Hail

On a beautiful fall night in 2004, I watched, breathless, as Keith Foulke fielded a chopper back to the mound, ran a few steps toward first base, and flipped the ball to Doug Mientkiewicz, giving the Boston Red Sox their first World Series championship in 86 years. It was the perfect way for the Series to end. They secured their victory with a textbook play. It was the the sort of thing that every kid who plays ball gets drilled into them from the first time they take the field, the kind of routine play that professionals make dozens, even hundreds of times over the course of their career, the distilled essence of the game into a single essential moment. It capped off a long, dramatic season of struggle and teamwork. It was the realization of hope deeply felt but rarely indulged in recognition of so many past disappointments.

It was @#$%ing awesome to behold.

For me, the ultimate expression of that moment did not come on the field at Busch Stadium under the carmine light of a moon in eclipse. I saw it in the New York Times the next morning, in a photograph of Red Sox ace pitcher Curt Schilling embracing Sox veteran Johnny Pesky. The look on Mr. Pesky’s face in that photograph distilled for me what it means to be a Red Sox fan: joy and disbelief in equal measure, hope rewarded and doubt vanquished, yesterday’s mistakes redeemed by today’s actions, all in a place where people, despite their outward differences, share a common, sacred and unbreakable bond.

On an unseasonably warm November night in 2008, I watched, breathless (and, truth to tell, a bit queasy), as the networks tallied up votes, and projected states for one or the other of the leading presidential candidates. I sat, increasingly tense, as the outcome seemed increasingly certain. I felt hope, but it was tempered by the bitter lessons of the past. I was hesitant to believe given the realization that taking things like this for granted in the past resulted in chaos, disappointment, and eight years of leadership that I believe has done profound damage to our nation, its people and our standing in the world, leadership whose mistakes our next president will have to work tirelessly to rectify while also working to achieve their own agenda.

Even when CNN made its announcement shortly after 11:00 p.m. Eastern Time, I could not bring myself to celebrate. Like the Apostle Thomas Didymus, merely hearing the news from a third party was not enough for me. My faith required proof. My doubt affected the members of my family with whom I watched the results. My mother declared she could not believe, could not celebrate, until I did.

Still, as the networks showed signs of celebration in Chicago, in Atlanta, in Harlem and Times Square, and in Washington, D.C. (in front of the White House no less!) it became difficult to hold on to skepticism. As the time came for Senator McCain to take the stage and give his concession speech, we woke up The Kid so that she could witness history in the making.

Then, finally, my resolve began to crack. The first fissure came when I read the words “President-Elect Obama on the television screen.” The next came when I sat down on the couch, put my arm around The Kid — my daughter — and realized that the fact I wanted her to see this moment justified my belief. Finally, the image of Reverend Jesse Jackson standing in Grant Park with tears running down his face shattered any illusion I had that celebration was premature. The look on Reverend Jackson’s face in that moment distilled for me what it means to be an American: joy and disbelief in equal measure, hope rewarded and doubt vanquished, yesterday’s mistakes redeemed by today’s actions, all in a place where people, despite their outward differences, share a common, sacred and unbreakable bond, and must shoulder the same obligations of — as President-Elect Obama noted in his victory speed — service and sacrifice.

Like the 2004 Red Sox, President-Elect Obama’s victory also capped off a long, dramatic season of struggle and teamwork. It was the realization of hope deeply felt but rarely indulged in recognition of so many past disappointments. It came as the result of putting all the right pieces together, and executing a plan for victory day after day, of making mistakes, learning from them, and improving based on what was learned.

I’m exhausted this morning, and all I did was bear witness to history. I can’t begin to imagine the bone-tired fatigue that everyone who worked harder, fought stronger, and struggled more mightily for so long must be feeling today, beginning with President-Elect Obama — and does that phrase not have a lovely ring to it? He delivered on the promise of hope; now he must lead us, inspire us, and charge us all to turn hope into action.

I can’t wait to see what the next four years bring.

I’m Mr. Icicle!

One of the unforseen consequences of my recent — and, for the moment, successful — fitness and weight loss regimen is that my ability to regulate my body temperature has diminished. Lately, I’m always cold, particularly my extremities.

In essence, I’ve turned into this guy:

What ever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch
I’m too much!

…with, perhaps, a touch less meteorological joie de vivre and a touch more frosty bitterness, or possibly bitter frostiness. So maybe it’s more accurate to say I’m like this guy:

Regardless, I’m damn cold most of the time. Considering the alternative (sweaty and hypertensive) it’s probably best if I learn to adapt to this new internal thermostat setting, and accept that until that happens, layering is my friend.

Nonsense Passing as Radio

The October 1, 2008 edition of National Public Radio’s Morning Edition featured an incredibly irritating self-exculpatory pity party of a story about why the media just can’t seem to do its job these days.

Apparently, journalism is hard.

Media Play Catch-Up To Lightning Pace Of News
by David Folkenflik

In normal times, you’d see front-page headlines on the appointment of a special prosecutor to consider charges against former U.S. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales.

In normal times, you’d see unrelenting media scrutiny of John McCain campaign manager Rick Davis’ work for mortgage companies caught up in the market meltdown. And there would be even more ferocious attention paid to each new gaffe served up by both major parties’ vice presidential candidates.

But these are not normal times.

Indeed they are not. These are abnormal times. In normal times, a distinguished news organization like NPR wouldn’t devote 3 minutes 48 seconds of air time to a puff piece that seeks to explain their shortcomings. They @#$%ing well would have used that time to report on the very things they seek to excuse themselves for not covering. Instead, in these abnormal times, NPR has elected to join the infotainment scrum and produce navel-gazing metacommentary like this as an alternative to the hard work of researching and reporting stories about political corruption, economic chaos, or any number of other stories that go unreported in favor of this nonsense.

“I don’t think anyone — including the people in charge — can make sense of what’s happening in the country right now,” says new-media guru Jeff Jarvis. He’s a consultant for several media companies, including The Washington Post, and a columnist for The Guardian. Jarvis says the media are simply overwhelmed by the news.

“It’s just too big and too complicated, and it requires both too much background and fundamental understanding about economics,” Jarvis says. “Also, we’re not sure whether we’re being told the whole story still, so we need people to look into things the way journalists do.”

If news outlets need people with background and fundamental understanding about economics (or any other issue) in order to fulfill their basic functions, they should @#$%ing well figure out how to get those people on staff, or forge relationships with experts in these areas who can provide the necessary context and commentary. Throwing up your hands in frustration and saying “Gee, you know, we’d love to do our job, but gosh wouldn’t you know we just can’t” is neither helpful nor honorable.

The breakneck pace of developments means a lot of news worth knowing receives the briefest burst of attention before being dropped for something hotter.

Think about it, says Alexis Glick, the vice president for business news at the new Fox Business Network and one of the anchors for its show, Opening Bell: The nation’s largest insurer is bailed out by the government; the largest savings and loan fails; the nation’s fourth-largest bank is sold for a dollar a share in a deal brokered by federal officials.

“If you talked about one of those things occurring in a year, that would be shocking,” Glick tells NPR. “Those things occurred in a two-week period. [That's] completely unprecedented.”

Perhaps the specifics are unprecedented, but the role of the media to report — and even explain — crises is nothing new. The reporters who had to cover the Great Depression certainly had limited context and background for their stories. The battlefield reporters of World War II had to make sense of chaos on a daily basis. While the stakes are comparatively much lower, sports reporters turn full fields of players into coherent narratives on a daily basis. It’s difficult. It’s often complex. It’s the point of the profession.

Glick says she feels compelled to read 200 pages of research each day when she arrives at work at 4:30 a.m. — and then has to keep track throughout the day.

What? A professional feels “compelled” to be informed about the realm of her alleged professional expertise? Out-@#$%ing-rageous! How can anyone be expected to actually do their job? That’s just crazy talk!

Many journalists say they are scrambling just to keep the headlines coming — and are chasing after the explanations, too. For now, the news appears to be outracing both.

Again, how fortunate that NPR is there with non-story story like this to help the news extend its already considerable lead over the media’s reporting capabilities. I’m so glad they took time away from all the important stories they could have been covering to deal with the vital business of insulting their listeners’ intelligence.

End of summer bookdump

Some more of what I’ve been reading recently…

How I Learned to Cook: Culinary Education from the World’s Greatest Chefs, edited by Kimberly Witherspoon and Peter Meehan — Short essays by famous chefs. As with all such anthologies, some are heartwarming, several recount definitive or formative embarrassments, some are infuriatingly self-aggrandizing, and some just miss the point entirely.

Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World, by Dan Koeppel — So apparently the half of a banana I enjoy with my daily oatmeal faces extinction, with no viable replacement variety currently on the horizion. Depressing.

Comfort Me with Apples: More Adventures at the Table, by Ruth Reichl — I quite liked Garlic and Sapphires, Ms. Reichl’s memoir of her New York Times restaurant critiquing gig. I found this book, which recounts earlier events in her life, less enjoyable, largely because I found the narrator less engaging, likeable, or sympathetic.

Pint-sized Ireland: In Search of the Perfect Guinness, by Evan McHugh — I’m in one of my periodic tetotal phases, so the boozing part of this book was interesting, but in an almost academic sense. As an account of traveling through Ireland, this is a cracking good read.

The Cleaner, by Brett Battles — First book in a series about the guy who comes in after a situation and removes all traces (and remains) of that situation. A nice mix of action, paranoia, and intrigue.

The Sword-Edged Blond, by Alex Bledsoe — While this purports to be a blend of fantasy noir, it’s really more a staright-up fantasy with noirsh elements at the bookends. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but the author definitely fails to follow through on the central conceit. Still, as pure fantasy, it works pretty well.

Jhegaala, by Steven Brust — A bit of a letdown after some recent strong (Issola, Dragon, Dzur) but even a so-so Vlad Taltos novel is still a delight.

On the other hand…

Now and Then, by Robert B. Parker — So remember the movie Heathers? Remember the interplay between the Winona Ryder character and her father (“Would somebody please tell me why I keep smoking these things?” “Because you’re an idiot.”)? Yeah, that’s how I feel about Spenser novels sometimes. Not that I’ll quit, just that the habit isn’t as enjoyable as it once was.

The Deceived, by Brett Battles — Sequel to The Cleaner. Solid.

What to Eat, by Marion Nestle — Graduate level Michael Pollan; an aisle-by-aisle and shelf-be-shelf analysis of the supermarket. Basically, we’re doomed. The array of food available and the economics and politics of its production and distribution are impossible to escape. The best we can really manage is to be as informed as we can as consumers, and make the choices we do make based on an understanding of what we’re putting in our bodies and where it comes from (as well as such uninformed, impulsive, indulgent, or habitual choices we care to make along the way).

The Saucier’s Apprentice: One Long Strange Trip Through the Great Cooking Schools of Europe, by Bob Spitz — “Great Cooking Schools” is a bit of a misnomer. Some of Mr. Spitz’s experiences come across as great, even life altering, but these transcendent experiences are more a matter of good fortune than design. His teachers range from dilettantes to martinets, along with a few rare good teachers. Few are great, or even necessarily good, chefs. The result is a journey to be envied for its ambition, if not necessarily emulated in its design or execution.

Chasing Darkness, by Robert Crais — A solid outing featuring LA private detective Elvis Cole. A decent plot, aided by a lifting of the darkness that has hung over other recent outings.

The Emperors of Chocolate: Inside the Secret World of Hershey and Mars, by Joël Glenn Brenner — Basically, this is an economic history of Willy Wonka, if Willy Wonka were two people, one philanthropically minded and slightly complacent, the other a miserable bastard dedicated to growth and expansion for their own sake.

Florence of Arabia, by Christopher Buckley — The author of Thank You For Smoking and other social satires takes on women’s rights in the Middle East. This one cuts a little close to the bone to be as purely hilarious as some of his other books.

The Man Who Ate the World: In Search of the Perfect Dinner, by Jay Rayner — A London-based restaurant critic travels the world eating at renowned gourmet restaurants. The result is an exploration of excess, celebrity, indulgence, and the questions How much is too much? and What is the real value of world-class cuisine? The food? The experience? The prestige of being able to pay head-spinning prices? Again, this is not necessarily a journey for anyone to emulate, but Mr. Rayner tells his story engagingly. Plus, he gets to hang out with Mario Batali, which is something to envy.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I recently read Dan Koeppel’s Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World. I’m currently reading David Hajdu’s The Ten Cent Plague: The Great Comic Book Scare and How It Changed America. Keen observer and pattern matcher that I am, I noticed the subtitle similarity between the two books.

The “That Changed…” or “and How it Changed…” trope is a remarkably common subtitle. It’s an easy way to lend weight or significance to any topic. Change can be revolutionary, tragic, transformative. It can happen in an instant, or be the accretion of years, even decades of events, relationships, and upheavals that altered the status quo. However it happens, and whatever it means, subtitled change on the cover tells the reader something about the assumptions or pretensions of the argument being made within.

Don’t believe me? A survey of a major online bookseller demonstrates just a few ways authors and publishers deploy change language:

21 events, people, or things that changed America

April 4, 1968: Martin Luther King Jr.’s Death and How It Changed America, by Michael Eric Dyson

Blizzard!: The Storm That Changed America, by Jim Murphy

Boomer Nation: The Largest and Richest Generation Ever, and How It Changed America, by Steve Gillon and Nancy Singer Olaguera

Cradle of Freedom: Alabama and the Movement That Changed America, by Frye Gaillard

The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair That Changed America, by Erik Larson

Dinner at Mr. Jefferson’s: Three Men, Five Great Wines, and the Evening that Changed America, by Charles Cerami

The Dust of Death: The Sixties Counterculture and How It Changed America Forever, by Os Guinness

The GI Bill: The Law That Changed America, by Milton Greenberg

Grant and Twain: The Story of a Friendship That Changed America, by Mark Perry

Hank Aaron and the Home Run That Changed America, by Tom Stanton

Meet You in Hell: Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick, and the Bitter Partnership That Changed America, by Les Standiford

The Poem That Changed America: “Howl” Fifty Years Later, by Jason Shinder

The Promised Land: the Great Black Migration and How it Changed America, by Nicholas Lemann

Prohibition: Thirteen Years That Changed America, by Edward Behr

Reading with Oprah: The Book Club That Changed America, by Kathleen Rooney

Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign That Changed America, by Craig Shirley

Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America, by John M. Barry

Scarface Nation: The Ultimate Gangster Movie and How It Changed America, by Ken Tucker

September 11, 2001: The Day That Changed America, Jill C. Wheeler

The Ten Cent Plague: The Great Comic Book Scare and How It Changed America, by David Hajdu

Triangle: The Fire That Changed America, by David von Drehle

15 events, people or things that changed the world

100 Days in Photographs: Pivotal Events That Changed the World, by Nick Yapp, Douglas Brinkley, and Chris Johns

Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World, by Dan Koeppel

Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World, by Mark Kurlansky

Fateful Choices: Ten Decisions That Changed the World, 1940-1941, by Ian Kershaw

The Girls of Summer: The U.S. Women’s Soccer Team and How It Changed the World, by Jere Longman

Gunpowder: Alchemy, Bombards, and Pyrotechnics: The History of the Explosive That Changed the World, by Jack Kelly

ICBM: The Making of the Weapon That Changed the World, by G. Harry Stine

Nothing On but the Radio: A Look Back at Radio in Canada and How It Changed the World, by Gil Murray

The Riddle of the Compass: The Invention that Changed the World, by Amir D. Aczel

Rome 1960: The Olympics That Changed the World, by David Maraniss

Soul Made Flesh: The Discovery of the Brain–and How it Changed the World, by Carl Zimmer

Special Providence: American Foreign Policy and How It Changed the World, by Walter Russell Mead and Richard C. Leone

Tea: The Drink That Changed the World, by Laura C. Martin

Thermopylae: The Battle That Changed the World, by Paul Cartledge

To the Ends of the Earth: 100 Maps That Changed the World, by Jeremy Harwood

What’s striking about these lists is that just as it rains on the just and the unjust alike, so weighty assumptions rest on subjects both worthy and unworthy. There can be no doubt that September 11, 2001 — to take an easy example — changed the United States. This is true in both immediate ways, and in ways that must await the judgement of history.

At the other end of the spectrum, it is hard to truly embrace the notion that a gangster film such as Scarface is culturally or socially transformative. It is a cultural touchstone for certain segments of its audience, some of whom work in the film industry, thereby giving them a venue to demonstrate and recapitulate this influence in other works. This is true of any piece of art, however, and there is no shortage of films from the same cinematic generation that have their own particular partisans, proponents, and parodists. Taken to the extreme, one could reasonably imagine some fan penning Weekend at Bernie’s: The Ultimate Buddy Movie and How it Changed America.

Change is easy to observe. It’s easy to track. It’s impossible to avoid. Change lies at the essence of the human condition. I know that sounds like something Captain Kirk would ponderously intone, but it’s no less true for its obviousness or ponderousness. The trick lies in determining what change is truly meaningful, what transformations are really transformative, and how to define objective significance. For the reader, this means looking past, or at least paying attention to, the implied elevation of this particular subtitle convention.

Kirby: King of Comics, by Mark Evanier

I’m not sure I can remember the first Jack Kirby comic I ever read. It was probably in a mass market paperback sized reprint edition of the Fantastic Four, but maybe I’m overlooking a standalone issue of something. For years after that, I was aware of Jack Kirby among the pantheon of comics greats, just one more name among a group of legendary names. Not fully knowing why he was special meant that I didn’t comprehend how much of the visual architecture of the comics I read during my first great comics awakening in the 1970s and 80s was sunk into the bedrock of Jack’s Kirby’s work.

It wasn’t until I read the Kirby tribute issue of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that I began to understand that he was a breed apart within his field. I know that the first time I read a Jack Kirby comic and really got it was in my early 20s when I got my hands on a copy of a Marvel anthology that included “This Man…This Monster” from Fantastic Four #51.

I also know this makes me a bandwagon jumping poseur — it’s sort of like acclaiming Groucho as one’s favorite Marx Brother, as though 95% of the world didn’t share that view — but there is a reason that certain things are acknowledged for their greatness.

There is a lot of greatness on display in Mark Evanier’s oversize biography of Mr. Kirby. First of all, the dimensions of the book, more coffee table book than traditional biography, allows the reproductions of Mr. Kirby’s work to be shown to great effect. Showcasing early comic strips drawn under a series of aliases in a range of styles to pin ups, commissioned pieces from late in his career, and countless stops in between, the art in Kirby: King of Comics almost makes the story of Mr. Kirby’s life and work superfluous. Almost.

Mr. Evanier, Mr. Kirby’s former studio assistant and friend, writes something more akin to a biographical sketch than to an exhaustive exhumation of every facet of Mr. Kirby’s life. It is a narrative that seeks to illustrate the illustrations it accompanies, or perhaps the illustrations are intended to narrate the narrative. Either way, like great comics, the text and image complement each other and convey a more comprehensive sense of story than either alone might have accomplished.

Because this is a book written by an interested party, it is largely favorable, but also seems largely honest while still doing honor to its subject. If Mr. Evanier avoids putting Jack Kirby on a pedestal (if only because Mr. Kirby’s drawing table is a more appropriate venue) he similarly refrains from casting a cartoonishly villainous light onto any of Mr. Kirby’s collaborators and employers. While Mr. Kirby failed to share in the financial rewards his work generated for his employer, especially in the area of derivative and licensed work, Mr. Evanier is honest that this resulted not only from ungenerous business practices on their part, but also from Mr. Kirby’s lack of business acumen. But these controversies, while noteworthy and significant, are in some ways extraneous to the powerful, dynamic work Mr. Kirby produced, or the ways that work defined — and continues to define — a medium.

The Jack Kirby story as presented by Mr. Evanier seems tailor made for the sort of biopic treatment Hollywood has given to individuals such as Ray Charles and Bobby Darin. His life had the arc on which such films so often rely; humble beginnings, personal drive, early struggles paving the way for tremendous success, mastery of chosen profession conflicting with the unkind realities of the biz, the ebb and flow of the later career culminating in acknowledgement of the proper place in the history of his craft. The only difference is that Mr. Kirby seems not to have needed to tame his personal demons in the same way as these performers.
While his life would be fodder for a film, I personally hope such an endeavor does not come to pass. Perhaps the recent success of films based on Marvel Comics properties (with more to come now that the success of Iron Man validated the profitability of the Marvel Studios financing endeavor) will limit interest in such a project. To tell Mr. Kirby’s story in the Hollywood way would necessitate exploring his relationship with Marvel, and the — how to say this diplomatically? — disproportionate nature of his compensation relative to his contributions. Such a story carries with it the sort of controversy that large companies seek to avoid in order to ensure or improve profitability. Thus, were such a film ever proposed, it’s not difficult to imagine Marvel’s owners attempting to derail the effort in order to keep the grazing pastures for their herd of cash cows verdant.

If superhero comics are a form of modern mythology — at its best, Mr. Kirby’s talent certainly elevated the characters and stories he depicted to that level, both explicitly (Thor, New Gods) and implicitly (X-Men) — it is equally the case that Mr. Kirby’s own life and work embodied a uniquely American mythology. As work, his career reflected the defining ethos of the 20th century: work hard, make money, provide for your family, don’t rock the boat too much, ensure your family’s security after you’re gone. As art, his work continues to fuel the production and articulation of new mythologies. Not bad for a kid from Yancy Delancey Street.