Showing posts with label Brownsville Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brownsville Girl. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Killing the Mockingbird: A publishing industry lament


I’ve had a number of people ask me if I’m going to read Harper Lee’s newly released 1957 novel “Go Set a Watchman.”

I will not.

Reading belatedly that Atticus Finch hates blacks would have the same effect on me as watching a newly released “Lone Ranger” program and seeing the Masked Man say his horse Silver sucks.

Lee, 89, is now the author of books that will be remembered for defining two American epochs.

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” published in 1960, is the story of how one strong man can make a difference in a town crushed by racial hatreds.

“Go Set a Watchman,” published this month, is ostensibly the story of Scout’s return to Macomb to find the father consorting with Klansmen and bereft of the moral honor she so idealized.

In fact, “Go Set a Watchman,” is a tale of how greed and slimy corporate manipulation can supersede the wishes of a once-vital 89-year-old woman to manufacture a phony literary event in order to enrich Rupert Murdoch.

Ain’t that America?

If Harper Lee had wanted “Go Set a Watchman” published, she’d have done it decades before she wound up in a nursing home with a security guard at her door charged with admitting only those on the pre-approved “trusted” list.

She’d have taken steps to do so while her caretaker sister was still alive, not suspiciously two months after she’d died.

She’d have done it, surely, before she became wheelchair-bound, partially deaf and blind and suffering from acute memory loss.

And here I’ve always thought the publishing industry was only ruthlessly cruel to those of us who hadn’t published one of America’s greatest novels.

What’s next?

Will HarperCollins exhume Twain’s corpse, squirt it with perfume, and prop it up for a Times Square book signing?

“To Kill a Mockingbird” has been a beloved novel for most Americans for more than 50 years.

It’s been that way for me for two.

The admission, I understand, makes me a bit a literary Lilliputian. But I just skipped that assignment and never picked it up.

In fact, you could say I inadvertently came to Harper Lee through Alistair MacLean.

As literary titans go he’s not in Lee’s class, but he was pivotal to my early love of books. MacLean was the old WWII Royal Navy torpedo man who wrote the stories that thrilled my youth.

Anyone remember these titles?

“Where Eagles Dare,” “Ice Station Zebra,” “Breakheart Pass.” MacLean authored more than 30 novels — take that Harper Lee — and all were riveting tales of evil Nazis, crooked despots or maniacal terrorists.

Many of these were made into blockbuster movies. Clint Eastwood’s role in “Where Eagles Dare” remains his highest body count.

Then there is maybe the best of them all, “The Guns of Navarone,” starring the peerless Gregory Peck.

To this day if I see it on, I’ll record it just so I can see Peck brandish a pistol and shout at pasty David Niven, “Now, you’ve got me in the mood to use this thing and, by God, if you don’t think of something I’ll use it on you! I mean it. Now, go on.”

It led me to want to see everything Peck’s filmed.

Bob Dylan understood this when in 1986 he made Gregory Peck the focus of his sprawling, 11:05 epic, “Brownsville Girl.”


“Yeah, I’m standing in line in the rain to see a movie starring Gregory Peck
But you know it’s not the one I had in mind.
He’s got a new one out now.
I don’t even know what it’s about.
But I’ll see him in anything so I’ll stand in line!”


Of course, I eventually saw Peck in his greatest role, “To Kill a Mockingbird,” playing the character he loved above all others.

And, finally, I read the book. It is magnificent.

Peck became close friends with the author. His son Stephen told reporters he wishes his father was still alive so he could have protected her from the Murdoch greedmeisters desecrating her legacy.

“He so deeply felt the words he said in ‘Mockingbird’ you could barely separate the two,” Stephen said. “That was his best self. Those were his deepest, most closely held ideals. He was thankful everyday he got that part.”

Would Peck have played Finch in the new book?

“I’m not at all sure my dad would have played that one.”

So, no, I won’t be reading “Go Set a Watchman.”

I’ll instead re-read again and again and again “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

I’ll do so until I become competent to write a fitting sequel to the prequel, one that will again elevate one of America’s greatest characters to his rightful pedestal.

That will obviously leave one task to restore Lee’s legacy.

Resurrect Peck!



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Monday, January 28, 2013

Bring back duels & the art of the draw


We could reduce both gun violence and the federal deficit in one fell swoop by reviving a 17th century custom denounced by both Benjamin Franklin and George Washington as too senselessly violent.

Yes, it’s time to bring back the duel.

I love old westerns. Hell, I love new westerns.

Stories from what we used to call the “Wild West” always have me wondering whatever happened to the art of drawing a gun -- and I’m not talking about with a pencil, something that today would certainly earn a kid an emergency session with the school psychiatrist.

No, I’m referring to the lightning lifting and triggering of a pistol from a holster in one move that meant doom to horse thieves, cattle rustlers and grabby scoundrels who tried to get a mite too friendly with Miss Kitty.

I’ll bet they don’t even teach the fast draw anymore. Why bother?

Today’s gun lovers are so impatient to kill something that they don’t have time for the split-second draw, much less background checks or five-day waiting periods.

It wasn’t like that in “The Gunfighter,” from 1950, which has the great tag line, “His Only Friend Was a Gun! His Only Refuge, a Woman’s Heart!”

It’s one of my favorite movies. Bob Dylan’s, too.

Dylan in 1986 made the Gregory Peck film the focus of his 11:05 enigmatic epic,  “Brownsville Girl.”

The movie tells the story of the late, great Jimmy Ringo, the fastest gun in the west. He is a mythic figure both revered and feared for his legendary draw. He is also haunted by the knowledge that every where he goes some squirt will be there eager to make a name for himself by goading him into a duel.

And the bodies keep piling up.

By Ringo’s count there were 12 dead men over a dozen years, or less than half of what Adam Lanza managed in a few minutes at Sandy Hook Elementary.

The ending is unforgettable, at least to me and Dylan.

“Brownsville Girl” recounts the scene where the local punk shoots Ringo in the back and how the marshall beats that kid into a bloody pulp with the crowd screaming to string him up by the neck for his cowardly kill.

Paraphrasing the dying gunfighter, Dylan sings, “Turn him loose! Let him go! Let him say he outdrew me, fair and square. I want him to feel what it’s like to every moment face his death . . .”

Ringo’s dying lament means the kid’s destined to roam a world full of pistoleroes now determined to make their name doing to him what he did to Ringo.

Dueling would restore that sense of honor and consequence to gun ownership.

Dueling began to fall out of favor in America in 1804 when Vice President Aaron Burr killed U.S. Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton on a popular Weehawken, New Jersey, dueling ground. 

Five men were present, but none witnessed. According to custom, the men had their backs turned to give them plausible deniability in the event of prosecution.

It wouldn’t be like that today. In fact, it would be bigger than the Super Bowl.

There’d be sponsors, beer and truck commercials, pageantry and maybe public service announcements from Wayne LaPierre advising kiddies to not try this at home without proper supervision.

Just imagine today if Joe Biden challenged Tim Geitner to a duel over some perceived insult.

Or, better, Biden and Hilary.

The pay-per-view proceeds could go to trim the deficit.

Another benefit could be that the spectacle might actually reduce violence elsewhere by giving Americans with an insatiable blood lust a good quick fix.

It might inspire our armed kids today to practice their quick draw skills. Naturally, they’d want to test them on one another. Duels could become a part of our weekend neighborhood entertainment.

They could hold them right there on the lawns after Saturday afternoon bocci matches.

This would be vastly preferable to the sorts of copy cat crimes we see with things like Bushmaster AR-15s.

Who knows? Duel revivals might herald a return to the more quaint times from more than 200 years ago.

You know, times when the idea of two men firing two bullets at each other was so horrific that two of our Founding Fathers deemed it too senselessly violent.


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