Monthly Archives: April 2008

You need to read this.

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[I don’t mean the RtB blog, which I hope you read every day anyway.]

Every American needs to read the book I read last summer, after I’d forgotten about it for almost 30 years. Click the picture to get a better look so you can identify it at the library or the bookstore. You could also borrow my tattered copy.

Why do I say read this ? Because if you think that America has always had her arms, lands and ports open to the tired, poor and huddled masses yearning to breathe free — you need only look as far as the United States government’s shameful behavior from 1840-1890 to be slapped back to reality.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is based on first-person and government sources, interviews and actual letters written by Native Americans and US military and government personnel. Author Dee Brown unearthed documents that were hidden away – and likely forgotten – for a hundred years. What resulted in 1970 was an account of the real experiences of “Indians” in America (by the way, they were the true Americans – not the white people who came from Europe). It is a profoundly heartbreaking account of lies, intolerance, cruelty, ignorance and ultimate betrayal.

Here is an exercise in empathy.

Imagine being offered a beautiful gift by someone you trust; someone who you believe has your best interests at heart and who cares about the welfare of your family. As you reach out to accept this lovely gift, your friend slaps your face as hard as he can.

A little while goes by, and your friend returns, bearing another gift. You are a bit wary…you still remember the sting and humiliation you suffered last time. But your friend is sincere; he wants you to know that he is being truthful and all is well. He looks at you with eyes full of respect and friendship. Your heart melts and you are won over. With a smile on your face, your faith restored, you gratefully reach for the gift, only to be slapped across your face once again — except harder this time.

And that is what happened to Native Americans at the hands of their “friends,” the United States government. Over and over and over. Gifts of treaties, treaties and more treaties — as if the land was the white man’s to give in the first place. Treaties and promises, all broken. All lies. All in the name of greed, but covertly painted the pretty colors of Christianity and Manifest Destiny.

Feh.

You might wonder why the Indians kept believing the promises of the “Great Father” (whatever American president was sitting at the time). Were they just gullible? Stupid? Both?

Not by a long shot. They simply believed that people were inherently good and respectful of those who had lived on the land for generations beyond memory. Unfortunately, they sorely misjudged the American military.

Navajo, Sioux, Cheyenne, Ute, Peyote, Apache. All viewed as “savages” because they dressed differently, worshiped differently, and lived by different laws. Armed with a pathetic mission based on selfish lust for more and more land, the US government set about driving these people from their ancestral homes, and eventually onto reservations, where they lived a humiliating and suffocating existence. And the story only worsens from there.

Bury My Heart is not beach reading, for sure. It takes a considerable amount of fortitude to read chapter after chapter of accounts of inhumane (and indeed, inhuman) treatment of people whose repeated arguments that “we can all live together in peace, and share the land” went unheeded, and were repaid with such cruelty that some tribes were obliterated completely from existence.

The Native Americans had finally had enough, and started to fight back — and sometimes, to fight first. Humans can only be pushed so far.

Read this incredible book to see just how far they were pushed. It will amaze you, anger you, and break your heart.

Side note: I want to rent the movie that HBO made of the book. It won the Emmy for “Best Movie Made for Television” in 2007. If you’ve seen it, let me know what you thought of it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Photo credit: Treaty signing by William T. Sherman and the Sioux at Fort Laramie, Wyoming.
Photographed by Alexander Gardner, 1868. The National Archives: www.archives.gov

“A man appeared on a flaming pie…

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…and said, ‘From now on, you are Beatles with an A.'” – John Lennon

And so it was, in August of 1960.

And so it ended, on this day in 1970. It was a Thursday (I looked it up). That night, my local radio station (WOKY-AM, “Mighty 92” in Milwaukee) played an evening-long tribute to the Fabs, ending sometime late – I can’t recall the time exactly, but it was way after my bedtime as a 5th grader. I remember putting my transistor radio under my pillow so as not to be caught listening on a school night, and bawled crocodile tears onto the pillow case as the DJ said what a “great ride” it had been, and closed the program with “The Long and Winding Road.”

I remember getting Paul McCartney’s first solo album (McCartney) shortly after that, and playing it like 50 times in one day. “Maybe I’m Amazed” blew me the heck away. I couldn’t get enough of it. I cried over it.

Fast-forward almost four decades, and here I am, still loving the Lads, as my friends and family know all too well. Over the years, I’ve learned much of the “real” story behind JPG & R’s rise to fame, and I must say I am sadder as well as wiser for it. I’ve read almost every Beatles book ever published, and own quite a few myself.

Most disappointing to me was to find that Paul was a bigtime control freak; a shrewd, shameless self-promoter with visions of personal grandeur and an ego the size of Paraguay. Near the end of the Beatles’ time together, the other three decided that Paul was no longer going to call the shots for the band, and they quietly and privately walked out on him. Then, appearing ever the boss and refusing to be outdone, Paul declared via news conference that he was leaving the Beatles, and that the band was no more.

Although the personality conflicts started as early as the Hamburg years (to be expected when four young men live, eat, play, work, sleep and travel together for months on end), the unraveling process really began with the recording of The Beatles – better known as the “White” album.

John thought many of Paul’s songs (such as “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”) were “crap,” and bristled at Paul’s constant wild ideas for movies and business projects. George was sick of Paul forever telling him how to play things on his guitar, and Ringo walked out in disgust when Paul decided that he himself would play drums on a couple of tracks on the album. Basically, the writing was on the wall.

All this is not to say that the Beatles’ break-up was Paul’s fault. All four Beatles were very successful, and looking to go their separate ways. They were serious artists who had grown up – and apart. Yoko Ono was just one piece of the puzzle, despite widespread, erroneous belief that she was the cause of the split. [Still I couldn’t resist this photo op while at Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum in Manhattan a few years ago.] Besides, with John’s untimely, tragic death, and George succumbing to cancer, I can’t say it all really mattered. The Beatles would have come to an end anyway.

Thank God we still have their music.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Yearning for a beat-down

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So have you been following this Yearning for Zion tragedy in the news? Over 400 children were removed from the rural Houston “YFZ” compound amid charges of sexual abuse by adult men living there. Unbelievable. Fifteen-year-old girls having babies from 50-year-old men? Someone had to stand up for these kids, and I’m glad the neighbors got suspicious and called the cops.

At least they got them out with no violence, unlike the 1993 tragedy not too many miles away in Waco, when 74 members (including many children) of the “Branch Davidian” religious sect burned to death while national TV cameras rolled. I don’t think then-Attorney General Janet Reno ever lived it down.

David Koresh was a wackjob, no doubt about it. He started the Branch Davidian sect as a breakaway from the Seventh Day Adventists, and moved himself and all his followers into a compound near Waco, Texas. He called it “Mount Carmel.” He talked a lot about the coming Apocalypse.

A UPS driver called the law after he noticed a package bound for Mount Carmel had broken open, revealing automatic weapons and ammo. This touched off one of the most violent – and ultimately disastrous – standoffs in American history.

It’s not all that it seems. Usually, we think, “Oh, religious fanatic who’s holding innocent people against their will…he deserves what he gets.” I’m not so sure.

From all I’ve seen and read in the ensuing years, the women and children in the compound tried to convince ATF thugs who came to smoke them out that they were actually sincere in their desire to stay with Koresh and their husbands. It’s all a jumble of hearsay and conflicting evidence.

PBS (with whom I don’t always agree, by the way) did an exhaustive program on it, as have many others. I think this was a tragic case of government overreaction that degenerated into mass murder. The whole situation was vile.

And now I’m late.

Fink out.

DVD Review

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I watched Sweeney Todd for the 4th time last night. Awesome.

I never really liked the Broadway version. I’d heard it a few times, but was basically unimpressed with all the warbling opera singer voices. [I like opera; just not in that setting.] But there’s something very different about this movie.

Everyone who knows me knows I’m a Depp-o-maniac. It’s not just Johnny’s presence that made it a great movie to me, although his presence definitely didn’t hurt. It’s the music; more specifically, the singing. Although every voice in the film could be categorized as “untrained,” I think that’s what sealed the deal for me, musically.

Depp’s voice is striking and full of character. Helena Bonham Carter sings the extremely difficult Mrs. Lovett role with light, straight-tone simplicity, making Patti LuPone’s Broadway rendition even more unappealing. [That girl shouts. I don’t like it.]

The role of the evil Judge Turpin is played by Alan Rickman – best known as Professor Snape in the Harry Potter movies – and he does quite nicely. One doesn’t hear true bass in musicals very often.

Everything seems so easily sung in the movie, but non-music people need to know that none of these roles were spared any vocal work by genius Stephen Sondheim.

Perhaps the most impressive singing is done by then-14-year-old Ed Sanders, who played Toby, the street urchin “adopted” by Mrs. Lovett. The role is usually played by an adult in the stage version, and the music is intensely difficult. Too bad the kid’s voice has changed by now.

Even Sacha Baron Cohen did a convincing job on his singular feature song. I’d actually like to hear him do some serious stuff to see what he’s made of (“Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir” was a character piece).

Best songs from the movie: “Epiphany” and “A Little Priest.”

The only disappointment – and for me it was huge – was the voice of Jayne Wisener, who played Johanna, Benjamin Barker’s daughter. Ugh. Gorgeous opening tone on the difficult “Green Finch and Linnet Bird,” but then it was all ruined by sloppy, wobbly, uncontrolled vibrato. This from a 20-year-old beautiful girl…she sounded like an aging church choir soprano.

Outside of that one drawback, the film is deliciously dark and disturbing. Ok, I admit I always close my eyes at the throat-slashing, but I can use my imagination.

A friend is coming over Thursday night to watch what will be my 5th viewing of it – should be fun. You need to watch it again, too. Right now. I’ll wait here.

Speaking of sports

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I’m feeling particularly trivial this morning.

Some Things Everyone Needs to Know About Sports

  1. Joe Nuxhall of the Cincinnati Reds pitched his first Major League game in 1944 — at 15 years old.
  2. Today, 6 April, marks the day in 1896 when the Olympic Games began once again, after a 1500-year hiatus (the Roman Empire declared the games “pagan”).
  3. In 1970, at its first running, the New York City Marathon had 127 participants. Unused bowling trophies were given as prizes. In 2007, over 100,000 people participated, competing for over $600,000 in prize money.
  4. Not really a sports issue, per sé, but since I saw Sam playing with one of these the other day: There are 1,929,770,126,028,800 different color combinations possible on a Rubik’s Cube. I think the farthest number to the left indicates a quadrillion. I also think that’s why I’d throw it against the wall.
  5. Likely the most bizarre incident in Olympic history is Polish-born athlete Stanislawa Walasiewicz, aka Stella Walsh. She won the gold medal in 1932 and the silver in 1936, both for the 100-meter dash. In 1980, at 69 years old and living in Cleveland, she was an innocent bystander in an armed robbery. She was shot and killed. At her autopsy, they pulled the sheet back and discovered both male and female body parts. [It’s never been proven whether she was afflicted with hermaphrodism or whether she was either completely male or female. In my opinion, it really doesn’t matter. Interesting, however.]
  6. Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king from history: Spades – David, Clubs – Alexander the Great, Hearts – Charlemagne, Diamonds – Julius Caesar. [I say “who cares?” as long as each king is surrounded by an ace, queen, jack and ten of the same suit.]
  7. BEST: At Jack Russell Stadium in Clearwater, Florida, on 26 June 1985, organist Wilbur Snapp played “Three Blind Mice” following a call by umpire Keith O’Connor. The umpire was unamused, and Snapp was ejected from the game.

HA. One for the music geeks.

Bon Dimanche, mes amis.