Shep

 “The reality of what we are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.” Jean Shepherd

A decade ago I reviewed Marc Fisher’s “Something in the Air: Radio, Rock, and the Revolution that Shaped a Generation” for Magill’s Literary Annual.  It contains a chapter on Calumet Region humorist Jean Shepherd:  I noted:

 While pop music dominated the AM dial [in the 1950s] an eccentric genius named Jean Shepherd invented what came to be known as talk radio.  Twice fired for persistently digressing from the music, he migrated to WOR in New York, where he held forth nightly for four and a half hours.  Intermittently spinning jazz records between acerbic monologues, Shepherd’s tales of festering youth had universal appeal, as did his irreverence toward sponsors and management functionaries.  His eventual successor, Long John Nebel, attracted night owls interested in UFOs, health nostrums, and conspiracy theories of all kinds. 

 During the 1960s FM came into its own. The Federal Communication Commission forced stations to stop simucasting AM shows, and automobile manufacturers wired their vehicles for FM.  Carrying on Shepherd’s legacy in Los Angeles was John Leonard with Nightsounds,while New Yorker Bob Fass hosted Radio Unamenableon WBAI.

On the radio Shepherd’s avowed objective was to stimulate trains of thought, and his improvisational style was similar to the jazz music he loved.  

 Bill Clinton and Dale Bumpers in 1999

New York Review of Books contributor Sean Wilentz’s article “Presumed Guilty” on Ken Starr’s “Contempt: A Memoir of the Clinton Investigation” argues that the hatred and distrust of Bill and Hillary by Starr and his staff (including zealous reactionary Brett Kavanaugh) turned “a faltering right-wing political vendetta against a Democratic president into a constitutional crisis over consensual private behavior.”  According to former Arkansas governor and senator Dale Bumpers, “Javert’s pursuit of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables paled in comparison”to Starr’s pursuit of the Clintons.  An incredulous Wilentz points out the irony of Starr being worried about what he termed “the inherent danger of prosecutorial overreach”in the Mueller probe.  “Presumed Guilty” cites several egregious actions by persecutor Starr, in addition to the browbeating of Monica Lewinsky:

 Susan McDougal, the ex-wife of the eccentric progenitor of the Whitewater project, Jim McGougal, refused to testify before the grand jury, fearing that saying anything other than what she believed the independent counsel’s office wanted would lead to her indictment for perjury.  She wound up serving 18 months in prison for civil contempt of court, eight of them in solitary confinement.  Then, upon her release, Starr had her indicted on criminal charges of contempt (which ended in a hung jury) and obstruction of justice (which ended in an acquittal). Julie Hiatt Steele contradicted claims by her friend Kathleen Willey concerning an alleged inappropriate advance by the president. Starr accused her of obstruction of justice and making false statements, which led to a mistrial, whereupon the matter was dropped – but only after Steele had been harassed over the adoption of a Romanian child.

Reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle” for an Advanced English paper, grandson James is fascinated by the narrator’s espousal of a fictitious religion called Bokononism.  It reminded me of existentialism, which James learned about in a recent unit.  “Cat’s Cradle” opens with this advice supposedly found in the Books of Bokonon, many of which were written in the form of calypsos: “Live by the forma (harmless untruths) that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy.”  

 Pony Express monument in St. Joseph's, MO

Jim DeFelice’s “West Like Lightning: The Brief, Legendary Ride of the Pony Express” contains fascinating tales about the 1,900-mile mail delivery system from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California that, to my surprise, was short-lived and was a financial failure.  DeFelice wrote: 

 Daring young men with colorful names like “Bronco Charlie” and “Sawed-Off Jim” galloped over a vast and unforgiving landscape, etching an irresistible tale that passed into myth almost instantly. Equally an improbable success and a business disaster, the Pony Express came and went in just 18 months but not before uniting and captivating a nation on the brink of being torn apart [by the Civil War].

DeFelice recounts exploits by the likes of Jim Bridger, Jack Slade, “Wild Bill” Hickok, and William “Buffalo Bill” Cody but then admits that many may have been pure fabrications.  The two men most responsible for spreading myths regarding the Pony Express were author Edward Zane Carroll Judson, who assumed the pseudonym Ned Buntline, and William Cody, whose Wild West shows usually began with a dramatization on the Pony Express riders.

Dave’s family brought over Chinese food and a key lime pie for my 77th birthday. Dave burned me a Kurt Vile compilation CD and on a card called me his role model.  Nice. We played the dice game Qwixx and Love Letter, which involved cards with various powers and worth that I was just starting to comprehend when Becca won.  I watched the Oscars intermittently and enjoyed the opening Queen medley with Adam Lambert and original band members, Spike Lee’s speech after winning for best adapted screenplay (for BlacKkKlansman) and Lady Gaga’s incandescent performance with Bradley Cooper singing “Shallow” from “A Star Is Born.” Gaga has previously sung memorable duets at awards shows with Elton John, Tony Bennett, and Metalilca – a true superstar.

Anti-Trump Republican columnist Max Boot laments the decline of college History courses and the public’s ignorance of America’s past.  Boot mocked the slogan “Make America Great Again,” as if there were some mythical “Golden Age.” Citing nearly forgotten events, he mentioned the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, the Red Scare, and the Balangiga Massacre.  The latter had me stumped until I associated it with an American atrocity carried out in 1901 on the Philippine island of Samar in retaliation for 48 U.S. soldiers slain by villagers supporting nationalist Emiliano Aguinaldo.  In retaliation General Jacob “The Monster” Smith ordered entire towns put to the torch, every Filipino over the age of ten killed, and, most damaging, the population starved into submission.  Up to 50,000 civilians perished.  Smith was subsequently court-martialed, found guilty, and forced into retirement but otherwise not punished. 

Riley Kuzos as Pink Diamond; NWI Times photo by John Luke

Northwest Indiana Comic-Con took place over the weekend in Schererville, featuring cosplay contests and all sorts of displays and items for sale.  One of Steve McShane’s former students was a big fan and wrote  about attending a Comic-Con in Chicago. I included her journal in my forthcoming Steel Shavings (volume 48).

 Julius "Lil Jay" James

In the Post-Trib was one article stating that Gary’s crime rate was down by almost 67% and another reporting on the death of 25 year-old Julius “Lil Jay” James IV, gunned down on the 2300 block of Clark Road shortly after noon.  James was the great-grandson of civil rights leader Reverend Julius James and nephew of IUN’s police chief.  Reverend James, a personal friend of martin Luther King, led the 1964-65 “Gary Freedom Movement” that pressured City Council into passing the civil rights ordinance that established a Human relations Commission with subpoena power to investigate housing discrimination and other forms of segregation.

Film documentarian Nick Mantis spoke to appreciative seniors at a Munster Center Art in Focus presentation.  For the past seven years the Hammond native has been gathering material on Jean Shepherd and had many interesting anecdotes and clips to share, including a brief snippet from an interview with me.  I learned that Shep’s childhood home on Cleveland Street in north Hammond is still standing and that his father (the “Old Man”) deserted the family as soon as younger brother Randy turned 18.  Though a jazz buff, Shepherd hung out with the Beatles in England before they took America by storm and befriended many New York City literary figures and folk singers. His friend Shel Silverstein wrote “A Boy Named Sue,” recorded by Johnny Cash, after hearing Shep complain about being stuck with a girl’s name.  

Mantis spoke with one of Shep’s close friends from their early days in New York City who recalled that he enjoyed starting arguments with fellow patrons in diners of coffeehouses.  Verbal jousting was one of Shep’s specialties.  After publication of “Land of the Millrats,” folklorist Richard Dorson invited Shepherd to be featured speaker at a conference in Bloomington.  Deliberately needling  his host, Shep claimed that Gary was not really part of “Da Region,” only Hammond, East Chicago, and Whiting. Over drinks, Shep complained that his books were listed on the New York Timesbest-seller list under non-fiction rather than fiction.  During sessions, he’d be smirking and passing notes containing sarcastic or off-color comments.  Saturday evening he took the stage and put on a hilarious two-hour performance that pre-teens Phil and Dave still remember.

Shep’s cantankerousness alienated both business associates and admirers, including Jerry Seinfeld, who admitted: “He really formed my entire comedic sensibility.  I learned how to do comedy from Jean Shepherd.”  Although Shep narrated “A Christmas Story” (1983), he was ultimately banned from the set because of his incessant carping. The TV series “Wonder Years” was inspired by “A Christmas Story” and Steven Spielberg invited Shepherd to provide input to the creators. He was so ornery and obstreperous the meeting abruptly ended within minutes.  He hated syrupy nostalgia and termed his literary output anti-nostalgia.  Mantis showed a clip where Shep answered a question about whether he had fond memories of growing up in Hammond by asking if one is nostalgic about a cold sore.  Shep died virtually friendless in 1999 at age 78, soon after his fourth wife passed away, having disowned his two children. 

During Q and A I mentioned Indiana University awarding Shep an honorary degree in 1995 and at a luncheon on my campus beforehand having everyone rolling in the aisles recounting how, after getting discharged from the army, he went to take classes at IU’s East Chicago extension and was made to take an aptitude test.  Two days later a guidance counselor told him that results indicated he should become a dentist.  Shep’s concluding remark: “I walked out of that building and never looked back.”  I’m certain Shepherd was truly touched to receive the honorary degree and making fun at the university in a 20-minute bit was the Hoosier humorist’s way of showing appreciation.

When I’d arrived, every seat appeared to have been taken.  I grabbed a chair from up front and plunked it down next to two ladies.  One recognized me from previous talks but the other asked how I’d learned about the Art in Focus  series. When a snippet from Mantis’ interview with me appeared on the screen, I nudged her.  Afterwards, Nick thanked me for coming and I said hi to bridge acquaintances Mary Kocevar and Marcia Carson.

How I Miss Obama

“Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or a politics of hope?  Barack Obama

At bridge Helen Booth gave me a copy of a column by Max Boot, former foreign policy adviser to John McCain and Mitt Romney and author of the forthcoming book “The Corrosion of Conservatism: Why I left the Right.” Boot’s opening sentence reads, “How I miss Barack Obama.  And I say that as someone who worked to defeat him.”  He continued:

    I criticized Obama’s ‘lead from behind” foreign policy that resulted in a premature pullout from Iraq and a failure to stop the slaughter in Syria.  I thought he was too weak on Iran and too tough on Israel.  I feared that Obamacare would be too costly.  I fumed that he was too professorial and too indecisive.  I was left cold by his arrogance and cult of personality.

  Now I would take Obama back in a nanosecond.  His presidency appears to be a lost golden age when reason and morality reigned.  All of his faults, real as they were, fade into insignificance compared to the crippling defects of his successor.  And his strengths – seriousness, dignity, intellect, probity, dedication to ideals larger than himself – shine all the more clearly in retrospect.

  Those thoughts are prompted by watching Obama’s speech in South Africa on the 100th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s birth.  I was moved nearly to tears by his eloquent defense of a liberal world order than Trump seems bent on destroying.

  The first thing that struck me was what was missing. There was no self-praise and no name-calling.  Obama has a far better claim than Trump to being a “very stable genius,” but he didn’t call himself one.  The sentences were complete and sonorous – and probably written by the speaker himself (imagine trump writing anything longer than a tweet – and even those are full of mistakes).  The tone was sober and high-minded, even if listeners could read between the lines a withering critique of Trump’s policies.

  Obama denounced the “politics of fear and resentment,” the spread of “hatred and propaganda and conspiracy theories,”and “immigration policies based on race, ethnic, or religion.”  Gee, wonder who he had in mind?  He rightly noted that “we stand at a crossroads – a moment in time at which two different visions of humanity’s future compete for the hearts and minds of citizens across the world.”  He then rejected the dark vision propagated by Trump and the dictators he so admires.

  “I believe in Nelson Mandela’s vision,” Obamasaid.  “I believe in a vision shared by Gandhi and King and Abraham Lincoln.  I believe in a vision of equality and justice and freedom and multiracial democracy, built on the premise that all people are created equal with certain inalienable rights. And I believe in a world governed by such principles is possible and that it can achieve more peace and more cooperation of a common good.”  Even though I was thousands of miles away, I felt like cheering those stirring words.

Helen Booth mentioned recently visiteingrelatives in Lewisburg, West Virginia. When Dick Jeary was grooming me to be his successor as Sigma Phi Epsilon social chairman at Bucknell, I booked a band from Philadelphia, Tommy and the Tones, to play at the fraternity’s Homecoming dance.  They didn’t arrive until minutes before they were scheduled to start, having gotten off the turnpike at Harrisburg but then followed signs to Lewisburg West Virginia rather than Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.

Bucknell’s alumni magazine focused on the 1950s.  Tuition in 1950 was just $500, and Art Linney won the 1953 Mr. Ugly Man contest after receiving the most change, $113.20, in his milk bottle.  Novelist Philip Roth, author of “Portney’s Complaint,” was a 1954 graduate. Bucknell’s president between 1954 and 1964 was Merle Odgers, whom I saw getting off a bus in Honolulu in 1965 with a woman who may have been his wife while I was attending the University of Hawaii.

 Steinbeck

At Chesterton Library to return Richard Russo’s “Bridge of Sighs,” I spotted his latest, “The Destiny Thief: Essays on Writing, Writers, and Life,” in the new nonfiction books section.  Russo had an epiphany about the importance of tone, mood, andbeing able to assume different identities by reading a description of a brothel in John Steinbeck’s “Cannery Row” (1945) that reminded him of his father’s voice – unsentimental, cynical, realistic.  Steinbeck had written: 

    Up in back of the vacant lot is the stern and stately whore house of Dora Flood; a decent, clean, honest, old-fahioned sporting house where a man can take a glass of beer among friends.  This is no fly-by-night clip-joint but a sturdy, virtuous club, maintained and disciplined by Dora who, madam and girl for 50 years, has through the exercise of special gifts of tact and honesty, made herself respected by the intelligent, the learned, and the kind.  And by the same token she is hated by the twisted and lascivious sisterhood of married spinsters whose husbands respect the home but don’t like it very much.

    Dora is a great woman, a great big woman with flaming orange hair and a taste for Nile green evening dresses.

A celebration of labor leader Eddie Sadlowski’s life will take place in Chicago.  Paul Kaczocha, who described himself as a “wage slave for capitalism since 1967 and still going but not for much longer,”recalled first meeting “Oil Can Eddie” in 1973 in a eulogy titled “A Life Bigger Than The Man.”  Here are the first couple paragraphs:

    I was barely over 21 when I first met Ed Sadlowski. Al Sampter, a US Steel Coke Oven worker with a long history of struggle in the mill and the Union, asked me if he could bring Ed over to talk to me about his campaign to run for District 31 Director of the Steelworkers. At that time there were over a million steelworkers in the Union and District 31 was the largest. Al was a former Communist Colonizer from New York and was part of the grass roots revolt going on in the Steelworkers to democratize the Union and bring in new blood. Workers were upset about a recent dues increase and with giving up the right to strike along with having no right to ratify their contract especially one seen as a surrender of labor’s basic right to withhold our labor. Most importantly the voices of Black, Brown and women workers were absent from the national leadership.

    Al brought Ed, twelve years my senior, to my apartment in Gary one summer evening and I remember thinking that Ed, who was a huge over weight Staff Representative for the Union, was the stereotypic fat cat Union rep. However he talked the talk of trying to change the Union and take out the same people who had run the district for 30 years since the Union’s inception. I was spellbound as his rap touched a nerve in me. I was a young new Union representative at a shop full of young people at a plant that was the newest built fully integrated steel mill in the U.S. - Bethlehem Steel’s Burns Harbor plant. Like Ed’s father my grandfather, helped build the Union and had been a staff representative for the same District that Ed was trying to take over. Ed convinced me to join the cause of changing the Union by taking it over. You CAN beat city hall he was fond of saying. He used to tell me that when you were a Union rep you had to stay on the side of the angels and that some guys would sell out the members over a steak when the boss took them out to dinner. 

Here is the final paragraph of Kaczocha’s essay:

    I would run into Ed all over the Chicago area at different protests and even at a labor history tour of Chicago. We were at one of the Steelworker rallies for steel against imports and he told me that tariffs were no good for the worker. Tariffs raised the price on everything and it just cost workers more to live. One of the last times I spent some time with Ed was in the first Obama election when we took the good part of a day campaigning going door to door for Obama in Gary. Ed told me that he had worked with Obama and that it was going to be a long shot on how much Obama would do for labor. Ed Sadlowski was a different leader, ahead in his time opposing the Viet Nam War, tariffs and favoring a more democratic Union. His candidacy inspired many to a life of Union action way beyond his original campaign. 

I’ve finally gotten around to examining “Ides of March” journals that Steve McShane’s students kept in the spring.  Here’s part of what Traci L. Schwartz wrote:

    Introduction:I’m 44 years old, and my personal version of a midlife crisis comes as a return to school.  It took me 5 years to complete a 2-year associate’s degree at Ivy Tech in Valparaiso because I had to take 5 remedial courses in Mathematics. To say it was difficult is an understatement, I conquered my worst fear  - that I was too stupid to learn algebra.  I decided to pour myself into being a full-time student.  While studying Math, I took only one course at a time. Perhaps this seems like overkill, but I knew what I needed to succeed, and I allowed myself to have it in order to learn.  Last semester was my first at IUN.  Sometimes my family gets sick of me and my education.  My husband Bernie says he’ll be glad when I get done and get a job so he can finally retire.  He is 14 years my senior and has worked as a Teamster while I was a stay-at-home mom. We lived with my mom in Portage, and I took care of my great grandma, Etta Brown, during the daytime, while mom went to work.  She died  in 2000 at age 99. I loved her during my childhood, and through dementia and cancer. My mother’s father’s mother, she was the kindest woman I have ever met. Being Jewish, she introduced me to such strange food like gefilte fish, matzo ball soup, borsch, and macaroons. It was awful when we had to move her from the apartment on Sunnyside Avenue in Chicago, but she was being robbed constantly, and cockroaches had infested her things.  I loved taking her and my daughter to Deep River Park. I miss the simplicity of those days. My second daughter Saylor was born in 2001 and my third Sorenn in 2003.  Soon afterwards, my mom’s father, who was diagnosed with colorectal cancer, came to live with us - staying in the same room his own Mother had used.  She had been a saint, but he was ornery.  He died in 2005. My daughters were all in preschool or elementary school, so I spent most of my time cleaning, cooking, chauffeuring, homework helping, and bill paying.  In 2012 my grandfather’s sister, Millicent, came to live with us.  She had a little dachshund and would not leave its side.  Millicent was almost as sweet as her mom but slightly more assertive.  She was with us for 5 years.  She went daily to the Bonner Senior Center; a bus picked her up and dbrought her back home.  One morning she fell, hit her head on the tire of the bus, and broke 2 vertebrae in her neck. She died shortly thereafter and was buried with her parents, in the traditional Jewish tradition. Our family is not religious, but we sat Shiva for her. I feel guilty for enjoying my education, because I get so busy, taking a full load of classes.  I hope my going to school is making an impression on my daughters, because I do not want them to rely on a man the way I rely on their father or rely on me, as I have relied on my mother.  I want for them to be able to support themselves, and to choose an equal partner. My greatest wish is to graduate before my mom passes away.  I lost my dad in 2010, and he didn’t see me graduate from Ivy Tech in 2016.  

    March 15, 2018:I woke up at 6. I’m trying to look professional because I go to Longfellow New Technical Elementary in Griffith, as a part of my Education field experience under third grade teacher Mrs. Rose Phelan. In the morning I worked on a door display. For lunch I at Burger King, a whopper cost me darned near $6.  I better not get too used to this, I thought, teachers don’t earn enough for this kind of malarkey!  I returned to working on the door, hoping that I did not have oniony whopper breath, but I’m sure I did, and hell with it, the damned thing cost so much, I might as well have some kind of extended experience.  After lunch, Ms. Phalen printed the wording she wanted to use for the door. She decided to make the words look like clouds, so after putting the cloud wording in place, I had 2 types of butterflies, 2 types of bunny rabbits, 3 types of flowers, and a bumble bee. I cut more green stems to add to the largest flowers after placing them, or it appeared they were all just floating in the air. I got many compliments from staff.  I found out, as I worked on the project, that it was a contest, put together by the principal.  

The very best part of my day was when the principal asked if I had to make up a day during my spring break. (Yes, this IS why showing up is half the battle, by the way.) I said “No, I just LOVE it” with a giggle. I told her this (education) is my “Corvette,” my middle-aged dream of being an active part in our world.  Then she asked me if I was interested in working in an urban school.I said “Oh, yes” and barely contained doing my happy dance, and stopping my eyeballs from popping out. On the way home I picked up corned beef, cabbage, turnips, parsnips, carrots, and potatoes! Tomorrow is St. Paddy’s!  

    March 16:  I take my two high school girls to Portage between 7 and 7:15. My 19 year-old, C’Belle, wants to go to school with me for study-time, as she is a student at Ivy Tech.  I come back, and she tells me at 7:30 about the big mess of dog vomit she found. She cleaned it up and took out all the yucky trash WITHOUT being asked.  We studied for 5 hours at IUN’s Anderson Library and afterwards she said she wanted to try a sweet shop in Gary she’d heard about, Z’s Donut Bar, located at 1929 Broadway.  On the way we passed a dilapidated football stadium and several baseball diamonds.  Only in Gary, Indiana.  Z’s was a cute little place and painted to look sweet, in fuchsia and white.  My kid went in. I didn’t want anything, so I waited in the car.  C’Belle returned with a giant milk shake and two donuts!  At home, and my husband needed to pick up a trailer from his brother in Winamac, so we ate out at a place I have been wanting to go, One Eyed Jack’s, known for serving huge, delicious pork tenderloin. 

    March 17: I am cooking. Turnips, and Cabbage, and Carrots, and Potatoes and Rutabega, and CORNED BEEF!  The family will enjoy it today, and then I’ll freeze individual portions to heat up later in the microwave.  My kitchen is steamy, and there are veggie scraps in my rabbit cage. All is good in the world.

    March 23: I am taking new ADD meds and am concerned if I will be able to concentrate enough to do my studies effectively.  My shrink is out of Porter Starke, one of the few low cost mental health providers in the area. Since I have depression, I decided to go to a real shrink instead of my family doctor, who found that my depression is comorbid with ADHD.  This seems logical, as when I was a child, I was thrown out of Catholic school in Markham Illinois due to my parents not wanting to medicate me. In any case, my attention span is poor.  Also I cannot bring myself to start anything without a major interior battle.  It gets really old. I wish that I could afford mental health counseling, but sometimes my husband’s health insurance lapses, and I simply can’t afford it. I loved going when I had a regular therapist. I loved her; she did some bad-ass therapizing.  Anyway, my homework includes typing up a Teacher interview with Rose Phalen at Longfellow and finishing my History notes.  Then I have an online class about development of young children which requires a journal and a discussion over the required reading, and then another field reflection on my Longfellow experience.  My husband got laid off, and I wish I could sit at home, watch my favorite soap, and visit with him, but I have all this. 

Bernie, Traci, Traci's mom, Aunt Millie and Traci's daughters