Southern Bookman

New year's arrival brings hope of better days

Last year on this date, I and other LSU fans had just gathered in downtown Atlanta for the Tigers' Peach Bowl victory over Oklahoma en route to a national championship.

The huge crowds at CNN Center and Mercedes-Benz Stadium mashed together as vague reports arrived about a virus in China. In a few months, the newly identified Covid-19 halted such massive gatherings.

A tumultuous year comes to a close with political discord, mourning and despair over the pandemic's resurgence, and glimmerings of hope and joy.

Sports have fitfully carried on. Movie theaters try to hang on, but streaming now dominates. Restaurants and bars barely survive. Billionaires enriched themselves further as millions of Americans lost their jobs and homes. The pandemic's death toll soars as hospitals end the year again overwhelmed with Covid patients. Hunger spreads, as Mitch McConnell kills a plan to give distressed families $2000.

A new administration gives hope that America can at last take action on long-ignored problems. The arrival of vaccines raises optimism that the pandemic will at last end. Children will return to school. Restaurant tables will ring with laughter. Fans will fill stadiums. Broadway will sing again.

The new year's arrival recalls the old verse from Ecclesiastes.

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.

May be new year be a time to love, and a time of peace.

 

Louise Erdrich speaks for entire Mississippi River community in opposing oil sands pipeline

Writer Louise Erdrich in a New York Times article this week spoke about "the young Mississippi River."

She talked of visiting the sacred place where the river begins "in a stream of pure darkness" two hours north of Minneapolis, where indigenous people are protesting the imminent expansion of the Enbridge Line 3 oil sands pipeline.

Having grown up mesmerized by the "old Mississippi," near the river's end, I felt a kinship with Erdich's report.

By the time the river flows through my hometown of Baton Rouge and New Orleans headed to the Gulf of Mexico, it carries the nation's pollutants. A pipeline accident far upriver in Minnesota would also devastate communities downstream.

The Canadian energy company Enbridge's plan to expand the pipeline through Minnesota will pump oil sands and other forms of crude oil from Hardisty, Alberta to Superior, Wisc., crossing indigenous treaty lands, Erdrich said.

Distressingly, Tim Walz, the liberal Democratic governor of Minnesota, has approved final water permits for the expansion. Erdrich calls this a betrayal after indigenous tribes supported Joe Biden's election. The native people have also suffered disproportionately from Covid.

Although lawsuits have been filed by the White Earth, Red Lake and Mille Lacs nations and several environmental organizations, construction has begun. The indigenous tribes are mobilizing protests, chaining themselves to equipment and undergoing arrests.

The Canadian tar sands "are among the most carbon-intensive fuels on the planet," Erdrich said. The pipeline's carbon output could reach 193 million tons a year, she reports, citing Jim Doyle, a physicist at Macalester College who analyzed the pipleline's impact.

That much carbon would eventually be released into the atmosphere, exacerbating climate change, already bringing suffering to "the land of 10,000 lakes," she says.

Pure at its origins, the Mississippi is sadly ravaged by the time it reaches Louisiana. Agricultural chcmical runoff and industrial pollution lead to oxygen deterioration in the gulf, and loss of sealife. The pipeline's oil sands threaten the entire river. 

 

Death of child from Phipps shooting brings grief, outrage

Driving down Peachtree through Buckhead in the bright sunshine Tuesday morning, I thought my god, what a pleasant city.

Then I remembered a 7-year-old child died the day after Christmas after being shot just a few miles up the very same road. Leaving Phipps Plaza on Peachtree Road in her aunt's car on Dec. 21, Kennedy Maxie was struck in the back of the head by a bullet fired by thugs fighting in the Saks Fifth Avenue parking lot. Instead of Christmas joy,  the little girl died in a hospital.

As a longtime resident of North Buckhead, I experienced grief and outrage at the young girl's murder. I've always considered Phipps one of the places where Atlanta felt like a real city, where people of different backgrounds gathered to shop, dine and watch movies. Now, that democratic freedom brings a child's death.

Being able to walk to Phipps is one of my favorite things about living in our neighborhood. I often shopped for my wife's Christmas present at Saks, guided by the elegant sales ladies. My children's Atlanta Public School choirs gave holiday performances at Phipps. We ate Christmas meals at Phipps restaurants, and saw holiday films there.

This year, the place I associated with holiday joy turned to tragedy. Children are no longer safe in the heart of Buckhead.

Buckhead city councilman Howard Shook blasted Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms for a lack of leadership. Again, the mayor expressed boilerplate sorrow, without a plan of action. News reports cited low police morale, and a shortage of officers.

Shook and fellow Buckhead councilmen J.P. Metzigkeit and Matt Westmoreland announced they'll donate money for more security cameras in Buckhead. Security cameras have blanketed Buckhead for years, but the violence continues at Lenox and Phipps. Where else can security cameras be placed?

No one mentioned the prevalence of guns. The GOP has made a fetish of the Second Amendment, and guns are another pandemic in America, with no vaccine forthcoming. Every time people are slaughtered in mass shootings, calls rise for action to stop the endless gun violence. More background checks. Restrictions on high-powered automatic rifles. Nothing is done.

The gun epidemic takes a grievous toll on America's children. Now, a child is dead from gunfire at the mall where students used to sing of Peace on Earth.

 

 

Farewell, Phil Niekro

Phil Niekro displayed a champion's heart even when pitching for bad Braves teams before a smattering of fans.

Like Ernie Banks and Billy Williams with the Cubs, and Steve Carlton with the Phillies, Niekro was a bright light amid baseball ineptitude.

In the dismal Atlanta years following the end of Henry Aaron's brilliant career, Niekro possessed the mound with competitive fierceness as if pitching for a pennant contender.

One of the Braves' most beloved all-time players, Niekro died the day after Christmas at age 81 after a long battle with cancer, the latest Hall of Fame player lost in this dismal year. Lou Brock, Whitey Ford, Bob Gibson, Al Kaline, Joe Morgan and Tom Seaver also died this year, along with Don Larsen, who pitched the only perfect game in World Series history.

Winning 318 games over a 24-year career that also included time with the Yankees, Indians and Royals, Niekro displayed fortitude and durability, pitching until age 48 with guile and artistry.

Receiving little support, Niekro suffered through some bad seasons with the Braves, twice losing 18 games and twice 20, including an amazing 21-20 record in 1979 when he produced a 3.39 era. Niekro finished 19-18 in 1978, with a 2.88 era. Back then, starting pitchers had to go the distance, win or lose, not yanked for relievers after five innings.

Niekro narrowly lost the Cy Young to Seaver in 1969, pitching Aaron's Braves to the divisional championship with a 20-13 record and 2.56 era. With the backing of Bob Horner and MVP winner Dale Murphy, Niekro sparked the Braves to an unexpected National League West title in 1982, finishing 17-4.

Alas, neither team made it to the World Series. The 1969 team, which also included Orlando Cepeda and Dusty Baker, lost to Seaver's Mets in the league championship series, and the 1982 team was swept by the Cardinals. 

In the opening game of the 1982 series, Niekro led the Cardinals in the first game, but his shutout was rained out two outs away from being declared official.

Among the Braves' great pitchers, Niekro toiled in an era of futility. Before him, Warren Spahn pitched for the Milwaukee Braves, who won the 1957 championship and lost the next year in a repeat World Series against the Yankees. After Niekro, Hall of Famers Tom Glavine, John Smoltz and Greg Maddux pitched in a span of unprecedented excellence, including the 1995 World Series title.

Taught the knuckler by his coal-miner father, Niekro pitched with grit. Often backed by weak lineups, Niekro kept hurling, beguiling teams with his floating butterfly of a pitch.

Phil Niekro didn't have Gibson or Seaver's power. But he matched their competitive fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Farewell, Chad Stuart

I rediscovered Chad and Jeremy's pop confection "A Summer Song" when it played during a Coors Beer commercial a couple of years ago.

Following the death of the duo's Chad Stuart this week at age 79, I've been enthralled by You Tube versions of the song.

With its distinctive guitar riff, lush orchestration, haunting lyrics and tight vocal harmonies, the 1964 hit endures as one of the classics of the "British invasion."

The song is among those I dismissed in my rock-snob youth. Now I appreciate the musical craft of many of those Top-40, AM radio hits I shunned back then. Sirius XM Radio's '60s channel acclaims that the era's pop music matches the quality of  "the American songbook."

Stuart, who co-wrote "A Summer Song" and Chad and Jeremy's other major hit, "Yesterday's Gone," was the duo's main musical creator. He and Jeremy Clyde had more success in the United States than in their native country, because Clyde was the grandson of the Duke of Wellington and working-class British audiences disliked aristocrats in pop music.

Formed in 1962, the band broke up in 1968 when Clyde pursued his acting ambitions on London's West End. But the duo came back together in the 1980s with the rise of 1960s rock nostalgia.

"A September Song" exudes that longing for youth and simpler times. But there's a deeper maturity in its musical sophistication.

 

 

 

 

Village Voice resurrection a ray of hope for print journalism

Journalism lovers received a bit of Christmas cheer Wednesday: The Village Voice will return.

After 63 years of outstanding coverage of New York City's politics, society and culture, the Voice published its last print edition in September 2017. Its web site struggled on until August 2018.

But now the Voice will speak again, with the announcement that Los Angeles Weekly publisher Street Media will buy the Voice from Peter Barbey, who kept publishing articles from the the Voice's archives online.

Street CEO Brian Calle said the Village Voice's web site will return in January, with a quarterly print edition to follow, leading to more frequent publication.

The Village Voice's print archives, dating back to its founding in 1955 by Dan Wolf, Ed Fancher and Norman Mailer, will be donated to a New York library. Barbey has been working to fully digitize the archive.

While the deal offers hope that the Voice can regain its luster, Calle laid off workers and caused a staff boycott when he purchased the Los Angeles Weekly three years ago, the New York Times said in an article on the Voice purchase.

Los Angeles Weekly staffers claimed that Calle turned away from tough reporting to emphasize features. Calle told the Times that he saved the newspaper, which is now profitable.

For years, the Village Voice was a major presence in New York City. Lovers of the paper hope that once again Voice boxes stand tall on the city's sidewalks.

 

Ann Patchett's "These Precious Days" tells inspiring story of friendship, personal discovery

Ann Patchett one night happened to read a short story by the actor Tom Hanks, surprised by its literary quality.

That led to Patchett's friendship with Sooki Raphael, Hanks' assistant, and Patchett inviting Raphael to live in her home in Nashville while undergoing cancer treatment.

Patchett's long and twisting memoir/essay "These Precious Days" relates how Patchett's professional connection with Hanks brought about her deepening friendship with Raphael, who rediscovers her artistic creativity while undergoing chemotherapy in Nashville.

Appearing in the current Harper's magazine, Patchett's piece encompasses her literary career, and her marriage to the physician Karl Vandevender, her personal life in Nashville and ownership of the Parnassus independent bookstore.

She and Vandevender's support of Raphael unfolds during the Covid-19 quarantine, which forced Patchett to cease her literary appearances.  Before the shutdown, another challenge arises when tornadoes devastate Nashville.

The growing friendship between Patchett and Raphael is the center of the story. As the pandemic continues, Patchett and Raphael draw closer, sharing yoga, vegetarian meals and artistic pursuits. Raphael becomes like a family member as Patchett and Vandervender support her during her cancer treatment.

But the story takes a sour, bizarre turn at the end when Raphael and Patchett against Vandervender's misgivings decide to experiment with psilocybin. Patchett has a bad experience, which she relates in excruciating detail.

Rapahel, however, is enlightened by the magic mushrooms. Separated from her family in California during her stay in the Southern city, she decides to leave and continue her cancer treatment in Los Angeles.

Separated by the pandemic, Patchett and Raphael resume their email communications. The story ends with hope; Raphael's cancer goes into remission and her painting flourishes. And Patchett's begins to write “These Precious Days."

Casey Cep uncovers Harper Lee quest to write non-fiction book to rival Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood"

Harper Lee carried out much of the reporting in rural Kansas for her friend Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood," a book she abhorred because of Capote's fictionalized scenes.

The celebrated author of "To Kill a Mockingbird" sought to match Capote's "new journalism" classic by writing her own true-crime book, which would be rigorously based on facts. As with "In Cold Blood," she did extensive investigative work. But she never produced a book.

Lee found her subject in a curious case in her native Alabama. A rural black preacher named Willie Maxwell was accused of murdering five members of his family in the 1970s and receiving payments from insurance policies he'd taken out on them.

Some in Maxwell's hometown of Alexander City, Ala., believed him a supernatural practitioner of voodoo. Represented by the flamboyant Alexander City defense attorney Tom Radney, Maxwell kept getting acquitted and escaping insurance fraud charges.

Maxwell's final victim was his 16-year-old stepdaughter. During the child's funeral, her brother, Robert Burns, pulled out a pistol and shot Maxwell at point-blank range, killing him instantly.

Radney also represented Burns at his murder trial, winning him a verdict of non-guilty by reason of insanity.

A fervid supporter of the Kennedy family, Radney was known as Alabama's most prominent liberal Democrat, a former state senator who had unsuccessfully run for lieutenant governor.

Lee grew fascinated by the case, moving to Alexander City to witness the Burns trial, interview those who'd known Maxwell and conduct research on his murder cases.

The New Yorker writer Casey Cep delves into the Maxwell story, Radney's career and Lee's abandoned book in "Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud and the Last Trial of Harper Lee."

The first half of "Furious Hours" completes Lee's project. With superfluous digressions such as histories of life insurance and the insanity defense, Cep's Maxwell-Radney saga amounts to an extended magazine article, flavored by Southern Gothic accents and arcana about Alabama politics and history.

Cep's mini-biography of Lee in the book's second half broadens the appeal and energizes the narrative. Her portrait of Lee is one of the best in the growing corpus of books about Lee, especially Cep's revelations about the breakup of Lee's lifelong friendship with Capote.

While Capote gained literary fame before Lee, and produced several books considered classics, he was jealous of the extraordinary popularity of "To Kill a Mockingbird."

Beginning in their childhoods in Monroeville, Ala., the model for Lee's Maycomb in "To Kill a Mockingbird," as well the setting for some of Capote's stories, their lives intertwined and diverged. They'd grown irrevocably apart when Capote died of a drug overdose, years before Lee's death.

Trying to write her true-crime book, Lee like Capote battled acute alcoholism. Capote likewise died with a book unfinished, the long-promised "Answered Prayers," which alienated his New York City high-society confidantes because of his exposure of their secrets. That came in a short story published in Esquire, but the novel was never finished.

In Cep's view, Capote's death freed Lee from the need to write a successor to "To Kill a Mockingbird." Giving up alcohol, she found serenity in her later years, leading an increasingly private life in Monroeville and New York City.

Cep details Lee's diligent efforts to finish the book. During Burns' trial, Lee lived at the Horseshoe Bend Hotel in Alexander City, along with a cabin on nearby Lake Martin, formed by the 19th century damming of the Tallapoosa River, which Cep exhaustively documents.

Radney even gave her a briefcase with his complete file of defense documents on Maxwell and Burns. Lee never returned the documents to Radney, but Cep found them in Lee's possessions after the author's death and gave them to Radney's family.

Over the years, rumors surfaced that Lee had completed a Maxwell manuscript, that a book was forthcoming, that her publishers had refused to produce it because it was too racially incendiary. Only four pages have been found. Cep reports that Lee might have destroyed a manuscript.

When the literary world was jolted by reports late in Lee's life that she was publishing another book, many of her friends expected the Maxwell work. But the publication was "To Set a Watchman," Lee's first novel about Atticus Finch, narrated by his grown daughter Scout.

At the suggestion of her editor, Lee recast the book with Scout as a child narrator, producing "To Kill a Mockingbird." Cep gives a fresh look at the familiar details of how "To Kill a Mockingbird" came about.

"To Set a Watchman" depiction of Atticus as an aged racist dismayed "To Kill a Mockingbird" fans, and many thought the uneven manuscript should have remained unpublished. But it boosted interest in Lee's life.

Cep makes a convincing case that Lee abandoned her true crime project, unable to find a narrative shape for the massive amount of material she uncovered.

In Cep's gripping narrative, Lee's effort turns into a noble quest, like Atticus Finch's defense of the black defendant in "To Kill a Mockingbird."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giannis Antetokounmpo fulfills the American dream

The Giannis Antetokounmpo story is appealing.

A poor Greek kid comes to America and finds NBA stardom. In the free agent age, with self-regarding stars like Anthony Davis betraying small-market franchises, the 6-9 Giannis shows old-fashioned fan loyalty.

Giannis, as he's called by the first-name-friendly basketball media, is admirable for staying with the small-market Milwaukee Bucks, signing a five-year "supermax" deal with the team this week and vowing to bring a league championship to Lake Michigan's second city.

Many league observers thought the free agent superstar would jump to a team like the Knicks or Lakers instead of staying in the fifth-largest city in the Midwest.

But Giannnis said of the baseball, beer and brats town overshadowed by Chicago to the south and NFL icon Green Bay to the north, "This is my home. This is my city. I'm blessed to be part of  the Milwaukee Bucks for the next five years."

That was sweet news for a team that’s less popular than Major League Baseball's Brewers and Green Bay's Packers.

As Giannis expressed his love for the city that lost the Braves and Lou Alcindor, NBA pundits like ESPN's Michael Wilbon didn't flinch at the $228 million the two-time MVP will receive under the largest contract in league history. 

None of the NBA followers wondered how the Bucks can afford such a deal as Covid-19 devastates revenues.

Even if fans pack the stands when the pandemic ends and TV revenues revive, that's a lot of money to make up in beer and pretzels.

While Giannis is undeniably a great talent, winning the regular season MVP honors two years in a row and the defensive player of the year title last season, he's fallen short in the NBA playoffs, never leading the Bucks to the league finals.

Like other NBA stars today, he appears one-dimensional on offense, mainly driving to the basket and displaying inconsistent shooting outside. That's hurt him in the playoffs, where defenses have shut him down.

Led by Alcindor and superstar guard Oscar Robertson, the Bucks won their only NBA title in 1971. Afterwards, Alcindor changed his name to Kareem Abdul Jabbar and jumped to the Lakers, playing for several championship teams.

Unlike Kareem - another NBA first-name star - Giannis will remain in Milwaukee. Good luck to him in winning a championship or more for the Bucks. The Greek immigrant is proof the American dream still lives, with a $228 million glow.

 

 

 

 

A Christmas wish for the return of live performances

For my wife's Christmas gift last year, I purchased tickets to Tony Bennett's Valentine's Day concert at Atlanta's Symphony Hall.

Bennett gave a great performance before a festive, sold-out audience. Before the show, we enjoyed a romantic dinner at the Arts Center's packed 1280 Restaurant.

Covid-19 was a small cloud on the horizon. In a few weeks, the virus had grown into a vicious storm, closing down all public events.

For Christmas last year, we also received tickets to see Wynton Marsalis perform with the Atlanta Symphony in March. We also planned to attend the Atlanta Opera's production of "Porgy and Bess" in late February. Both events were canceled as the coronavirus spread. I've imagined the performances taking place in some alternative universe.

In previous years, we've found under the tree tickets to "Hamilton" and "To Kill a Mockingbird." But no such gifts this holiday season, with Broadway dark and its return unknown. No concerts at Atlanta Symphony Hall to give as presents. The 1280 is closed.

With such a damper on Christmas joy, I was cheered at AJC stalwart Bo Emerson's recent report on the return of the Fox Theater's Mighty Mo organ after a renovation.

My Christmas wish is that one day we'll gather again to hear those majestic sounds.