More on the greatest generation

Yesterday’s post incited an unusual amount of correspondence.  More perspective, from Sam Shepard (b. 1943)’s Paris Review interview:

INTERVIEWER

You said the men on your dad’s side of the family were hard drinkers. Is this why the mothers in your plays always seem to be caught in the middle of so much havoc?

SHEPARD

Those Midwestern women from the forties suffered an incredible psychological assault, mainly by men who were disappointed in a way that they didn’t understand. While growing up I saw that assault over and over again, and not only in my own family. These were men who came back from the war, had to settle down, raise a family and send the kids to school—and they just couldn’t handle it. There was something outrageous about it. I still don’t know what it was—maybe living through those adventures in the war and then having to come back to suburbia. Anyway, the women took it on the nose, and it wasn’t like they said, Hey Jack, you know, down the road, I’m leaving. They sat there and took it. I think there was a kind of heroism in those women. They were tough and selfless in a way. What they sacrificed at the hands of those maniacs . . .

INTERVIEWER

What was your dad like?

SHEPARD

He was also a maniac, but in a very quiet way. I had a falling-out with him at a relatively young age by the standards of that era. We were always butting up against each other, never seeing eye-to-eye on anything, and as I got older it escalated into a really bad, violent situation. Eventually I just decided to get out.

INTERVIEWER

Is he alive?

SHEPARD

No, a couple of years ago he was killed coming out of a bar in New Mexico. I saw him the year before he died. Our last meeting slipped into this gear where I knew it was going to turn really nasty. I remember forcing myself, for some reason, not to flip out. I don’t know why I made that decision, but I ended up leaving without coming back at him. He was boozed up, very violent and crazy. After that I didn’t see him for a long time. I did try to track him down; a friend of his told me he got a haircut, a fishing license, and a bottle, and then took off for the Pecos River. That was the last I heard of him before he died. He turned up a year later in New Mexico, with some woman I guess he was running with. They had a big blowout in a bar, and he went out in the street and got run over.

What a life Sam Shepard has had, btw:

His father, Samuel Shepard Rogers, Jr., was a teacher and farmer who served in the United States Army Air Forces as a bomber pilot.

Shepard accompanied Bob Dylan on the Rolling Thunder Revue of 1975 as the ostensible screenwriter of the surrealist Renaldo and Clara (1978) that emerged from the tour; because much of the film was improvised, Shepard’s services were seldom utilized.

When Shepard first arrived in New York, he roomed with Charlie Mingus Jr., a friend from his high school days and the son of famous jazz musician Charles Mingus. Then he lived with actress Joyce Aaron. From 1969 to 1984 he was married to actress O-Lan Jones, with whom he has one son, Jesse Mojo Shepard (born 1970). In 1970-71, he was involved in an extramarital affair with Patti Smith, who remained unaware of Shepard’s identity as a multiple Obie Award-winning playwright until it was finally divulged to her by Jackie Curtis. According to Smith, “Me and his wife still even liked each other. I mean, it wasn’t like committing adultery in the suburbs or something.”

(top photo from here, middle from here, with Dylan from here)

The greatest generation

Two images I wanted to post that came up re: Warren Bennis, yesterday.  This top one, and this one:

Both these pictures I’m getting from here, they’re credited to the National Archives, and I’m prepared to take them at their word.

These pictures, combined with this article in the NYT about the upcoming Brad Pitt movie “Fury” made me think about how the dudes that won World War II weren’t all like, mature men who knew exactly the risks and stakes of what they were doing, and were therefore the greatest heroes anyone has ever conceived of.  Most of them were children, doing what they were told, involved in an enterprise that was fucked up and disastrously executed in every way at every turn.

Don’t take my word for it, take the word of a guy who was there:

Or this guy, who was there on the other side:

Fussell (if I remember right) talks about how, once word of the concentration camps got out, and they realized what they’d been fighting, he wasn’t even sure that made it better, he says “it might’ve made it worse.”

(The point I took away from these books is that destroying any myth around them doesn’t make them less cool.  It makes them cooler still)

Warren Bennis

This guy, a professor who specialized in the study of leadership, died the other day.

Once I took a class Warren Bennis co-taught with David Gergen, it was called something like “Art, Culture and The Politics Of Leadership.”  I loved the class.  I wrote my paper about Robert Sherwood, a playwright famed for “Abe Lincoln In Illinois,” who went on to write speeches for FDR.

Sherwood stood six feet eight inches tall. Dorothy Parker, who was five-feet four-inches, once commented that when she, Sherwood, and Robert Benchley (who was six feet tall) would walk down the street together, they looked like “a walking pipe organ.” When asked at a party how long he had known Sherwood, Robert Benchley stood on a chair, raised his hand to the ceiling, and said, “I knew Bob Sherwood back when he was only this tall.”

(Sometimes the Algonquin Round Table gang seems like they must’ve been pretty insufferable to be around.)

Anyway, I remember something Bennis used to talk about.  When Bennis was 19 he was commissioned as a lieutenant in the Army and sent to Europe.  It was 1945  —  the troops he was sent to command were seasoned veterans already.  They’d just survived the Battle Of The Bulge.  He was just a kid rookie.  Imagine that situation.

What he said happened was, the soldiers in his platoon “taught me how to lead them.”

What a profound thought.  Will have to see if it comes up in Bennis’ autobiography:

(Badass thing to name your book).

Bennis also co-authored this book:

which is full of interesting stuff.  There’s a story about Walt Disney, after he decided to make a feature length animated movie, the first ever, Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs.  Disney gathered 200 or so animators and artists in an auditorium, stood up on stage, and acted out the entire movie for them.  The whole thing, two hours.  He “did” the witch and stuff, exactly how he wanted it drawn.

That was “visionary leadership,” says Bennis.

That was the same class in which I was made to do improv games with David Gergen.

 (pics from “Philip Channing” here wiki here (National Archives) here here (Google search!  It’s not like I read Rand Paul forums!))

Plenty to consider

On the cover of just about any old issue of Life magazine.

I hardly ever even make it inside.

That’s before you even get to the back covers.

Flavor that goes with fun.

These are just issues I bought at random in a big box on eBay for maybe $25?
(Please continue sending tips on how to photograph old magazines to helphely at gmail.  Those from Lydia in Saratoga have been particularly helpful, thanks Lydia!)

Politics

Reading this New Yorker profile of Biden threw me back to this YouTube.  Master at work:

He loves it.

After [Hillary Clinton] delivered an impassioned endorsement for Obama and Biden at the Democratic National Convention, in 2008, Biden found her backstage, dropped to his knees in gratitude, and kissed her hand.

How about this?:

His friend Ted Kaufman says, “If you ask me who’s the unluckiest person I know personally, who’s had just terrible things happen to him, I’d say Joe Biden. If you asked me who is the luckiest person I know personally, who’s had things happen to him that are just absolutely incredible, I’d say Joe Biden.”