Where'd He Go?

Gene Hackman is one of the most prolific actors ever! He's made over 80 movies. He was a stage actor for many years before going to Hollywood.

He's won countless awards, including three Oscars. He was one of the most popular actors around. He could play anything. He did tough and mean and kind and funny.

Oh, and he's a novelist. He's written three books.

Around 2005 he seemed to disappear. No movies. No press. I wondered if he was ill - but then in 2008 his latest book "Escape from Andersonville," a Civil War novel, was released and he did a book tour.

Then I learned that he had announced on Larry King in 2004 that he was retiring from acting.

The reason I didn't know this sooner was because nobody in the media picked up on it. Not the tabloids, not the papers, not "Entertainment Tonight." Nothing.

Why? My guess is because he's old and he never was good at making trouble in real life like he did on the screen.

Today is Gene Hackman's 80th birthday.

Happy Birthday big guy. We miss seeing you but still enjoy reading you. So don't give that up any time soon.

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Generation to Generation

This morning I entertained Dave and my Oldies by reading from "Dear Abby." It seems that this young woman was having trouble communicating with her parents.

She says: Do you think it's because they're aging?

As it turns out her parents are 44 and 46 years old!

We all had a good laugh. Dave and I each have children in their 40s. And, as you know, my Oldies are old enough to be my parents.

Old is relative. My advice for those 44 and 46 year old parents is to save their money and for the kid to figure out how to "communicate" with them because they're all most likely to be around for a very long time.


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Leonard Says It Better Than I Can

I'm a writer. Occasionally a good one. But there are subjects about which I feel strongly but for which I just don't have the words.

Sometimes I just want to say "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Perhaps you've heard of this company that inscribes coded references to Bible verses on gun sights of high-powered rifles they supply to U.S. service personnel.

Yes, I have strong feelings about this but haven't been able to articulate them without the top of my head exploding. Not to mention that I'm sure there are several people whom I love who don't feel the way I do.

And then yesterday's column by syndicated columnist, Leonard Pitts, said exactly what I wanted to say - and said it much better than I could have.

A couple of quotes:

...(it) is a fresh embarrassment for the United States, which has labored for nine years to convince the Muslim world that it is not leading a Christian crusade against Islam.

...The coded scriptural references provided a recruiting tool to warlords and terrorists who could truthfully tell followers they were being shot at by Jesus guns.

...there is a rather jarring cognitive disconnect involved in seeing weapons of war used to lionize the prince of peace.

If you're interested in reading the column try orlandosentinal.com or lpitts@miamiherald.com

In the meantime my head won't have to explode. But I'd like to think that if it did, scripture would emerge. Because, unlike gun barrels, my head IS an appropriate place for storage.


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Painful Memories

I'm now reading the current bestseller, "The Help." I'm finding it very real and very painful.

Then, yesterday morning this world renowned writer, teacher and United Methodist bishop, Will Willimon, preached in my church. Pretending to be a curmudgeon, he was funny and entertaining.

Also profound.

He spoke some about Martin Luther King, Jr. and about how the only people who should be allowed to speak on MLK Day are those who're willing to go out into the community the next day.

I should have felt proud about doing both of those things - and I did - but I also felt the pain.

As a young white woman out organizing on the streets and speaking in white churches and colleges on racism in the 60s and 70s I can tell you that it was very, very scary.

Following are parts of two letters written during that time.

The first was written by me to my mother-in-law who was totally clueless about the Civil Rights movement.

April 10, 1968

...Ken and I marched in Martin Luther King's funeral procession yesterday. It was truly history in the making and we feel blessed to be here at this particular time.

We stood right up close to many great people, Bobby and Ethel Kennedy, John Lindsey, Sammy Davis, Jr., etc. The funeral lasted about 7 hours all together but we had to leave early. We both had to get back to work. Atlanta has had absolutely no trouble so far and it's been due, in part, to people like Ken who've worked hard to keep things quiet.

We were out until 2 A.M. the night before the funeral driving people from the airport and helping them find places to spend the night. Lots of people, black and white, opened their homes and we had some sleeping at the church.

The next was written to me by a friend and co-worker:

...We had a great time attempting to save this world. However not all agreed with our "M.O."

Remember January in Washington, 1974. Ken led the way despite the appointed leadership objections, and we had a marvelous time parading around the White House. Freezing to death, we were warmed by the eloquence of Jesse Jackson's fire. He thrilled us long before the Rainbow Coalition and others heard of his passion.

...So maybe we haven't saved the world - just ourselves. Much love to you. Keep working on the world.

(The picture above was taken at that Civil Rights march in 1974. My husband's on the left. I'm freezing to death in the red coat.)

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Who Wrote This?

I just read another hysterical "Shouts & Murmurs" column in the January 18, 2010 edition of The New Yorker.

It starts with a "real" article published by the Centers for Disease Control stating that about 20 people a year are killed by cows.

It's then followed by an article written by an actual cow.

It seems this cow lives on a farm in New Jersey. It's very pleasant. The cow loves that the owners of the farm invite weekend guests because she (the cow) is seriously underrated intellectually so enjoys eavesdropping on actors, journalists, painters, musicians, directors, etc.

That is until she meets a "wormy little cipher, myopic behind black-framed glasses and groomed loutishly in his idea of rural chic: all tweedy and woodsy...demanding that a board be placed under his mattress, which he found too soft ."

"I might add (this is the cow speaking) that the character's incessant carping was done in a kazoolike nasal whine..."

OK, who does this sound like?

The cow goes on for pages describing this (familiar) guy in the most unflattering terms until he does something so offensive that she can't take it anymore.

"It was at this point that I decided to kill him!"

She doesn't quite accomplish this but she tries. And, along the way she's further insulted by this insufferable little Hollywood director.

Of course, the article is not written by a cow. It's written by Woody Allen.


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The Piano Teacher

One of my aunts, a woman I really loved, hated Asians. When I became a young woman I confronted her about this. But she reminded me of the terrible things that happened to her brothers (my uncles) in World War II and said she'd never get over it.

I tried to explain that a third of the world is Asian and that war brought out the worst in many people, no matter their race. But she wasn't swayed and died with this terrible prejudice.

And now I've just finished reading "The Piano Teacher" by Janice Y. K. Lee. I like books that teach me something as long as it's not too painful.

This one wasn't exactly painless because it takes place in Hong Kong prior, during and after World War II. A very painful time and place.

This New York Times bestseller is presented as a love story - but it's so much more. We see the brutality of race and class warfare and the kind of harsh reality this brings during times of real war.

It was given to me for Christmas. It's taken a while to finish because I've been reading other books as well and, of course, I've had other things on my mind.

Like getting married!!!

It has almost nothing to do with teaching the piano. It has much to do with human behavior when the East meets the West. It's sad and brutal. I loved it. I wish my aunt could have read it.

And, yes, it's a love story.


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Heros

We've all been sick at heart reading about the devastation in Haiti this week. It's overwhelming.

I've never been to Haiti but my (first) husband and one of my sons have been there on mission trips. We are all aware that, even prior to the earthquake, it was the most miserable place in the hemisphere in terms of human suffering and poverty.

But I've been heartened by the current disaster response from all over the world. I'm not surprised but I'm heartened. Because we human beings are called to respond to tragedy. And many of us heed the call.

Within 24 hours four hundred doctors flew out of New York to Haiti.

In this morning's paper I read about a young nurse who lives close to me who flew to Haiti with a medical team and medical supplies they'd purchased themselves.

On another note, I visited a Sunday school class last week where people are being heroic in the ways they're helping a couple who are experiencing their own tragedy.

I don't ever have to look far to see people performing miracles.


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