’ve just had a day in which everything went right.” I’d moved through the day with the dexterity of Fred Astaire moving through an RKO storyline. There was dignity in every encounter, subplots resolved, schedules clicked. When I craved a soft drink and the machine wanted 60¢, there in my pocket were two quarters and a dime. That kind of day.

            “Just lucky,” harrumphed Murphy.

            “Aw lighten up, Murphy,” I told him. “The antithesis of your squalid Law is that when things finally do go right, it’ll happen with such luminescence that it buries the angst.”

            Murphy glared at me, belligerent with drink. “Since when are you Mr. Sunny Disposition?” He ordered another dram and a hamburger, managing to spill  ketchup on his vest. “Blast! Just before an important appointment.”

            “Well you now what they say. ‘Whatever can go wrong –‘”

            “Aw shaddup. You got a handkerchief?”

            Murphy’s not a bad guy but he has no more standing to make Law than you or I. Just remember, when things go right, it’ll happen resplendently.

            It’s not a law, but you can take my word for it.

They chided me for quoting Emerson

 Elitist, they said. The quote was this: “He who would be a man must be a nonconformist.” The remark bespoke not the proud nonconformity of Thoreau, who, during his Walden phase, used to come to the Emersons for a good meal and to do his laundry. Nor was Ralph Emerson’s nonconformity of the flashy contrarian sort, worn as a martyr’s badge.

            It seemed humble and quietly courageous. So I’ve made a list of a few nonconformities central to e.

            For example, I refuse to wear the requisite death mask of solemnity when I walk the streets of a big city. If I wish to say good morning to a New Yorker, Londoner or Atlantan, I will do so. A pragmatic, civilized use of free speech if you ask me.

            Second, I will not mind my own business. What is humanity if not people looking after one another?

            Next, I will not embrace meanly stated politics even when they support my own sensibilities. If I find myself in agreement with a demagogue, I will still disrespect his coercive style and dismiss him.

            The thing is that each of us, at one time or another, will find oneself alone in an opinion, be the forum at a town meeting or a dinner table. Heaven knows it is difficult to disagree with someone who is serving you shrimp cocktail. Better to conform and eat the shrimp. Only, sometimes you can’t. Conformity is always feasible but not always palatable. Emerson seemed to know that, and it’s why I quote him.

            You grab for what wisdom you can, whether from a philosopher or a fishmonger. And if anyone calls you elitist, challenge him to wrestle. It’ll get your thrown out of some of the better homes but it refutes the charge of elitism.