Jew Eat Yet?

Why I’m Ecstatic About Sarah Palin

I was stunned to wake up this morning to find that John McCain was about to name Alaska governor Sarah Palin as his running mate. I heard about her (for the first time) a few weeks ago and knew she was under consideration but I never in a million years dreamed that McCain would make such a bold move. I was sure it would be Pawlenty or Romney or Ridge or Jindal or even, God help us, Huckabee. But now, in a presidential race that is already full of amazing firsts, we have the first woman on a national Republican ticket. Woo-hoo! Congratulations, Sarah! How far she’s come since her stint as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska (population 6,715) only ten years ago. But here’s the main reason I’m so excited about this provocative choice:

McCain just guaranteed that he will lose the election.

I’m sure I’m tempting the Evil Eye with that comment. Just last night, following Obama’s dazzling speech in Denver, I was urging my ultra-liberal friends not to take it for granted that he was going to win. Smugness is never a wise decision, and I find it particularly unattractive on die-hard lefties like myself. But today I can’t help it. I truly believe McCain’s decision to put the relatively unknown Palin on the Republican ticket will ultimately be seen as the most monumental blunder in his political career.

The cynicism and condescension in this decision are mind-boggling. The idea that any Democratic supporter of Hillary Clinton’s will vote for McCain because his VP is a woman is even more offensive than the idea touted in 2004 that more women would vote for Kerry after he picked John Edwards because Edwards was so “cute.” Yuck. Oh, I’m sure there are some people, somewhere, who may be swayed by Palin’s historic place on the ticket and more power to ‘em, but the assumption by McCain and his team that Democratic women care so little about the issues is appalling to say the least. The only thing that Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton have in common are a few body parts. How can the other contenders for the vice presidency not be furious with McCain for this choice? I’m sure they are but are hiding it well for the sake of party unity.

It’s not like I have anything against Sarah Palin herself (even though I vehemently disagree with many of her views). She seems like a real character and it’s hard not to admire her after hearing about her life and meteoric rise to power in Alaska. But no one with half a brain, including Palin herself, could possibly believe that John McCain thought that out of every Republican politician in this country she was the best suited person to be one heartbeat away from the presidency. There’s no question that he chose her for one reason and one reason only: to try to court disgruntled Hillary Clinton voters. Disgusting. Do they really think Democrats will rush to vote for someone who virulently opposes abortion laws, even in the case of rape and incest, who favors a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage, who loves hunting and wearing furs, and who is in favor of teaching creationism in the public schools? Not bloody likely.

Nevertheless, the choice was like a massive adrenalin shot to McCain’s increasingly lifeless campaign. If he had chosen Pawlenty or Romney, I probably would have read a brief article about the announcement online and then gone on with my day. But the rumors about Palin and the subsequent confirmation had me glued to CNN for hours.

I believe Republicans of all stripes are wringing their hands tonight over McCain’s folly. I feel sorry for Palin for the scrutiny and negative press she is sure to get. Already she’s being judged for not taking a maternity leave and for “abandoning” her 4-month-old baby who has Down’s Syndrome in favor of the campaign. Really not fair. On the other hand, seeing how ambitious she is, such massive attention will surely help her in the end. I wish Sarah Palin well. And I look forward to the day when strong Republican women make it to the ticket because of their qualifications, not because of their gender.

Update two weeks later: Eek, talk about being a smug liberal, I couldn't have been more wrong about Palin's ability to grab hold of the Republican base. My mistake was believing that McCain chose her to appeal to disaffected Hillary Clinton supporters. Maybe that was a hoped-for side effect, but the real prize was winning back the support of the Religious Right, and he's certainly done that in spades thanks to Palin. The ultimate result of this choice remains to be seen but this post is stunning in its incorrect assessments of McCain's tactics. 

Live Blogging Bill Clinton at the Democratic Convention

I’ve never blogged live before but I’m sitting in a Whole Foods watching the convention on my computer and Bill Clinton has just been introduced, so why not?

6:03: Damn, Bill looks good. How much weight did he lose? Dear God, will someone retire that song “Don’t Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)?” Fleetwood Mac should sue.

6:07: Wow, the crowd won’t let him talk, they are cheering so loudly and waving their American flags. How do they pass out the right props to so many people so quickly? The delegates are very obedient, they’re always holding the right signs! Chelsea and Hillary are waving furiously but Chelsea looks more sincere. When did Chelsea get so beautiful? A little too made up maybe. She looks like a 1940s movie starlet.

6:09: Bill is begging the crowd to quiet down. “I am here first to support Barack Obama and second I’m here to warm up the crowd for Joe Biden.” Enthusiastic cheers.

6:10: Michelle looks fabulous, as always. Is she only wearing green at this convention? First mention of Hillary by Bill but not by name. He’s talking about the contentious primaries. “That campaign generated so much heat it increased global warming.” Not funny. He’s still not saying Hillary’s name. She…she…she. Yikes, my father used to yell at me whenever I called my mother “she.”

6:12: Thank God, he said her name. Hillary’s smile looks plastered on. Who is Michelle sitting next to? She looks like a cross between Fran Drescher and Polly Bergen.

“I want all of you who supported us to vote for Barack Obama in November.” Supported US?? I find this assumption that Bill and Hillary have to instruct their former supporters to vote for Obama a bit offensive.

That video system behind the podium is incredible. I wonder what the technology will be like at the Republican convention. I’ve already heard them complaining about the Democrats’ “glitz.”

6:13: I truly believe Bill Clinton is a brilliant man, but when he talks about the issues, he sounds like the smart kid in class who knows damn well that he’s smarter than everyone else.

6:14: “Everything I’ve learned during my eight years as President has convinced me that Barack Obama IS the man for this job.” Hmm, those are the right words but something is missing in Bill’s delivery.

Now he’s listing Barack’s accomplishments…I hope he revs up better than this….he’s trying but I believed Hillary more even though her delivery isn’t nearly as good.

6:15: It’s a Clinton-Biden lovefest. This all sounds very scripted which of course it is…

6:16: Clinton is doing his part. Hillary’s face must hurt from that fake smile. Michelle looks strangely somber…

“Barack Obama IS ready to be President of the United States.” As if he’s trying to convince himself. Wild applause.

6:17: Bill is detailing what Barack will do as President…he’s losing the crowd. Come on, Bill, bring it home. Time to start hittin’ on McCain and Bush.

Bill mentions AIDS…will anyone mention the anniversary of Katrina and the federal government’s appalling response?

6:20: The speech is sounding a bit generic. Is he really talking about Barack Obama? “Most important of all, Barack Obama knows that America cannot be strong abroad unless it is strong at home.” Hillary keeps nodding her head, as if to say, “Good boy, Bill.”

6:21: “Look at the examples the Republicans have set.” Here we go…declining wages, less jobs, decreased health care and pensions, rising poverty. Oy, when he mentions rising poverty the camera shows Hillary laughing. Not good.

If Bill is such a better speaker than Hillary, which I believe he is, why was I moved so much more during Hillary's speech last night? Ah, Bill finally mentioned Katrina, thank you…

“America can do better than that…and Barack Obama WILL do better than that.” What is the crowd chanting? Oh, right: “Yes, he can.” God, I hate group chanting.

6:22: Like Hillary, Bill is setting up McCain as a good man and a good American before he knocks him down. “He loves his country every bit as much as we do…but he still embraces the extreme philosophy of his party…” I’m sure we’ll hear the E-word (“extremist”) a lot next week.

6:23: “Four more years of the same? Let’s send the Republicans a message: Thanks but no thanks...In this case, the third time is NOT the charm!”

Oy, Hillary, that smile…Yikes, now Michelle has Hillary’s smile on. Her reaction to Hillary last night seemed more sincere.

6:26: “The Republicans said I was too young and too inexperienced to be Commander-in-Chief.” Good point. Hillary looks like a Stepford Wife. I only wish the new season of "Saturday Night Live" had started so we could see Amy Poehler do this face.

“It didn’t work in 1992 because we were on the right side of history, and it won’t work in 2008 because Barack Obama is on the right side of history.” What does that even mean?

6:28: I’m finally starting to be swayed by Bill’s public speaking abilities.

“If, like me, you believe that America must always be a place called hope…join Chelsea and Hillary and me in making Barack Obama the next President of the United States…thank you!!”

Wow, that was incredibly short for Bill. That’s all the time they gave him? Hillary looks crazy waving her flag. Bill was a way better audience member last night. He looked like he practiced the “proud” look over and over in the mirror and he had it down perfectly, complete with tears in his eyes whenever Hillary mentioned Chelsea. Not that the tears weren’t real…

6:30: Hillary looks depressed, like she just realized it’s really over.

I can’t find an outlet here and my power is about to run out so I better run. I won’t be able to watch Joe Biden live because I’m going to a centennial salute tonight at the Motion Picture Academy for special effects master George Pal. After a panel discussion that includes people like Barbara Eden, Russ Tamblyn, Ann Robinson, and Alan Young, they’re showing a new print of Pal’s 1953 version of “War of the Worlds,” a movie about evil aliens taking over the United States and brutally killing its citizens. That screening would be much more appropriate next week during the Republican Convention, don’t you think?

 

Biden His Time

Remember when any aspirations Joe Biden had for national office were considered dead in the water?  In a few hours, Biden will be the center of attention at the Democratic Convention. After longing for such a role for more than 20 years, this is Biden’s night. Of course, Bill Clinton thinks it’s his night, too, but if all goes well, both Clinton and Biden will whip Democrats into a frenzy of unified support. I imagine both with go at McCain and Bush with both barrels. I hope they don’t hold back detailing the endless horrors of the current administration.

My father thinks Obama made a huge mistake in not picking Hillary for Vice President. He thinks that if Hillary were on the ticket, Obama would have won with the biggest landslide in history. I’m not sure about that. Hillary’s supporters are just a subsection of this country’s Democrats, after all, not an extra group of 18 million added on top of traditional Democratic voters. And let’s face it, in many circles, including some liberal ones, Hillary Clinton is still reviled along with her husband, despite her historic campaign and the support she received in the primaries. I had planned on voting for Hillary until I switched to Obama's camp just before the California primary. Would she have been an asset to Obama’s campaign if she were the Vice Presdential candidate? It’s hard to say.

I admire what Joe Biden has done in the Senate over the past 35 years, but most of my memories of him come from his previous run for the Presidency in 1988. I cannot believe that 20 years have passed since Biden, then in his mid-40s, was a serious contender. Here’s how he looked on June 9, 1987, when he announced his candidacy in Wilmington, Delaware.

 

Am I the only one who thinks he looks better at 65? Could it be his lush silver hair? I’m surprised the press hasn’t been obsessing on Biden’s mysterious locks. In all the videos I’ve seen of Biden from the 80s, he was as bald as I am but today he sports a beautiful Ted Kennedy-like mane. What gives, Joe? Will the Republicans focus on this follicle discrepancy? Are we in for a season of Transplantgate?

My first memory of Biden in national politics goes all the way back to 1976 when he, ironically, was in charge of helping candidate Jimmy Carter pick a running mate. Did he ever consider putting himself in the running, as Dick Cheney did when Bush asked him to help pick a veep? At the time, young Senator Biden publicly worried that Carter would pick someone “bland.” Is that why the team ultimately went for that dynamo known as Walter Mondale? Gulp. Does anyone even remember Mondale’s run for the Presidency? Is Walter in Denver this week? Did he at least get to speak during the non-prime time hours? Walter Mondale is now the oldest living Vice President who never became President, twenty years older than Dan Quayle and Al Gore. Of course Gore doesn’t really belong on that list…

I really thought Biden had a shot in 88. It was painful to watch his campaign implode because of those pesky plagiarism charges. Unlike many accusations levied against political candidates, Biden was clearly guilty as charged, but reading the specifics of what he did I never thought his actions were that bad. Back then, the media pronounced Biden’s hopes for higher office dashed for life. What a difference 20 years makes! Is that all Hillary has to do—wait 20 years? Will she be the darling of the 2028 Presidential campaign, running on a ticket with a new charismatic figure who was born in 1983?

Following the plagiarism scandal, there were no end of negative articles about Biden, including some that damned him with faint praise. An editorial in the New York Times called “An Age of Pretense” bid a fond farewell to the senator from Delaware:

Before we finally say bye-bye to Senator Biden, we ought to give the guy half a break. At least he knew when to quit, and he reminded us that petty betrayals and mindless neglect sometimes have deplorable results. We are living in an age of pretense when even faking sincerity is the style, and it’s reassuring to know that it doesn’t always work.

Joe Biden isn’t a bad man, like so many in the political dodge. He’s just a breezy, gabby, careless man, full of good looks and good intentions, unsupported by clear thinking or plain speaking. There are plenty more like him still in town.

I think Biden can be arrogant as hell, but I still admire him. A less-than-flattering 1988 description of him holds true today: “Joe always looks slicker than he is, with his twisted smile and his hey-fella-how’m-I-doin’ pose. He is a picture: even his flashing white teeth, which look false, are real.”

Remember that as his campaign came crashing down around him twenty years ago, Biden was in the middle of presiding over the confirmation hearings for Robert Bork, Reagan’s ultra-conservative pick for the Supreme Court. There’s no doubt that Biden played a huge role in Bork’s defeat. Biden was masterful and informed, without being over-the-top. At the time, Biden knew that even his colleagues who were allied with him against Bork were doubtful that he was the right man for the job.

“There were three questions,” Biden recounted. “Can Biden be fair? Can Biden control himself? And is there any substance there, any depth to Biden? The expectations of me were so low that I could have done almost anything except punch Bork and people would have said, ‘He’s not as bad as I thought!’”

After it was all over, Biden savored the victory, but expressed empathy for Judge Bork.

“It’s presumptuous to say you know how somebody feels,” the Senator said. “I don’t know how he feels, but I empathize with him intellectually and emotionally. It once looked so certain for him. He was so up. I know how that feels.”

And now it “looks up” again for Joe Biden. After licking his wounds in 88, he went back to work in the Senate, and bided his time until he could take center stage again. Give ‘em hell tonight, Joe. See you at the inauguration! 

Memories at 35,000 Feet

At a Karoll’s party in the 1960s at Chicago’s Covenant Club:

Standing: Florence, Herb, Toni, and Dave Karoll, famed Chicago Blackhawks hockey player Bobby Hull and his wife Joanne, Anita Karoll, Ruth Lerman, Ann and Jack Wolff
Sitting: Sam Karoll, Peter and Judy Miller (my parents), Irving Lerman

I’m writing this from American Airlines Flight 1763 en route to John Wayne Airport in Orange County. We couldn’t get any flights out of LAX with our frequent flyer miles and there weren’t any coach seats left so we had to fly first class. Not exactly a bad thing in this day of no frills cattle-car flying. While our compatriots in the back of the plane had the honor of buying boxes of junk food for seven bucks a pop, we are being plied with free booze and just dined on salad, short ribs with potatoes and green beans, and ice cream sundaes. I wouldn’t say that any of it is worth the exorbitant price of an actual first class ticket but the extra leg room and decent grub is a welcomed nod to the old days when flying was fun and comfortable. I just cried my way through the documentary “Young at Heart” about a group of singing senior citizens from New York who travel the world performing in sold-out concerts.  It was the perfect film to watch following my long stay in Chicago when so much of my time was wrapped up in the memories of family members who are no longer with us.

At this point in my digital archiving, I thought I’d seen it all so I was delighted when I found a box in my sister’s house containing more undiscovered treasures. Here is a photo from the Chicago Sun-Times of my grandfather Sam (at left) with his two brothers, Herb and Dave,  celebrating the 50th anniversary of their menswear business in Chicago. This photo appeared in Kup’s Column on November 20, 1988. I remember that my grandfather was a good friend of Irv Kupcinet, a Chicago institution who also had a great TV show for many years. I wish I’d known about that luncheon. Today I’d give anything to hear my grandfather and uncles telling stories about the old days. The brothers are now gone, as are all but two members of that dearly missed generation, born in the early years of the 20th century.

This is the building that the Karoll brothers bought so many decades ago to house their flagship men’s clothing store. The Reliance Building, at the corner of State and Washington, sits directly across from Marshall Field’s and, with its large plate glass windows, is considered the first modern skyscraper. This postcard is from the 1920s and it is exactly how the restored building looks today in its new life as the swank Hotel Burnham, named after its famed architect Daniel H. Burnham who designed many landmark structures in the city including Marshall Field’s, the Rookery, and the Monadnock Building. He was the chief architect of the 1893 Chicago Worlds Fair and is a major character in Erik Larson’s brilliant book, “The Devil in the White City.” 

When I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s, the building had turned almost black with soot, had ugly fire escapes going up and down its side, and saw a steady increase of sleazy tenants and eventually no tenants at all (click here to see the amazing visuals that photographer Jay Boersma took in 1994 just prior to the building's renovation). The part of the building that juts out on top was removed in the 1950s because chunks of the aging terra cotta were breaking off and falling into the street. It was a mess. In my family’s defense, my cousin Julie told me last week that her grandfather, my Uncle Herb, made numerous attempts to raise the millions needed to restore the façade but it never happened until the city took ownership of the building in the early 1990s when Karoll’s went out of business.

Many of the artifacts of my family history evoke the long-ago heyday of the family business, once a successful chain of men’s clothing stores. A few weeks ago I featured photos and videos of my brother-in-law throwing out the first pitch at a Cubs game and singing during the seventh-inning stretch but my family also had allegiances to the rival White Sox. I found a bunch of photos of my grandfather with members of that team but being a north sider myself, I don’t have a clue who these guys are. Are they famous players? Why didn’t I ever go to Comiskey Park with my grandfather and Uncle Paul, both avid White Sox fans if I remember correctly? Funny that they favored the Sox when they lived walking distance from Wrigley Field.

My grandfather even sponsored a Little League team in the 1950s, as seen in the photo below.

Who knew? That’s him in the center of the top row but I don’t recognize the other adults. Are they Karoll’s employees? And where are those kids today? I’d give anything for an original Karoll’s Pirates uniform! If anyone has any information about this team, let me know!

I hope my endless dips into the family archives aren’t too boring for people outside of my gene pool. Nothing excites me more than finding new artifacts from bygone eras. Rifling through old boxes and envelopes I feel like Indiana Jones, searching for treasures that are sadly no longer tied to first-person anecdotes from living relatives.

And now, as we wing our way through the western skies, I know that it’s time to let go of my obsession with the past and resume my present-day life as an adult in Los Angeles. I’m already in trouble for dissing Los Angeles in my previous post. Don’t get me wrong—I love L.A. but part of my heart will always belong to Chicago. Los Angeles is hardly Siberia, but as we speed away from Chicago I can’t help but think of the song that Tevye’s middle daughter sang when she left her family in Anatevka for parts unknown:

How can I hope to make you understand
Why I do what I do,
Why I must travel to a distant land,
Far from the home I love.
Once I was happily content to be
As I was, where I was,
Close to the people who are close to me,
Here in the home I love.

There where my heart has settled long ago
I must go, I must go.
Who could imagine I'd be wand’ring so
Far from the home I love.

Windy City Regression

We’re still in Chicago. We’re having a great time but we've been here so long I’ve practically forgotten where I live the rest of the year. Los Angeles? Where’s that? For all I know, California has snapped off and fallen into the Pacific. Being around my family, it takes all my energy to avoid regressing into infancy. I think I reached the nadir of regression after about 8 days. Who is that woman in my bedroom, I thought with a start on Day 6? Hey, that 13-year-old girl looks familiar but I can’t quite place her. Oh, wait—it’s my wife and daughter! Last weekend I woke up and suddenly felt my present-day self rushing back into my body. As we approach our departure, I find that I’m flickering like a Midwestern firefly between 2008 and the early 1970s.

I love Chicago. Let’s face it, as a thriving, culturally rich metropolitan center, it leaves Los Angeles in the dust. Granted, I don’t want to hear my adopted city trashed by any snooty Chicagoans, but between you and me, Chicago rules in terms of architecture, food, theatre, public parks, museums, and general cohesiveness and brand loyalty. Sure, the weather sucks six months out of the year, but most people here take that in stride and are thus more grateful for the months when you can actually walk outside without risking frostbite or heat exhaustion.

If I actually lived here I would pace myself better. As it is, with all the people I need to see, I am averaging about six meals a day. Is it an homage to my beloved home town that I am morphing into the body shape of the first Mayor Daley? I think I’ve had my quota of Chicago hot dogs, deep dish pizza, Italian beef, and other local delicacies for the next millennium. As soon as I get back to L.A. tomorrow night I will begin my annual post-Chicago cleanse.

Yesterday we went to one of my favorite spots from childhood, the Museum of Science and Industry, housed in a magnificent building that was built for the 1893 Worlds Columbian Exposition in Chicago. I’m sure it was growing up here that made me into such a history lover. Everywhere you look there are signs of Chicago’s fascinating past. Today there is a real appreciation and respect for the history of the city although many of my favorite buildings were torn down in the miserable 1970s and 80s.

There's so much more I could say about this wonderful town and the intricacies of my family dynamic but it’s 10 am and time for another meal. Is there a world going on out there? I need to find a newspaper since I have no idea what’s going on. Wait, I think some guy named Spitz just won big at the Olympics. And I know there’s a big election coming up in a few months. I, for one, am putting all my money on McGovern.

Burr Oaks Camp: Back to the Future

Above is a photo of my mother (top row, center) and her cabin mates at Burr Oaks Camp in Mukwonago, Wisconsin. The date is August 1943. Last Friday we picked up my nephew Spencer from the very location this photo was taken 65 summers ago. Burr Oaks was a Jewish girls camp that began in 1928 and closed down some time in the mid-1970s. A few years later it reopened as a co-ed B’nai B’rith camp called Beber using the same beautiful grounds and buildings where my mother spent all her summers during the 1940s.

This was Spencer’s second year at Beber and he loved it. When my sister and I stumbled across the former Burr Oaks Camp two years ago after dropping Spencer off at a different camp nearby, we were flabbergasted that we found it and amazed that we recognized so many things from my late mother’s stories and photos. My mother had frequently talked about her years at Burr Oaks, but we never knew where it was or if the grounds still existed. When we got back to Chicago, I wrote a post mentioning the camp and was delighted to hear from a bunch of former Burr Oaks campers and counselors. I’ve even met some of them since then who shared with me their memorabilia from the camp. It seemed like a really special place. As I said in my previous post, my mother spoke often of the theatrical elements of Burr Oaks, including the night they would wake campers each summer and herd them to an open area where they would somehow project fairies dancing in the trees.

While there last Friday, we ran into Jennifer, one of the former campers I met through my blog whose kids go there now. The old Burr Oaks slogan, Lo-He-Ha (for Love, Health, and Happiness), is still visible throughout the camp along with the acorn motif. I remember my mother talking about Memory Hall which is now Crown Hall but is otherwise unchanged. We walked the 72 steps that my mother told us about and we gazed at beautiful Lake Beulah which is still there in all its glory, with the Beber kids doing many of the water sports the Burr Oaks girls did so long ago.

Most of my mother’s time at Burr Oaks took place during World War II. As I study the photos of the smiling Jewish girls lined up in their beautifully pressed white Burr Oaks uniforms (who would put active summer campers in clean white uniforms?), I can’t help but think of their counterparts in Europe during those same summers—girls who who looked just like them and came from the same well-off families but who were now being herded into crowded ghettos and then shipped off to Nazi death camps. Oy, I grant you that’s an abrupt transition from a happy reminiscence of summer camp, but it’s impossible for me to see those dates on the photos and not think of what was happening to the Jewish girls in Europe while my mother and her friends were singing camp songs in Mukwonago. I wonder if there was any awareness at the camp about what was going on in the world at that time. I’m sure they discussed the war at length, but did the girls know what was happening to the Jews of Europe?

As I looked at the photos posted daily of Spencer and his buddies over the past four weeks, I marveled at the team spirit and at all the fun the kids were having. I had my usual wistful thoughts about never having attended summer camp but then I started thinking that as great as it looked, I don’t think I was cut out for such camps at all. As much as I always long to be part of some idealized fantasy of community, I also carry major fears about groupness in general. To me, any large group of people united in purpose or belief or interest, whether it’s a crowd of campers at Burr Oaks or Beber, a gaggle of supporters at an Obama rally, a sold out stadium watching a Cubs game, or an audience full of enthusiastic Wilco fans, they always seem like they are two steps away from mob rule, capable of crushing anything in their path and losing their individual identities as they blindly follow whatever the group is commanded to do. What is wrong with me? Why do I simultaneously fear and crave being part of a group? Nothing grosses me out more than the chanting at political rallies or sports events, no matter what side I’m on. I always feel like I’m at a Hitler Youth Camp or Nazi rally, being indoctrinated into some larger cause that requires me to abandon my free will.

I know this is not what’s happening at most summer camps, certainly not at Burr Oaks or Beber, two institutions that are incredibly beloved by former campers across the globe, and yet I don’t think I could ever have fully embraced the group spirit that would have been necessary for me to get the most out of that experience. I admire people like my nephew who truly understand the proper ethos of summer camp, but I think I am more like the old high school classmate I was talking to yesterday about the cliques we belonged to back in the day. “I only belonged to one clique,” she told me. “It was called the Anti-Social Club. We had no meetings.” At last—my people!

Lo-he-ha!

Scarlett O’Hara’s Disgruntled Sister Haunts My Blog

Last June, I wrote about so many people who had died that month that I worried my blog was turning into a celebrity obituary site. I purposely avoided mentioning such deaths for the rest of the summer. That’s not working. Now I find that when I ignore certain people, I can’t let them go—or rather they can’t let go of me! It’s not everyone. Don’t worry: I won’t be writing a post connecting Golden Girls’ Estelle Getty to writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn. But remember actress Evelyn Keyes? She died on July 4th at the age of 91. I would guess that the vast majority of the public has forgotten this talented, lovely, and somewhat troubled actress, but my attempts to avoid writing about her have practically led to a full-scale haunting.

Do you remember how Keyes kept appearing to Tom Ewell as a ghostly apparition in Billy Wilder’s great 1955 film, “The Seven Year Itch,” one of Keyes’ best known films? Ewell was sweltering through a hot summer in his Manhattan apartment while his wife (Evelyn Keyes) had absconded to the country with their kids, but after sexpot Marilyn Monroe sublets the apartment upstairs and Ewell starts to fantasize about having an affair with her, Keyes keeps materializing in the apartment to shoot her husband down and act as his conscience. Keyes was a brilliantly understated comedienne in this film, delivering Wilder’s great lines in a deadpan style while sitting in a chair knitting. That’s the version of Evelyn Keyes that’s been appearing in my house during the weeks since she died. “Are you going to write about me today, Danny?” she says from the overstuffed green chair in our bedroom. “Well, no, I don’t think so?” “How about today?” her ghost asks in the kitchen as I’m frying an egg.” “Today would be a good day, don’t you think,” I hear her purring from the back seat of my car. Jesus, Evelyn, get off my back! 

Keyes is part of that category of actors that has always fascinated me. The ones who easily could have been big A-list stars on par with Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Marilyn Monroe, and so on, but for whatever reasons of fate and circumstance, never completely crossed over into that group. Evelyn Keyes was always “about to” make that transition. At least once a year for over a decade, an article would appear announcing that Keyes had finally arrived.

Evelyn Keyes was born in Port Arthur, Texas, in 1916 but was raised in Atlanta, Georgia. Shortly after coming to Hollywood in 1937, she was “discovered” by Cecil B. De Mille, who gave her small parts in “The Buccaneer” and “Union Pacific.” This led to an incredible break for a brand new, relatively unknown actress. David O. Selznick noticed Evelyn in her small roles and gave her the part of Scarlett O’Hara’s bratty sister Suellen in the biggest A-picture of all time, “Gone With the Wind.” After working hard for a full year to get rid of her Southern accent (De Mille was impressed by Keyes’ ability to “speak the King’s English”), Evelyn had to learn it back for her new role. While many actresses were having their dark locks dyed blond in Hollywood, Evelyn again had to go in reverse and have her golden hair dyed brown to match Margaret Mitchell’s descriptions of Suellen.

Does this building look familiar? I took this photo from my cell phone this morning as I rode by the building on my bicycle. Today it’s the administrative building for the Culver Studios and it was once the headquarters of the Thomas Ince and Desilu Studios. But in 1939, this building, looking exactly as it does today, appeared at the beginning of “Gone With the Wind” as the logo for Selznick International. It was probably in this very structure where Evelyn Keyes signed her contract to play Suellen O’Hara along with Ann Rutherford who was brought over from the Andy Hardy set at neighboring MGM to play Scarlett’s other “nicer” sister, Careen. Directly behind this building was the backlot, where, in 1938, Selznick set fire to his old sets from “King Kong” and other films for the famous burning of Atlanta scene. That backlot is now long gone but the gardens still exist where Bonnie Blue Butler rode that little pony to her untimely death. 

I’ll save my thoughts about “Gone With the Wind” for another post. Suffice it to say that it’s a great film that only suffers today when you realize that it glorifies the unnamed Ku Klux Klan. Oy. Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable were perfect as Scarlett and Rhett, even when Leigh’s English accent kept slipping into her performance. Olivia de Havilland was a moving Melanie, Hattie McDaniel was a fabulous Mammy, and the rest of the cast was sublime except, in my opinion, Leslie Howard as a phoned-in Ashley Wilkes. Evelyn Keyes did a superb job in her small but high-profile role. Who can ever forget her whiny howl after she finds out her sister has snagged her long-time boyfriend Frank Kennedy in order to pay the back taxes on Tara. “Scarlett’s had two husbands and I’m going to be an OLD MAID!” 

But Keyes herself was anything but an old maid. While filming “Gone With the Wind,” she was already secretly married to architect Barton Bainbridge. I don’t know why she kept the marriage a secret, I guess she thought it might hurt her career and the studio wouldn’t like it. News of the marriage only leaked out after Bainbridge’s suicide in 1940, a few months after Evelyn had left him. Keyes revealed later that she got pregnant during the making of “Gone With the Wind” but rather than risk her part in this film, she had an illegal abortion that went bad, leaving Evelyn unable to have children.

Keyes then married director Charles Vidor who directed her in three films. That marriage went south in little more than a year, thanks largely to Vidor’s womanizing, and the two were divorced in 1945. In early 1946 Keyes told a Los Angeles Times reporter that she would never marry again, but in July of that year she impulsively snuck off to Las Vegas and tied the knot with director John Huston. “Hollywood was left gasping by the swift-moving romance. Huston and Miss Keyes, who met but a month ago, were dining at Mike Romanoff’s when Huston said, ‘Listen, honey, there’s no point in waiting any further. Let’s get married now!’ Miss Keyes assented, and while Huston was making arrangements to charter a plane, host Romanoff hurried home to secure an old-fashioned gold wedding band that, he explained, had been lost by a guest in his swimming pool.” 

It was another tempestuous marriage for Evelyn. She moved into Huston’s sprawling farm in Calabasas and had to deal with his menagerie of animals including cats, dogs, horses, burros, monkeys, parrots, and a chimp who would torment the poor actress. In 1948, when Huston was in Mexico filming “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” with Humphrey Bogart and his father, Walter Huston, a young orphaned boy named Pablo Albarran became a sort of mascot on the set, helping with the crew and befriending the director. When it was time to return to Hollywood, Huston didn’t know what to do with Pablo so he decided to bring him home and adopt him…without telling his wife! In his autobiography, Huston recounts how he met Evelyn at the aiport and surprised her by introducing her to their new son. Good lord. Keyes tried her best but that was the beginning of the end of their marriage. They divorced in 1949.

 

Throughout the 1940s Keyes’ career had followed the same path of “almost” stardom. A great role in the 1941 film “Here Comes Mr. Jordan” was supposed to do it. A dazzling performance as the Genie in “A Thousand and One Nights” in 1945 was supposed to do it. Playing the Ruby Keeler-like wife of Al Jolson in the popular “Jolson Story” with Larry Parks in 1946 was really supposed to it, and then taking on the title role in 1948’s “The Mating of Millie” was supposed to do it again. As each of these films came out, articles appeared announcing Keyes’ newfound fame, but then it always seemed like she was back to square one, something she found increasingly frustrating. 

In 1949, Evelyn campaigned vigorously for the role of Billie Dawn in the screen version of Judy Holliday’s Broadway hit, “Born Yesterday” that her studio, Columbia, was planning. She almost got it, too, after Columbia’s reigning queen, Rita Hayworth, turned it down. But at the last minute mogul Harry Cohn made the rare decision to give the part to the woman who created the role on the stage and Judy Holliday won an Oscar for her performance. That was definitely a smart decision and Holliday was exquisite, but I wonder how Keyes’ career would have changed if she had landed that plum part. Bitterly frustrated, Keyes’ agreed to a 20 percent pay cut to get out of her contract at Columbia.

After her excellent turn in “The Seven Year Itch,” Keyes all but retired from the screen. Her love life didn’t fare much better than her career in the 1950s. Evelyn began an affair with Mike Todd that ended when he dumped her for Liz Taylor. To everyone’s surprise, she married musician Artie Shaw in 1957 (another philanderer who’d already been married to Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, and five other women) yet this marriage lasted into the 1970s and the couple only got around to a divorce in 1985. Following Shaw’s death in 2004, Keyes sued his estate, claiming she was entitled to half of his fortune based on a verbal agreement they had made. She was eventually awarded well over a million dollars. In addition to her husbands, Keyes also had well known affairs with Anthony Quinn, David Niven, and Kirk Douglas. “I was always interested in the man of the moment,” she later said, “and there were so many such moments!”

Oh Evelyn, Evelyn, I’m sorry that you never felt fully appreciated. “I’m the first to admit that I never achieved my potential as an actress,” she told a reporter in the 90s. “I got to star in my own movies. I even had my name above the title in some cases. But what am I known for? My bit part in ‘Gone With the Wind.’ It’s very funny.”

Rest in peace, Miss Keyes. See you in the movies.

 

 

Chicago, Here We Come!

Kendall, Leah, and I are heading out to Chicago on Thursday for two weeks. Yikes, is that too long of a period to spend with family? Will I be fully regressed into my 12-year-old self by Saturday? Probably, but we’re all looking forward to the trip. I’m just kicking myself that we weren’t there this weekend. Last night my brother-in-law’s band headlined Lollapalooza, a Chicago-based music festival I attended two years ago. I watched the video simulcast and was dazzled by the debut of the new Nudie suits worn by all of the band—spectacular! And Dave Max Crawford and his horn section, the Total Pros, were playing with Wilco which is always great. Here’s a brief clip from last night so you can see the amazing new threads:

And then, to really make me want to shoot myself for not being there, this afternoon Jeff threw out the opening pitch at the Cubs game! WTF? All of Wilco was there, and they sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the Seventh-Inning Stretch. I’m just sorry my nephew Spencer wasn’t there since he’s such a baseball fan—we’re picking him up from camp next Friday. Jeff even got his own Cubs uniform with Tweedy on the back. That has to be the greatest honor any Chicagoan (even one who grew up in southern Illinois like Jeff) could ever receive—much better than winning a stupid Grammy or playing at Carnegie Hall or the Hollywood Bowl!

Here are some photos from earlier today, direct from my sister’s iPhone:

How cute are Sue and Jeff in that last shot? I don’t think I’ve been at a Cubs game, I’m sorry to say, since my grandfather’s clothing store, Karoll’s Red Hanger Shop, sponsored the game and I got to sit in the press box with Jack Brickhouse. 

Jeff will be on the road during most of our visit, including a concert in Massachusetts that will be attended by the youngest, most devoted Wilco fan I know. His name is Ben and he’s the son of a guy I used to work with at my old New England-based publishing company, Heinemann. I’ve never heard of a seven-year-old who was so into Jeff’s music. Apparently Ben is completely obsessed and plays Wilco day and night. He made the following video of himself singing “Shot in the Arm.” His dad told me that Ben didn’t really understand some of the lyrics, thank God. But how many seven-year-olds are interested in this kind of music?

What a cool kid! Four days until we hit the Windy City. Sue, please meet us at the airport with three Superdawgs and a Lou Malnati's pizza.