Reminiscence - 01/08

     An ancient adage says:  "One man's meat is another man's poison." I hope (which springs eternal) my reminiscences do not lead to hisses.

     How about starting with a war story?  I understand that World War II veterans are being asked to record their adventures before it's too late. (And it is too late for the thousand vets who die every day). About the only excitement in this anecdote is the pursuit of the troop ship by Nazi sub wolf packs. We docked in the battle-ravaged harbor and disembarked by walking on gangplanks between sunken ships. So why am I bringing this up now? Because we had landed in Naples.

     If you've been reading the news, you know that presently the streets and sidewalks of a once-beautiful city are buried in garbage. Yes, garbage or rubbish or smelly mounds and mounds of wet and dry debris. To put it mildly, Naples stinks. The stench is unbearable. Kids walking to school are being asphyxiated, many of them contacting terrible diseases. The Mafia has taken garbage workers out on strike, and there is no predicting when things will get back to normal.

     When I landed there during WW II, more than 60 years ago, we entered the city through the Red Light district on the water front, a convenient location for more recreations than rest--but that's another story. Let's just say that some callow 19-year olds learned the facts of life in a hurry from the ladies-of-the-night who really know how to jump-start the economy and could teach the D.C lame-brains the art of stimulus without wasting $150 billion. For the time being, I just pray that this wonderful city can return to its historic self and provide a launching place for the trip up Mt. Vesuvius to buy some of those miniature reproductive organs. I mention this salacious bit to certify that I'm not humbugging you. If you doubt me, ask the Modest Editor, who also served in the Neapolitan area and claims he didn't sacrifice his modesty for the good of his country. At any rate, here's a shot of the current garbage:

                        

                From Naples to Baghdad by the Bay -

     After the death of Herb....Caen and the attack on Iraq, the sobriquet for San Francisco fadded away, some fearing that the president might get confused and bomb it. (let me throw in here: I predict that in two months Iraq will be ripped in bloody pieces by the most horrendous civil war ever. Keep in mind, after duty in Italy, I spent two years in Casablanca studying the psychology of Arab tribalism.)

        San Francisco is another of my favorite cities. At the present time, the Zoo is trying to recover from the terrible death of Carlos Sousa, a 17-year-old, torn apart by a tiger, as he warned two friends, the Dhaliwa brothers, to flee. Controversy continues to swirl around the Christmas Day killing. If the tiger, which was shot later, was taunted until she made the giant leap over the grotto and to the top of the wall, the teasing was probably done by the brothers, who are on trial for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest in another case. The tiger had had her first taste of human blood when she reached through the bars of a cage and ripped off the arm of a zookeeper.

                               

                                     

Tyger! Tygre!! Burning bright.

In the forest of the night.

What immortal hand or eye

Could form thy fearful symmetry?

                               --William Blake

      SF zoo administrators may have a lawsuit on their hands and a guilty conscience. An experiment conducted some years ago proved that the tiger could leap to the top of the wall. A piece of meat was dangled on a fishing pole at the top, and in a flash, the tiger had leaped to the top of the wall, snatched the slab of meat and in a matter of micro-seconds was gnawing on the meat on "the safe side"" of the wall.

                             Personal Zoo Story

     Would you like to hear a personal zoo story? Of course you would. I had rented a basement apartment from a former student, now one of the best movie critics in the Bay area. Not far from KV's place was a pleasant park with winding sidewalks for baby carriages and for toddlers to play. One day while I was strolling through Alta Plaza I noticed a flurry of activity. Moving up a hillock, I was stopped by a breathless woman who warned me I should turn back because there were two men engaged in a knife fight. After thanking her and moving a bit closer, I noticed something about the fighting that seemed familiar. When I reached the young men, I said: "I've been to the zoo." They fell to the ground, laughing, and wanted to know how I knew. I told them that I had directed Edward Albee's "Zoo Story" when I worked at the Culver Academies.

     They were kind enough to ask if I would take a look at the scene they were preparing for their drama class and give them some tips. I agreed, but asked them to turn and wave at their frightened audience to indicate the knife fight was being staged. They did, and once more peace was restored to Alta Plaza.

     They were interested to learn that in my workshop performance I had rewritten the ending for a secret second cast, shifting the killing from one character to the other one. They sympathized with Chan, an actor in the play as originally written, who was preening himself for the curtain call, only to catch a glimpse from the wings of the second cast in action. If you don't believe me, ask Chan, whose retelling of how he was cheated out of a curtain call grows with each retelling. The young thespians asked if I had a copy of my revised ending, but I had to disappoint then since it's unethical to do so much rewriting of another man's script and to play a trick on a loyal actor.

     Now you know what happened to me on the way to the zoo. To wrap up this blog, I'll feed you a few bites of doggerel. First from Doc, another former student, now a better writer than his master.

                               Primarily Painful

I thought that I would never see

A candidate like Hillary

And just to add some racial drama

How about Barrack Obama?

You want healthcare? Eat your spinach!

No-vote for KO'd Kucinich.

McCain enablers must like war

Since hawking it is what he's for.

If twits who think their view is omni

tickle you, then vote for Romney.

Oh dear, why can the Huckabee

want more Christian zealotry?

Thompson's out and on his fanny

which resembles Giuliani.

John Edwards, a Confederate,

thinks perfect Union is where it's at.

And just when you think you'd heard it all

comes the whacky whinging of Ron Paul.

     What a genius! But is it kosher to hit on a candidate's last name that rhymes with "spinach"? And you're really scraping the bottom to link Thompson's behind with the face of the 9/11 mayor, the Early Bird Special in Florida. And now, let me take a crack at it.

                             Running for Office

Hill and Bill went up the Hill

To fetch the nomination.

But clodhoppers in Iowa blocked her way

To the House where she once held sway.

Hill fell down and broke her crown

And her high rating came tumbling after.

                              

Piggy Tim & Lim attacked her gender

These Talking Heads would not surrender.

Their shifty eyes took on a fiendish glow

As they waited for the knockout blow.

(They should have listened to the NY Times.)

A jerk in Hampshire hurled sexist dirt.

He ordered the first lady to iron his shirt.

"If you can't stand the heat and the bitchin'

"Put on an apron and go back to the kichen."

When a kind lady lent a sympathetic ear,

It brought from Hill the glisten of a tear

And reminded all women they were second-class

So they turned out and voted en masse,

Helping Hill to poll fault and sink in velvet claws

To drive home in a hot flash, the meaning of men-a-pause.

MORAL: Don't take the fairer sex for granite,

Even in the Granite State--get it?

     While watching the debates unfold, I sometimes wonder what is going on in the minds of the presidential candidates as they tear one another apart. What would Jesus, the Lamb of God, say about all the nasty personal attacks, the backbiting, the tearing apart of reputations? He (or she) who strives for the top office may lose his (or her) soul.

"Did He smile his work to see?

Did He who made the Lamb make thee?"