Barbara Bush was on NBC's Today show yesterday morning. Among other things, she was asked her thoughts about her son, Jeb, running for the presidency in 2016.
She replied, "We've had enough Bushes." No word on her response when receiving an email from Jeb, "Thanks, mom." With Mother's Day coming up on May 12, I suspect there is at least one order of flowers being cancelled today. But even closer than that, I'm sure the whole Bush family will be gathering next Wednesday for the official, public opening of the George W. Bush Presidential Library. I have this image of Jeb walking up to his mother, looking at the entire clan that came there from all over and saying to her, "Do you think we have enough Bushes here, too, mom?" That said, this is one of the first times I've agreed with the former First Lady. We had one too many Bushes. A case could be made for two too many, but I'm willing to compromise.
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This is a reprint of a column originally written on The Huffington Post in 2009. And this year is the 10th anniversary of the actual event itself! Some stories simply demand repeating. Or better put, demand not being forgotten. This is one of them April 27, 2009 Oh, Say Can You Sing? A National Anthem to Remember As I prepared to write about an act of uncommon decency by a professional athlete, I realized that calling it that was unfair, that it diminishes what happened, because this was simply an act of uncommon decency, period. That it happened on such a high level and under such a bright microscope might likely stir the heart more, but it's the act itself that is ultimately what stirs us to begin with. Who it was and when it took place simply moves it up the pedestal. Today is the sixth anniversary of Maurice Cheek's moment on the pedestal. There is in the American consciousness for notable performances of the National Anthem at sporting events. Jose Feliciano's evocative singing at the 1968 World Series in Detroit was the first to interpret the "Star Spangled Banner" before a national audience. Because 1968 was one of the most tumultuous years in U.S. history, many at the time were so outraged that it took his career years to recover. Today, the rendition not only seems tame, but one of the most tender and beautiful. (And among the least known. If you've never heard it, do yourself a favor and click here to listen.) Whitney Houston gets mentioned often for her rousing rendition at the 1991 Super Bowl, during the Gulf War. For many, Marvin Gaye's deeply soulful performance at the 1983 NBA All Star is the most memorable. But for sheer emotional joy, it's hard to top what happened on April 27, 2003, before Game 4 of the NBA playoffs between the Portland Trailblazers and Dallas Mavericks. Context only adds to the story. So, once again: This was the playoffs. This is what all professional athletes live for, what their year is about. The regular season is a prelude, an effort to get into the post-season and be in place to win the league championship, to become a part of your sport's history. Everything centers on this. As the start of each playoff game nears, as the roaring crowd is at its highest pitch, as players put on their proverbial "game faces" and the battle is moments from beginning, all external thoughts get filtered out, and focus is completely, solely on their task ahead. The National Anthem, for most athletes, must be one of those external influences. More than most of us, who hear the "Star Spangled Banner" largely on special occasions, professional athletes have heard the National Anthem played before every single competitive game they've played. Game after game repeatedly each season, and season after season, for decades. Relentlessly. As meaningful as the song is, it is also just part of the ritual for a professional athlete, focused on the game, geared up for the game, anxious to start the game. Silent, not singing, maybe not even hearing the music. Waiting for the National Anthem to be played, and finished, so that they can finally start what they're there for. It's likely as much background noise as it is patriotic uplift. And so it must have been as the Trailblazers and Mavericks prepared for their playoff game to start. Stepping out onto the court was Natalie Gilbert, a 13-year-old girl. Just another National Anthem, just another youngster who won a contest, just another two minutes the crowd wanted to get past for the game they were there to see, to start. And she started fine. A little hesitant, since it's a frightening occasion for a child, with a national audience, flashing lights and a military guard. But in her wavering voice, she was prepared. Except that a few lines in, the high pageantry of the moment got her, and something went very wrong. She totally, thoroughly forgot the words. A young 13-year-old child, standing in front of over 10,000 people, lost. Alone. And that's when Maurice Cheeks showed the kind of person he was. Maurice Cheeks had had a very good NBA career as a player. He played for 15 years and was selected to four All Star games. When he retired, he was the all-time leader in steals and fifth in assists. He averaged over 11 points a game. And then he later became a coach, the position he was currently in for the Portland Trailblazers. It was Cheeks who was responsible for his team, responsible for keeping them focused on the game, responsible for guiding them. But he saw a 13-year-old girl in trouble. And that's when Maurice Cheeks showed the kind of person he was. Immediately. Cheeks always had a reputation in the NBA as a good guy. But he was about to prove it on a national stage. And what happened next - not just with Maurice Cheeks, but eventually with all the jaded players whose minds had been previously-focused on their game, an entire stadium of basketball fans there to see basketball, even the opposing white-haired coach Don Nelson - is just enthralling. The moment is wonderful, but how it builds and surprises is even better. And at the end, this tiny girl looking up at the giant of a man - who stayed around, refusing to leave her side and return to his team - with her face awash with relief, a huge hug, and the clear words mouthed, "Thank you," is all you need to see to why it's hard to top what happened on April 27, 2003, before Game 4 of the NBA playoffs for sheer emotional joy. Six years ago today. As they say after a vote, the eyes have it. Or...okay, they don't say that exactly, but it fits here.
Over on the KOST-FM website, of all places, they have an interesting item about a new story from Newcastle University that suggest a way to help stop having things stolen from you -- sort of. It turns out that would-be criminals really don't like a photo of...eyes! "For the study, researchers put a poster of a man's eyes above some of the bike racks on campus. The poster had the slogan, 'We are watching you.' "And they found the bike racks with the eyes above them had 62% fewer thefts than the bike racks without the poster. In fact, thieves clearly gravitated to the bike racks without the poster . . . because the thefts from those racks went UP 63%. "The researchers say this works because it's human nature to, quote, 'care what other people think about us, and as a result we behave better when we [think] we're being observed.'" I find the study fun and fascinating, but I'm not sure I agree with the researchers' conclusion. While they certainly might be right -- if I had to guess myself, I'd suggest that the results has as much to do with the fact that if you're going to steal something, you don't want any suggesting that anyone is watching you or that there might be a camera set up. On Live from Lincoln Center on PBS tonight, they are doing a production of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Carousel. It has an impressive cast, particularly the two leads, Nathan Gunn and the especially-wonderful Kelli O'Hara. Also in the cast are John Cullum, Kate Burton, and Shuler Hensley.
It airs at 9 PM in Los Angeles, and on the East Coast. By the way, there's an interesting story about the relationship between Rodgers & Hammerstein and Frederic Molnar on whose play, Liliom, the musical version of Carousel is based. Molnar was invited to a rehearsal of the show during tryouts. Needless-to-say, Rodgers and Hammerstein were wary about his reaction to how they adapted his play – all the more so since Puccini had wanted to adapt Liliom, but Molnar turned him down. (His quote was, “I want Liliom to be remembered as a Molnar play, not a Puccini opera.) But for whatever reason, he gave permission to Rodgers & Hammerstein. But they were especially nervous since they changed the end (which was far more tragic in the Molnar play to something much more hopeful. I think his play had something like the ghost of Billy Bigelow slapping the daughter, so that she’d understand how hard life is, but she feels it instead as a soft touch. Far different from the hopeful, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Anyway, when the rehearsal was over, Molnar said that he was delighted by the adaptation, and thought it was wonderful, and then added, “And best of all, I like the new ending.” There's a very nice piece over on Truthdig about Jackie Robinson, written by Alan Bara, who writes about sports for the Wall Street Journal, and has a couple of baseball books to his credit, including an upcoming one on Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays.
It’s an interesting and insightful article, well-written and informative, giving some more detail and shadings to the Robinson story tht couldn't make it into the film. Like the author, I too was scratching my head at Leo Durocher being suspended in the film for reasons of morality, living with a married woman, rather than the real reason which gambling. Also, he’s right about Leo Durocher never saying, “Nice guys finish last,” as he does in the film, but it would have been worth nothing that Durocher did “write” a book with that title. However, I do have a few quibbles, mostly about the author's perception of Hollywood and making movies. None made me discount the article – it’s quite good and well-worth reading – just that, like he wishes the movie had gotten everything spot-on right, I wish his article, did, too. (Since I'm going to spend more time here with complaints than praise, that likely will give an imbalanced view of the article. Do know that it's quite good.) The article begins with two paragraphs of complaint that baseball took so long to make a movie about Jackie Robinson and saying how “it seems odd” -- but this shows little understanding of Hollywood. First of all, as Mr. Bara himself notes, there was a movie about Jackie Robinson, and then another one too that he mentions. So, Hollywood probably figured that they’d not only made the movie – but the definitive one, since Robinson himself starred in it. They certainly wouldn't jump right in to make another one right away -- but hen 15 years passed, and the market changed in the mid-60s. Hollywood discovered the Youth Culture, and the world market began to open. In fact, in these last 50 years there have been very few movies about real-life baseball players – in part, I assume because the foreign market is so small for them. There was Cobb and The Babe, but I can’t of all that many others. (Eight Men Out and Moneyball weren’t really about A Player. That leaves Fear Strikes Out, which counts, but was less about baseball than Jimmy Piersall's off-the-field battle with mental illness) So, while he’s right that it’s an oversight, it‘s not remotely as “odd” as he says, justifying him going on at length at the start of the article -- most especially since there were two movies. I also thought his complaining about the scroll at the end (updating the audience) was ridiculous, suggesting that the movie implies this is the end of the story, with happy news about the Hall of Fame for so many people, but that the story really went farther and had sadness. Yeah, that’s the way movies about great accomplishment always end, by noting that the hero got diabetes and eventually died, and there was subsequent sadness in the lives of some of the characters! To mention the difficulties that Robinson's son, Jackie, Jr., had would have been pointless – in part, because Jackie Jr. really isn’t even mentioned in the movie, in the first place. And to complain about “one of the great acts of disloyalty,” when the Dodgers traded Jackie Robinson to the the hated rivals, the Giants, was something I felt far too over the top -- yes, it was a big deal, and Robinson retired rather than be traded, but he was nearing the end of his career, which is why he was traded. And even Babe Ruth got traded – and if not to the Yankees' hated rivals, the Boston Red Sox, but to the city of their hated rivals, the Boston Braves. Players get traded. Legendary players get traded. Players get traded to rivals. It happens. Is it disloyal? Would it have been better than to just cut the player and leave him with nothing? In his updating what happened to the principals, the author also made it sound like the reporter, Wendell Smith, had a sad, tragic end to his writing career, not being able to write a book about Jackie Robinson "in a discrimination as unjust as what Robinson was subject to," In fact Wendell Smith had a distinguished career writing for decades in Chicago, and becoming a TV sportscaster. I know -- I grew up reading him in the ChicagO Sun-Times and watching him on WGN. He also lived until 1972. Why he didn't write a book about Jackie Robinson as society hit the mid-60s and the Civil Rights Movement began to grow, I have no idea. But it doesn't seem unreasonable to suspect that he might have had a chance to do so. Also, what the movie leaves out -- as does Mr. Bara -- is that Wendell Smith was posthumously inducted into the journalism wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame. Finally, I think Alan Bara's criticism of Major League Baseball taking 50 years to retire Jackie Robinson’s number for all teams was misguided. Such a thing had never been done in baseball’s history. (It hasn’t been done in football or basketball.) For baseball to do it at all was remarkable and should be praised, period. Not derided that it took so long. And I don’t think it was “so long.” Most things require at least some time and distance. To be clear, I liked the article a lot, and do recommend reading it. It's very good, and very informative. I just think he made some mistakes, just as he suggests the movie did. (As we all do...) And I’m not sure that I think most of those movie mistakes were problematic. Turner Classic Movies ran Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines on Thursday. I didn't realize until too late, but still manage to catch a lot of it. This was always one of my favorites of the big epic all-star cast comedies that were made in the 1960s, the best of which (for me) were the first two -- It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Word and this one. Later ones included its sort-of sequel, Those Daring Young Men in Their Jaunty Jalopies; The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming; and The Great Race. The Great Race might well have been the most successful, and I liked it very much -- and liked them all, to varying degrees. But what I particularly liked about Those Magnificent Men when I saw it in the movie theaters was that they played it pretty straight forward, for a comedy, as realistically as possible. The Great Race, as funny as it is, is intentionally an over-the-top spoof of those kinds of movies and the silent comedies. Terry-Thomas -- who is the antagonist in Those Magnificent Men -- shows how it's done without intentionally hamming it up, but rather playing it for real. Sort of. It's not for nothing that he was also in the other of my two favorites here, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Side notes: Those Magnificent Men got nominated for one Oscar -- Best Original Screenplay, co-written by by Jack Davies and director Ken Annakin. Also, I had reason to meet Sarah Miles, who has the female lead, a few times not terribly long ago, related to a film project that never came to pass. I will note that from this great, historic occurrence I was able to introduce her to the dish, mee krob, at a Thai restaurant, which was a revelation to her. There are two other things I absolutely love about Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines -- neither of which have much to do with the movie, yet help create a lasting impression that many people have of it. One are the great drawings by the brilliant artist Ronald Searle that were used for the credits. And the other is...that theme song. Oh, dear, Lord, I love that song, which is also used as background music throughout the film. The words and music are by composer Ron Goodwin, though the story is more than that. Before there was any music, the first two lines were written by Lorraine Williams, who was the wife of Elmo Williams, then the European Managing Director of 20th Century Fox. It was that couplet that convinced studio head Darryl Zanuck to give the film its name. And here it is. The first image you'll see, by the way, is a Ronald Searle drawing. (In fact, the one above.) The other cartoon illustrations that are inserted later have nothing to do with the movie, but the person who uploaded the clip added them on his own. |
AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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