Southern Bookman

GOP senators will ignore House's thorough impeachment case

The House Democrats' impeachment case against Donald Trump has been thorough and convincing, but I doubt any Republican senators will be swayed.

The Democratic arguments, augmented by impressive videos and charts, might influence undecided voters to turn against Trump in the 2020 election. But ratings show that few Americans are tuning in.

As Republican senators show their contempt for the proceedings, and Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts struggles to stay engaged, Trump continues his assault on long accepted environmental policies. The administration's latest move is to weaken restrictions on polluting waterways. That follows efforts to gut the endangered species act and regulations against the release of harmful chemicals.

The New York Times Friday ran a list of the administration's environmental officials, all of them tied to fossil fuel industries. Former oil and coal executives who disparaged climate change science now run the EPA and other agencies with the aim of crippling their mission. Cabinet officials like Agricultural Secretary Sonny Perdue slash research, a basic governmental function.

The House impeachment case, while complete, is a small part of Trump's assault against American values, accepted in the past by Republican and Democratic administrations.

 

 

"Stumptown" scores a hit for network TV

Productions on Netflix, Amazon, Disney and other outposts of the crowded streaming world receive the bulk of awards and critical acclaim.

Echoing the sector's label, streaming channels are now the mainstream, and traditional TV networks the wilderness, outside of sports and reality TV.

But I offer praise for a new show on an old-fashioned TV network: ABC's "Stumptown." Like "The Sopranos" and "Breaking Bad," "Stumptown" appeals with off-beat characters, a mix of comedy and drama, and lurid sex and violence.

Starring Cobie Smulders as the conflicted detective Dex Parios, the show based in Portland, Ore., recalls HBO and AMC hits with its noirish atmosphere. "Stumptown's" flawed characters are likable and compelling.

Adapted by show runner Jason Richman from a comic book series created by Greg Rucka, Matthew Southworth and Justin Greenwood, "Stumptown" shows a raw, gritty Portland reminiscent of Seattle in AMC's series "The Killing." Rather than the laid-back city satirized by "Portlandia," "Stumptown" presents a town of dark criminality and corruption. 

The show's depiction of insular neighborhoods includes an Indian community that runs a casino and upholds its tribal independence. Dex's long connection with the Indian community drives the show's central conflict.

A former Marine suffering from PSTD, Dex is an alcoholic bisexual who swings from self-destructiveness to professional commitment. She drives a beat-up car and uses a broken cellphone. Her intuition, diligent detective work and fighting skill overcome her refusal to follow professional norms.

With her crooked grin, comic skill and unconventional beauty, Smulders raises Dex's appeal. Smulders' physical grace and insouciant air give the character a calmness in tense situations that contrasts with her personal confusions. Dex's mix of professional confidence and vulnerability draws sympathy.

Dex's often exasperated circle of friends and lovers includes Jake Johnson as the ex-con Grey McConnell, owner of the Bad Alibi Bar, and Michael Ealy as the tormented Portland police detective Miles Hoffman. Cole Sibus gives an endearing performance as Ansel Parios, Dex's brother, who strives to overcome Down's Syndrome.

"Stumptown" proves that quality TV lives outside the streaming world.

 

Memories of Chiefs' 1970 Super Bowl win in New Orleans

The Kansas City Chiefs' run to the Super Bowl brings memories of the team's victory in its last appearance in the game 50 years ago.

Hank Stram's Chiefs upset the heavily favored Minnesota Vikings 23-7 in the 1970 Super Bowl at New Orleans' Tulane Stadium. That was the fourth Super Bowl since the long-established NFL merged with the upstart AFL.

Sportswriters still thought the NFL the dominant league, despite the stunning victory by Joe Namath and the AFL's Jets the year before in the third championship game. The NFL's Green Bay Packers crushed the Chiefs and Raiders in the first two Super Bowls, and most believed the fearsome Vikings would dominate the Chiefs, who had finished fourth in the AFL regular season.

But Kansas City quarterback Len Dawson, a journeyman until the formation of the AFL, sparked the Chiefs to an overwhelming win, outshining the Vikings' lauded Fran Tarkenton. Kansas City's defense led by Willie Lanier and Curley Culp proved tougher than the Minnesota "Purple People Eaters" led by Alan Page.

The game was played at old Tulane Stadium, home of the Sugar Bowl before the Superdome's completion. I saw many New Orleans Saints and LSU-Tulane games at the steel structure, built in 1926 and painted green for Tulane's Green Wave. A friend of mine lived in Midtown New Orleans, and we walked several blocks from his home on Willow Street to Saints games, buying cheap tickets from scalpers. The stadium on Tulane's campus was torn down in 1980, its upper levels rusted out by the city's relentless humidity.

Kansas City's strength coach in the team's early years was Baton Rouge's Alvin Roy, one of the first proponents of weight training for athletes. Roy claimed credit for building up Billy Cannon, LSU's Heisman Trophy winner in 1959.

Roy had a weekly 15-minute exercise show Saturday mornings on my father's television station, and I lifted weights at Roy's health club in a futile attempt to lose pounds. The health club was down the hill from the TV station's location on Highland Road. I don't know what happened to Roy's business; that neighborhood deteriorated during the 1970s.

LSU's Johnny Robinson, recently elected to the NFL Hall of Fame, starred at cornerback for the Chiefs. Robinson played in the same backfield with Cannon on LSU's 1958 national championship team and the 1959 team that beat Ole Miss on Cannon's famous punt return in fog-shrouded Tiger Stadium.

Robinson played both offense and defense on coach Paul Dietzel's No. 1 White Team. The Go Team played offense only, and the Chinese Bandits were defensive specialists. Odd as it seems now, individual substitutions weren't allowed then, so each squad's 11 players came in at the same time.

The national champion LSU team beat Clemson 7-0 in the 1959 Sugar Bowl at Tulane Stadium, where the Chiefs won 11 years later. The Tigers' 1959 team also played in the Sugar Bowl, losing 21-0 in its second meeting of the season against Ole Miss, one of the most painful losses of my childhood.

After the 1960 game, Cannon signed competing deals to play for the NFL's Rams, and the new AFL's Houston Oilers. Cannon eventually went with the Oilers, giving the fledgling league credibility. Robinson signed with Lamar Hunt's Dallas Texans, who moved to Kansas City to become the Chiefs.

Robinson played a part in one of my worst childhood memories. For Christmas, I asked for an LSU jersey with Cannon's number 20, and my anticipation grew as the big day approached  But on Christmas morning, I instead received a jersey with Robinson's 34. I remember my keen disappointment.

But as Hank Stram would say, "Just keep matriculating the ball down the field, boys!"

 

Garden & Gun magazine looks at hometown of Charleston

I often resist Garden & Gun magazine, seeing it as a Southern elitist fantasy.

The magazine presents the South as a paradise of resorts, gourmet dining, fascinating cities, craft shops, music and field sports. It leaves out the region's poverty, violence, self-defeating politics and addictions. 

But, as a lapsed Southern gentleman, I find myself succumbing to the magazine. The newest issue, termed February and March, hooked me with a special section on Charleston, the magazine's hometown.

Ignoring the city's slave-market past, Fort Sumter and the Mother Emanuel slayings, the magazine paints an idyllic portrait of the "Holy City." An article discounts reports that the city's famed restaurant scene is beset by over-saturation and declining quality. Other articles that could have been written by the city's tourism bureau tout its historic homes and gracious gardens.

The city's black culture is noted with a mention of Citadel professor Damon Fordham's excellent "Lost Stories of Black Charleston" tour, which unveils historic contributions of black residents in every downtown block.

Fordham, a writer and chronicler of the city's black authors, gives an impressive history of  the origins of George Gershwin's opera "Porgy and Bess" in Charleston writer Dubose Heyward's novel, "Porgy." Heyward authored the opera's libretto, and wrote the lyrics along with Ira Gershwin. Fordham takes the tour past the gentrified location of the opera's Catfish Row.

An in-depth profile of black gay poet Jericho Brown, director of Emory's creative writing program, gives depth to the issue. The compelling article examines Brown's overcoming an unhappy childhood and his commitment to poetry.

The magazine is also flavored by signature columns by Julia Reed and Roy Blount Jr., whose essays distinguish each issue.

Although I'll never like articles on hunting dogs and duck hunting, I suppose my resistance to Garden & Gun is futile and that I'll have to admit that I'm a Southern elitist too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert De Niro's towering career shows decline of Hollywood

Watching Robert De Niro win the Screen Actors' Guild Lifetime Achievement Award Sunday night, I recalled the first time I saw De Niro, in Brian De Palma's "Greetings" and "Hi Mom."

Those satires about a young man avoiding the Vietnam draft are forgotten today in light of later ground-breaking De Niro performances in "Mean Streets" and "Taxi Driver." Watching "Greetings" and "Hi, Mom" in the long-gone Varsity Theater near LSU's campus, I had no idea that De Niro would be the towering star of the next 50 years, although he burst from the screen with lunatic energy in those fledgling roles.

Only rivaled by Jack Nicholson, De Niro has dominated movies during his career, even in his many roles in lesser films. At age 76, De Niro remains prolific, recently appearing in Martin Scorsese's lauded "The Irishman" and Oscar  favorite "The Joker." De Niro at the end of his warm and politically charged SAG acceptance speech looked ahead to appearing with Leonardo Dicaprio in Scorsese's new film, "Killers of the Flower Moon."

De Niro and Nicholson rocketed to fame when movies held a central place in American culture. Later stars like Dicaprio and Brad Pitt haven't reached De Niro and Nicholson's prominence. The early films of Nicholson and De Niro possessed a creative originality that ebbed as theater attendance declined and Hollywood turned to special effects and superhero sensationalism.

This year's Oscar nominations reveal that creative exhaustion. While "The Joker" is provocative, its shock value is more gratuitous than visionary. "The Irishman" treads the same ground as Scorsese's dazzling early work. "Little Women," "Marriage Story" and  "Judy" recycle traditional Hollywood genres. The South Korean film "Parasite" stands out for its originality.

De Niro likes to think of himself as just another working actor. In his best performances, he reached heights achieved by only the greatest artists.

 

 

The world keeps growing hotter

The recently passed decade of 2010-2019 was the warmest on record, according to NASA and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Our world can't grow much hotter, but temperatures keep rising as the world does nothing but make promises and sign treaties.

At least those whose money runs the world are taking notice. Blackrock's Larry Fink, not to be confused with Larry Fine, announced this week that the firm will consider climate change in making investment decisions.

Children's faces break my heart. If climate change action isn't taken very soon, they will know an increasingly uninhabitable world.

Those born in the late 20th century have enjoyed unlimited travel, technological wonders, extravagant entertainment. The price has been dear: soaring carbon emissions, a bill our grandchildren will pay.

Atmospheric carbon has reached 417 parts per million, the NOAA and NASA reports found. Only a couple of years ago, the dire 400 threshold was crossed. Climate change activists say 350 parts per million is the limit for humanity to escape catastrophe.

Watching the college football championship the other night, I was amazed at the heavy traffic rushing by when streets outside the Superdome were shown. Nothing stops the steady flow of cars, spewing carbon into the atmosphere.

The world kept getting hotter in the 1960s, the 1970s, the 1980s, the 1990s, the 2000s. The few warning voices were ignored. The world as we know it is now passing away.

 

 

 

Cecelia Watson's ode to the semicolon

Cecelia Watson's "Semicolon: The Past, Present and Future of a Misunderstood Mark" moves from a brief history of the pesky punctuation mark to a call for liberty from restrictive grammar rules.

White and Strunk's "The Elements of Style" probably has crippled more writers than encouraged them. Subverting the tyranny of usage guardians, Watson calls for writing creativity, especially in the application of semicolons.

A professor at Bard College, Watson doesn't support complete anarchy. She believes in an understanding of grammar, without allowing a slavish adherence to stifle writing.

Watson gives examples of excellent writers who have imaginatively used the semicolon beyond its common role of separating two interdependent complete statements. Passages from Shakespeare, Irvine Welsh, Rebecca Solnit and Raymond Chandler illustrate how semicolon flexibility enhances writing.

The punctuation mark, invented by the Italian scholar and printer Aldus Manutius the Elder in 1494, is shown as an essential writing tool.

She doesn't mention Saul Bellow, but I thought of his liberation from language strictures in "The Adventures of Augie March." A look at the novel's celebrated first paragraph reveals how Bellow's semicolons boost his writing.

Watson's small book, with lovely woodcut illustrations, raises enthralling questions about the philosophy of writing. Grammar purists will warn that she's opening the gates to increased language promiscuity, but her own work shows the effectiveness of elegant English.

Her treatise ends by skewering David Foster Wallace's admonition to students to conform to the standard English dialect.

I'm not sure how far she would go in allowing freedom from spelling and grammar rules. I suspect she would oppose complete abandonment of grammatical norms. However, she speaks for the value of speech outside of narrow syntactical channels. Her thorough historical analysis of how those rules developed points to their arbitrariness.

In Watson's viewpoint, semicolon mastery is a hallmark of vivid writing. Those who might think of her book as a dull pedantic exercise will discover a witty, expansive work touching upon history, philosophy, literary criticism and personal reflections. Her footnotes are like jewels in a stream.

All hail the semicolon; Watson seeks to free the funny-looking mark, and writers' thoughts. Already, I'm throwing semicolons around like doubloons from a Mardi Gras float. I don't fear the language police.

 

Truist name strikes out for Braves stadium

The Braves lost Josh Donaldson on the same day their park was saddled with one of the dumbest corporate names ever.

Truist Park? What does Truist mean?

The merger of Atlanta-based SunTrust Bank and North Carolina-based BB&T brought the misbegotten name, one of those made-up concoctions that give vague connotations of .....something. Truth?  Tryst? The name doesn't correspond orthographically to any English word.

I'm sure the Truist Corp. shelled out millions to some branding agency to come up with the name. If so, that doesn't speak too well for the bank leaders' judgment. They gave up the word "sun," which has so many positive connotations, for a vague neologism.

I don't like corporate names of stadiums, but have come to accept Mercedes-Benz Stadium, Minute Maid Park, etc.

For years, Braves played at Turner Field, nicknamed "The Ted" by AJC sportswriter Jack Wilkinson. Turner Field was an improvement over the former Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium.

Then the Braves fled their inner-city home for the suburbs, and their cozy new jewel of a stadium was called SunTrust Park. As corporate names go, SunTrust was fine, bringing images of sunny afternoons and trusty performances.

But Truist? That just reminds Atlantans that one of its oldest companies, SunTrust, has been folded into a company now based in Charlotte. That loss of a local connection for the Braves comes on top of the team being owned by Liberty Media, the penny-pinching company based in Colorado.

Liberty wouldn't shell out enough money to keep the slugging Donaldson, who also excelled at the hot corner. Now the Braves won't have anyone to protect Freddie Freeman.

Perhaps Austin Riley, the phenom who faded out so quickly last season, will fix that hole in his swing. Or Johan Carmago will bounce back. Perhaps the Braves will make a trade for a power-hitting third baseman before pitchers and catchers report next month.

Whatever the Braves do, they'll have to play at a place called Truist. Can't some Atlanta-based company step up to acquire naming rights to the stadium: Coca-Cola, Delta, UPS or whatever?

That would be the truest for Atlanta fans.

 

LSU's national championship brings memories

LSU's national football championship brings a swirl of impressions and memories.

Coach O. A soulful Ohio kid named Joe. The Tigers, black and white, standing amid falling purple and gold confetti at the Superdome.

Lying in Piedmont Hospital watching the Tigers open the season against Ga. Southern. Joe Burrow's fast-break offense makes me wonder if I'm dreaming from the meds. Is this the Ole War School?

Bewildered and scared people huddled in the Superdome after Katrina flooded New Orleans.

Going to then cozy Tiger Stadium as a boy with my father and mother. Those hamburgers pressed on the bun, with pickles and mustard, pieces of bread stuck on the meat. Coke in a paper cup, filled with ice.

Driving from Georgia to Baton Rouge and Blacksburg with my son. Meeting Luke in the Green Bay Airport to watch the Tigers play at Lambeau Field. Saying goodbye in Chicago. Luke and I watching the Tigers at Sanford Stadium and the old Georgia Dome. And the new Mercedes-Benz Stadium.

Watching Charley McClendon's Cajun boys whip Arkansas in the 1966 Cotton Bowl, and beat Notre Dame at Tiger Stadium in 1971.

Going down to the Tiger Stadium field in 1970 after Tigers beat Ole Miss and Archie Manning, who played with his broken arm in a cast. Oranges covered the turf.

Driving with Loftin, Tommy, Hall and Dean from Baton Rouge to Miami for the 1971 Orange Bowl. It took us several cases of beer. Sitting in the old steel structure, shivering in a tank top. I didn't know it got cold in south Florida.

Billy Cannon. Jimmy Taylor, Pat Screen, Joe Labruzzo, Ronnie Estay, Johnny Robinson, Wendell Harris, Tommy Casanova, Art Cantrelle, Mike Anderson, Al Coffee, Burt Jones, David Woodley, Trey Prather, Kevin Faulk, Dalton Hilliard, George Bevan, Nelson Stokley, Ruffin Rodrigue. The Chinese Bandits.

Vietnam Moratorium day at LSU's parade ground, 1969. All of those crazy kids I knew at Kirby Smith and the Pentagon, scared we'd be sent to Vietnam.

Clifton Chenier at the LSU Union.

Kate Chopin, Robert Penn Warren, Walker Percy, Leadbelly, Lafcadio Hearn, James Lee Burke, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Gaines, Louis Armstrong. Louis Prima, Buddy Bolden, Robert Lowell, Peter Taylor, Fats Domino, Allen Toussaint, Lazy Lester, Buddy Guy, Slim Pickens.

All of those songs, full of the state's joy and pain. "Son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou." "Gotta make a living, he's a Louisiana Man." "Leaving Louisiana in the broad daylight." "Busted Flat in Baton Rouge." "Walking to New Orleans.""Louisiana, Louisiana, they're trying to wash us away, they're trying to wash us away."

LSU's fight song, played at my mother's funeral.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alan Bennett in annual diary remembers Jonathan Miller

Noted British playwright Alan Bennett in his latest diary in the London Review of Books pays homage to fellow "Beyond the Fringe" member Jonathan Miller.

For years, Bennett has brightened the new year with his annual chronicle of the previous 12 months, published in the LRB. Bennett's record of his life in 2019 runs in the LRB's Jan. 2 issue.

The polymath Miller, who died Nov. 27, excelled in medicine, the theater and television. He was especially known for his opera productions, and hosting the TV documentary "The Body in Question."

Rising from their college days at Oxford and Cambridge, Miller and Bennett joined Dudley Moore and Peter Cook in the satirical revue "Beyond the Fringe," which eventually played on Broadway.

Along with serene depictions of the London literary world and unhurried life in suburban Yorkshire, Bennett can be cutting in his views. An entry in his 2019 diary gives a chilly assessment of Miller.

"Ours was a not unrivalrous relationship, with neither particularly generous about the other's work," Bennett says. He confesses to never seeing one of Miller's operas, and suspects Miller never watched one of his plays.

Bennett ends on a warmer, regretful note. "Now that he's gone I feel remorse as well as sorrow. But, jokes apart, it was a question of survival. I needed to write. Jonathan needed one to listen."

The diaries increasingly chronicle Bennett's aging. This year's entries often reference Bennett lying on his couch or in bed, suffering from severe arthritis. He also gives an alarming account of a fall on his bicycle, from which he suffered bruises but no broken bones or head injuries.

A disturbing sign of Bennett's looming mortality is that the diary is much shorter this year; he missed several months during the spring and summer because of open-heart surgery.

With all of his suffering, the diary is again a treat of refined thinking, with references to obscure films, actors and British writers. The diaries reflect his cultured life in suburban Yorkshire, where he enjoys gardening, old houses and reading. Bennett's at times fussy writing reveals a disgust with conservative politics, an enjoyment of small town life and an appreciation for small pleasures.

His diaries mirror my own aging, giving me encouragement and comfort. I hope to read Bennett's annual missives for years to come.