At the moment, things are actually beautiful here in Los Angeles, where I've made the decision to tough it out. No hurricane will keep me from standing strong with all the people here!! As proof, this is a photo I took from my balcony. As you can see, it's sunny and calm. We're all in this together!
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I don’t have much to add about the excruciating disaster in Lahaina that even touches close to the reporting and video footage, and I can’t put my reaction anywhere in the universe of those whose lives are part of the community. This is not intended to. But that I feel as heart-sick as I do from just two trips to Hawaii, with one visit to Lahaina, speaks to how overwhelming and almost indescribable this conflagration is. I’ve mentioned in the past that my friend Peter Carlisle was Chief Prosecuting Attorney of Honolulu for about 17 years, and served as Mayor there. And I have good friends from Hawaii. So, my appreciation of their deep love of the state and its history from all our talks over the decades has them as its foundation. On one of the trips, I went to Maui and drove to Lahaina to spend a couple days. I didn’t know much about the town, but read up on it, and loved his whaling history. Lahaina has a wonderful, sweet charm that was different from the grace of the rest of the state. It had a sense of the past and world culture that seemed to be living all around you. But most of all, I loved staying at the Pioneer Inn. It permeated the Old World with simplicity and warmth, and I soaked it all up, reveling in knowing not only how it fit into the whaling past, but that people like Mark Twain had stayed there. Its wood structure painted white, with wonderful wood slats in the windows, and a Polynesian sensibility crossed with New England sturdiness. (When I initially posted this article, I didn't think I had a photo I'd taken of the Pioneer Inn, but happily I was able to find it.) In fact, although the trip to Lahaina may have been 35-40 years ago, I had such a strong appreciation of the Pioneer Inn that even after all those years I have still kept a souvenir of the hotel to maintain a connection. Though a small souvenir, but it's brought great memories, a match book. In the back of my mind, I had thoughts of returning to the Pioneer Inn. But the moment I heard there was a fire crushing Lahaina, I know the hotel was gone. And likely the town. When I’ve thought of the Pioneer Inn over the years, I thought of “wood.” And the town had that feel, as well. It wasn’t going to stand against roaring flames. Lahaina would be a place for memory.
And that’s what Lahaina is now. Heart-sickening is the only word for me to describe it, and that doesn’t even come close to doing it justice. It’s not just that everything has disappeared, and that emergency relief will be so difficult for people there to access. But once they do, once they get their FEMA support, once they get their government assistance, once they get their insurance – there’s no Lahaina there to go back to. It’s gone. (There is also one other sickening aspect to this disaster. It’s all the delusional, empty people who point to this soul-crushing loss and try desperately to say “Wait, this wasn’t a natural disaster at all. Look at this photo and that shaft of light. This was from aliens.” Lahaina was a community about the natural world. Nature was at its core. And the winds and heat and flames that tragically came together in the changed climate world we live in today sadly become a part of that history. Those who try to make it about something conspiratorially phantasmagoric not only demean themselves, but spit on the lives of all those who have lived in Lahaina over the centuries. Happily, they missed by a lot.) People will return. Lahaina will be rebuilt. Chicago burned down in flames, and returned to become one of the great cities of the world. And there will be a thriving Lahaina. At some point. But Lahaina is different, Lahaina was about history. And those structures are no more. Those museums are no more. But at least the thing about history is that it’s always there where it was. So, while the Lahaina that returns will be new and different, there will be in its spirit the Lahaina that always was and will always be. That may not be enough in many ways. But it’s something. And it’s important. Aloha. I was trying to figure out what to write today about Indictment Day on Tuesday. I’m not a lawyer, so I can’t add much in analyzing the minutely-detailed law. And I can’t add much to what analysts said on TV for nine non-stop hours. The most I can write is, “Yippee!” but that’s a pretty short column for such a notable day.
By the way, yes, I know this is a “Solemn Day” (tm) when a former U.S. President is indicted for trying to overthrow the government. But it’s not like this is Trump’s first indictment, it’s Indictment Number Three. And he’s also been found liable in court for committing the equivalence of rape. And we all lived through the Mueller Report describing collusion with Russians, two impeachments, an Insurrection, three years of crying about non-existent stolen elections, and pushing the Republican Party towards fascism. So, while the concept of a “Solemn Day” (tm) is totally true, we’ve already lived through our share of Solemn Days, and it’s really closer at this point to something more like -- “Finally! It’s About Time!!! Day”. So, how then to address yesterday’s “overthrow the government” indictment and add some totally different perspective that is not being gotten from the news??? And it occurred to me. The Glasser Files. I have a great friend with whom I regularly trade emails about all manner of subjects, including an intense interest in politics. He’s always asked to be kept out of being mentioned in columns here, so I was stunned in our exchanges yesterday when he said, yes, you can use my name. (I love his reason when I expressed my shock. He teaches college these days, and said, “My students know your column -- I use it to teach argument essays -- and they don't want me to be a wuss.”) So, let it be known, students, that Professor Barry Glasser is officially no wuss. (I doubt seriously that Barry goes by “Professor,” but I like the way it sounds.) A little background on the good fellow, to put this in perspective. Barry is a maven of movies. Early on, he and I wrote a couple of screenplays together. He’s in the Writers Guild, and was a seriously-impressive PR expert at several studios, as high as VP of Publicity. He’s written several produced movies, notably Gold Diggers with Christina Ricci and Anna Chlumsky. Created a couple of animated series (one of which I wrote for). And has produced five movies and two TV series. He’s directed, is a playwright, and is a member of the Motion Picture Academy, joyfully participating with the International Film Committee, inhaling their movies at Oscar time as only he can. A few years back, Barry wanted to get back into teaching. He left Hollywood (though has continued writing and producing) and got hired by a college in Texas. (Yes, I know, Texas. But somehow he found a political oasis in the state that has let him live without screaming in agony 24/7.) I know his students are aware that Professor Glasser has Hollywood credentials. I don’t think they have any idea how lucky they are to have him teaching them. Barry is a deeply solid, thoughtful guy with a great sense of humor. A rock of substance and with great enthusiasm when it’s deserved. But he has two other qualities that stand out. One is that he binges streaming series and movies to the degree that he has reached the exalted, Black Belt level of Master Guru of Bingeing. He’ll get caught in binge cycles so exhaustive that sometimes I expect him to send out an S.O.S. plea for “Dear God, help! I’m drowning in an ocean of binge!” And this overlaps with the second quality – his love of politics. He’s impatient in his politics worthy of a Binge Master. So much so that he dives in and gets involved with campaigns. His binge-like impatience with politics often leads him to a state of grave concern when things he wants don’t happen fast enough, for which one of my official duties is to "talk me off the ledge.” As any election nears, he’s in full-angst mode. He’s wanted Trump convicted since, I think, halfway through his first year in office. (“What is taking them so long??!! When is he going to jail?!”) So, when news started to break yesterday that something very serious seemed up in the D.C. courts, I knew that Barry was likely glued to the TV (it’s Summer break) – watching, waiting, on the edge of his seat in binge-anxious hell and fevered anticipation. Which leads us to my thought of taking the perspective of Trump’s latest indictment away from standard TV commentary and putting it through the uncommon lens of Glasser World. When news seemed at a higher pitch that something maybe, possibly might be about to happen, I knew that the semi-calm of television analysts was not matched by what was even remotely going on with my friend. So, I sent the following email to him -- Subject: Calling all Emergency Vehicles in Texas “Please be put on standby alert and head to the Glasser residence where homeowner may have need of oxygen from anticipatory hyperventilation and post-celebration excess.” I got a barrage of emails in return. Lots of “Are you watching this? Are you watching this??? When will they indict him already???!!” That brought forth another email from me -- “I hope you padded your walls, because I have this image of you bouncing off them like a pinball.” And then, finally, he got his six-year wish, and it was announced that Trump had at last been indicted for trying to overthrow the government. I didn’t even wait to hear from him – for starters, I wasn’t sure if he might have entered a state of nirvana so high that he might not be able to type. So, I wrote to him first – Subject: Weather report update from Texas “Attention all news stations: “There is NOT – repeat, not – a tornado in the state. That explosion of air was only Barry Glasser exhaling his years-pent-up energy.” To his credit, he loved these notes. I suspect it’s because he was aware that I was probably pretty close to accurate. His emails flew in furiously, as he binged writing them -- “Loved Ari Melber's line: This isn't a speaking indictment, it's a shouting indictment.” “Finally. What Trump himself knew we needed. Retribution.” “Jack Smith charged so smartly. And he drew a killer judge. God was present.” “It's like watching the greatest Frankenheimer political thriller ever conceived.” Leave it to Barry to throw in a movie allusion. John Frankenheimer, one of the all-time great directors of political thrillers. The Manchurian Candidate, Seven Days in May, Black Sunday, The Train, French Connection II, Ronin, as well as Birdman of Alcatraz, Grand Prix, The Rainmaker…and more. In fact, Barry kept returning to his love of John Frankenheimer movies. And he tied it incredibly cleverly into an overlap with current movie culture, writing -- “Again. Today's theme is not Barbenheimer. It's Frankenheimer. Seven Hours in August. The moment to moment suspense. Breathtaking.” I was laughing throughout. Not only because it was all Pure Glasser, but also because I knew he was speaking for so many others, who understood it was a “Solemn Day” (tm), but also “Finally! It’s About Time Day”. Imagining the cyclone of joyful release that must be going on at his home across the Texas prairie, I wrote an email that said in its entirety -- “Glasser Neighbor: Keep it down in there, for God’s sake!! I can hear you across the street! It’s so loud I can’t hear my music and it’s scaring my dogs. Glasser: But Trump was just indicted!!!!!! Glasser Neighbor: Oh. Congratulations. But please keep my dogs in mind.” Popcorn for dinner was brought up. As was popping the cork for champagne. Emails were falling over themselves. It was like a cascade of joy. And I’m sure, as I said, that it was a feeling of paradise held by many households across the country – just not at the same explosive level of visceral, pent-up release. After all, I have no doubt the celebration in his home continued many hours later. Most likely he’s on a political binger. And it will last until the election kicks back into gear, at which point I may have to talk him off the ledge. Though now, at least, he has his indictment safety net built in. * The preceding was brought to you courtesy of a generous endowment from the John D. Rockefeller Charitable Trust. If you know someone with a bingeing problem, call a professional for help, but know that it is curable. This article is dedicated to the Honorary Society for “Students of Barry Glasser”. Past, Present and Future. When in Hollywood, visit John Frankenheimer’s star on the Walk of Fame. This is a really great article in the New York Times about composer John Kander who wrote Cabaret, Chicago, Kiss of the Spiderwoman, the scores to the movies All That Jazz and New York, New York, and so much more. And clearly such a deserving subject, at age 96, still working on Broadway. It will not shock you that my favorite line had nothing to do with the theater, but was the description by the reporter about Kander still -- "...making the bed, tight as a drum, as he was taught at Camp Nebagamon when he was 10." For the record, I started at Nebagamon at age 11 (though my friend, Los Angeles Times journalist Patrick Goldstein, who was in my cabin, was a mere kid of 10). And, yes, we did have to make our cots each day, because every cabin was graded by the Day "Push" (a lumberjack term, since the camp was in Wisconsin's North Woods, on the grounds of the original Weyerhaeuser lumber mills) on how clean it was. What the article doesn't note is that two other people at camp with John Kander at the time were brothers William Goldman and Jim Goldman. They all stayed lifelong friends, were roommates in New York, and even collaborated on a musical together, A Family Affair. Later, Kander went off to his legendary career, William Goldman went off to write Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All the President's Mean, and James Goldman went off to write the play A Lion in Winter and the musical, Follies, with Stephen Sondheim. My one quibble with the article is when the reporter says that Kander doesn't like the song "New York, New York." I've never heard him say that. All that I've heard him say is the same thing he says in the article. That he "doesn't get it." But not getting why something is SO popular is not even remotely the same as "not liking it." Anyway, how great that he's been getting all this attention -- finally -- at age 96. You can read the terrific article here even if you don't subscribe to the Times, because I've embedded it with a gift subscription link. It will come as no shock to people that I love the Chicago Cubs. And I particularly love the radio team, headed by Pat Hughes. In fact, when I watch Cubs games with my MLB.TV subscription, I use their "overlay" feature that syncs up the radio broadcast to the TV picture, rather than the TV play-by-play. It's not that I have anything against the TV team, they're pretty good. But I love listening to Pat Hughes, teamed up with analyst Ron Coomer. Pat Hughes is just warm and knowledgeable and funny and observant and wonderfully entertaining, just a really terrific broadcaster. And as I noted here a few months back, he was just elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, receiving their Ford C. Frick Award. And the induction ceremony was over the weekend. By the way, Pat is wonderful partnered with Ron Coomer, but when he was previously teamed with another Ron, former Cub great Ron Santo (who was posthumously elected to the Hall of Fame), the two were special -- in fact "unique" might be a better word. As an announcer, Ron Santo bordered on the good side of incompetent but was SO human (he once apologized for being late after an inning break because "I was in the bathroom" and another time brought the family's cleaning woman to the booth), SO funny (intentionally and otherwise), had such an other-worldly phenomenal rapport with Pat Hughes (who clearly protected his broadcasting limitations...) and loved the Cubs SO much that when the two did a broadcast, people in Chicago didn't say they were going to listen to the Cubs game, but rather "The Pat and Ron Show" (something Pat Hughes referenced in his induction speech). In fact, the station's email address for the radio broadcast was "@patandronshow.com".) Anyway, I can't let the day go without embedding Pat Hughes' acceptance speech. It's only 15 minutes, tells some good stories and some funny ones, and much of it is spent praising other people, rather than talking about his career -- which is just so Pat. If this isn't something everyone here wants to listen to, I understand. But hopefully you'll give it a couple of minutes, just to hear how warm and personable he is. With the passing of Tony Bennett today at the age of 96, all the tributes have covered his lengthy, impressive career in detail, so there's no reason to repeat any of that here. I did see him perform in an unlikely venue -- it was at the Consumer Electronics Show, and a company had hired him to sing in one of the casino ballrooms. It wasn't exactly intimate -- casino ballrooms are pretty large -- though it certainly wasn't a big concert hall. And I had a few albums. While most people have their favorite Tony Bennett song, mine is a bit different for a totally offbeat, personal reason most people here will understand. It's his recording of "If I Ruled the World" -- which I loved, not just for the song (which I do), but even more that it's from the British musical I love, Pickwick, that starred my oft-written about here fave Harry Secombe. And I was so happy as a kid to see the show get some attention for his single. It wasn't a #1 hit for Tony Bennett, but modest enough that he later included it on his Greatest Hits, Volume III album. (Imagine having three albums of greatest hits!) And it was popular enough in his repertoire that he chose to re-record it years later on his big hit Duets album with Celine Dion. (All the more notable an unexpected choice, given the mountain of songs he had to select from, since it isn't written as a duet, but is clearly an "I" song, not "If we ruled the world." But obviously a song that was meaningful to him.) The only thing I can add to all the Tony Bennett tributes today is that I actually crossed paths with him once. It wasn’t much -- extremely small, in fact -- but memorable. I wrote about it a couple years ago, but this is an appropriate occasion to repeat the story. To be clear, it's about more than just Tony Bennett, but without telling the full thing for it's proper perspective, the moment would just be a glass a half-full. Actually, more like a quarter-full. At the time, I was in my "dark period" when I was doing P.R. and working for Universal Pictures. We were putting together a very special, “top secret” promotion at the Hollywood Bowl that I was put in charge of coordinating the on-site logistics. This was right after the movie E.T came out and was a massive national phenomenon. The film’s composer John Williams was conducting an evening of his music, which was going to end with a suite from E.T. -- and it would finish with a surprise fireworks display, lighting up the Hollywood Bowl’s dome, sort of like it was a rocket ship. But the real surprise – after the audience had gotten all excited by the fireworks, thinking that was the surprise -- was that the “real E.T” was going to waddle out on stage, in person, shake John William’s hand, turn and bow to the audience and then waddle off. Putting it all together was a total secret from everyone – even Tony Bennett who was the opening act that night. Not a word was leaked. But right before The Moment, we were backstage, downstairs in a dressing room, setting things up and that’s when we finally let everybody know. When we and E.T. got upstairs and were waiting in the wings, I got my own surprise: I saw that Tony Bennett had stayed around, left his dressing room, and come up and joined us, excited for the big moment which he wanted to see. I always thought that was great and showed a real warm personality – it wasn’t a case of “Okay, I’m done, I did my concert, I’m out of here.” He wanted to see the cool moment, which at that time of the E.T. phenomenon was really a notable part of pop culture history, and seemed almost giddy waiting with us. If I recall correctly, he said his kids would be thrilled by this. And it was great. The audience loved the concert, both halves. And when the E.T. suite began, the recognizable themes of this phenomenon ratcheted up the audience's reaction higher. But then when the first few fireworks started, timed to the music building to a crescendo, they were shocked and began cheering. And then the bowl itself lit up entirely with fireworks exploding into the sky, and the audience began going wild – because they thought they’d seen it all. But backstage off in the wings, we were so excited because we knew that they hadn’t even seen the surprise yet! And then…at the right moment, as the cheering built to a peak, we said – “Go.” And E.T. waddled out on stage – keep in mind that, as I said, this was at the very height of the movie’s phenomenon, and also no one had ever seen E.T. in public before – and to our surprise, the reaction was not at all what we expected. At first, there was an explosive roar, but it last only about two seconds, and then the entire Hollywood Bowl, over 16,000 people, became instantly silent. Everyone was riveted and watching and wanted to see if E.T. was going to say anything (he didn’t) and didn’t want to miss a second of what was happening. Only when he turned to leave and was almost off the stage did the place start cheering again. This is a photo I had someone take backstage, literally seconds before we left the dressing room to go upstairs to the stage. It’s a little out of focus because we were all literally rushing to time our arrival onstage to the very last moment before the music ended, still so as not to give anything away to anyone -- and I stopped the departure for a few seconds to get the picture. (I didn’t care, I was going to get the picture!!) But I knew we couldn’t wait for the guy to get everything in focus, if it wasn’t already. We made it up in time, I wasn't fired, and all of us waited in the stage-right wings, as I said. "All of us" at this point included Tony Bennett. Excited, anticipating and very memorable. Memorable now, for another reason. I didn't remotely know Tony Bennett, but I'm glad I got to cross paths with him. And see him genuinely pleased by something that was no more, but no less than a wonderful pop cultural moment. His own pop cultural moment lasted 73 years. |
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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