Wednesday, December 7, 2016

The Tragedy of Wheeler & Woolsey

The grim tale of Robert Woolsey reminds us today of a time not too far in the past when workers were expected to cover their own expenses if they were injured on the job; the employer could do something, out of the kindness of his heart, but was not required by law to contribute a single penny to the care of an employee who was injured at work.  Disability insurance and worker’s compensation were just pie-in-the-sky ideas bandied about by social theorists.

Although largely forgotten today, Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey were a stellar comedy team, first on Broadway in the 1920’s, and then becoming top-drawing clowns for RKO studies in Hollywood in the 1930’s.

They first met while working as water boys for the circus, and soon cooked up clown makeups and gags that got them invited into clown alley at smaller circuses.  In 1923 they graduated to Broadway, where they played rude bumpkins in several musical comedies staring Ethel Merman.  Their big break came in 1929, when they starred in the Broadway musical “Rio Rita”, which was one of the first Broadway shows to be filmed in sound in Hollywood, with Wheeler and Woolsey continuing in their starring roles.

By now they had refined their stage personas; Bert Wheeler was the young man always on the brink of falling in love while Robert Woolsey played a cigar-smoking wisecracker, leering at the world like Groucho Marx, behind a pair of exaggerated black horn rim glasses. 

During the filming of “Rio Rita” Robert Woolsey was required to be hoisted into the sky on a mechanical whip – a device to give the film audience the impression that the screen actor was flying, like Peter Pan.  In the hands of a competent technician, the whip was completely safe, and had been used for years both onstage and in movies.  But on the day Woolsey was to be filmed using the mechanical whip the technician in charge of it called in sick, so the director, Luther Reed, simply told one of the electrical grips to handle the sensitive mechanism for the scene.  The grip, with no training, attached the straps incorrectly, and when Woolsey was hoisted into the air he had barely reached ten feet when the straps came loose, allowing Woolsey to fall onto a wooden sawhorse.  Woolsey was rushed to the studio infirmary, where a nurse gave him a cursory going-over and proclaimed he had only minor bumps and bruises and should go home to rest and come back the next day to resume filming.

This was the start of the agonizing internal problems that Robert Woolsey suffered until the day of his death in 1938.  It did not enter his mind to seek competent medical help or get the studio to pay for x-rays.  After all, he was just a screen comedian, a lowbrow clown; there were literally dozens of them haunting Broadway and Vaudeville, waiting for a crack at a movie role.  So Woolsey did not rock the boat, but continued to work with his partner Bert Wheeler in series of scintillating musical slapstick comedies.  But Woolsey soon found he could not work for a full day without becoming physically exhausted to the point where he would pass out in the afternoon and be sent home.  Ugly rumors were spread that he was drinking and blacking out, but the truth was he had damaged his kidney in the fall from the mechanical whip; each film he made after that increased his pain, sapping him of energy and strength.  Anyone watching the Wheeler and Woolsey films in chronological order will be struck by how emaciated and stiff Robert Woolsey becomes by the end of his career; he appears to be 30 years older than his partner Wheeler (they were actually just five years apart in age).  In his last film, 1937’s “High Flyers”, Woolsey is not even introduced into the movie until the first 20 minutes have passed.  He looks, and acts, like an old man.  By then everyone at the RKO studio knew he was a dying man.  Two months after finishing the picture, Robert Woolsey entered the Santa Monica Clinic and was treated for kidney failure.  There was little the medics could do, and he passed away quietly, with his partner Bert Wheeler at his side.

After his death the Screen Actors Guild held an emergency meeting and passed two resolutions.  The first one was to award a lifelong pension to Robert Woolsey’s widow, and the second was to threaten to go on strike if Hollywood studios did not immediately institute a series of health and safety reforms, including disability insurance and worker’s compensation as required by California state law.  The studio heads muttered it was all a ‘communist plot’, but they gave in, and Hollywood actors at last were protected on the job in the land of Make Believe. 

Their movies are available as DVDs at Amazon.com  

Michael G. Flynn



The son of the top national security adviser to President-elect Donald Trump was removed from the new administration’s transition team on Tuesday after backing a bogus conspiracy theory that inspired a shooting incident in Washington, according to people familiar with the matter.
from the Washington Post

An idiot, Michael G. Flynn,
Let rumor get under his skin.
The lies he proclaimed
Left his intellect maimed;
He’ll soon find a nice loony bin.

Trump adviser’s son removed from transition after spreading conspiracy theory

Michael G. Flynn and his father, retired Lt. Gen. Michael T. Flynn — Trump’s designated national security adviser — have both used their social media accounts to promote fabricated claims, including allegations that aides to Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton were involved in a child prostitution ring.
from the Washington Post 
When madness leaps from tongue to tongue,
when rumor rules the land;
advisers to the President
become a foolish band.
Their motley, though expensive,
is the same old cap and bells;
the only office they deserve
is silent padded cells. 


Light the World #5

  I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.     Isaiah 45:7   
Nothing happens in the light, nor rises up in dark,
that does not have its being from the Godhead's vital spark.
Through tumult and through quiet, there is only one true ray
of light; it emanates from all who choose but to obey.
Call nothing evil till you know the Lord's profound design;
a hole that you disdain may just contain a rich gold mine!


Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Stephanie Land: Trump’s election stole my desire to look for a partner

There is no room for dating in this place of grief. Dating means hope. I’ve lost that hope in seeing the words “President-elect Trump.”

Stephanie Land, writing in the Washington Post

Dear Steph, I too am unattached

because my hopes have all been scratched.

That Trump is mean and rude and snide,

and so I'll never find a bride!

An anchorite I shall remain,

and live alone with all my pain.

But if no longer I fixate,

how about a trial blind date? 




Monday, December 5, 2016

Restaurant Review: Cubby's Chicago Beef. Provo, Utah.

Located at 1258 N State Street, Cubby's serves up a good juicy burger. Their rosemary fries are justly famous for their savor and lightness. What can I say? There's really almost no reason to write a review at all about this place. If you like beef in at its gloriously shredded and fried forms, Cubby's is the only game in town. My lunch of bleu cheese burger, rosemary fries, and fountain drink, set me back $11.49. Their fountain drinks feature Mello Yello, a Mountain Dew knockoff, that I haven't seen in too many places around here. Actually, I thought it was an extinct brand. I rate the place Four Burps, hands down.

They also feature a wide range of salads, but that's probably only because the he-men that eat here all have drop-dead gorgeous girlfriends -- and the only way they can keep their svelte figures is to starve on kale and radishes.
The place is undergoing an extensive renovation. Why, I don't know. It'll probably wind up looking like a McDonalds.


Book Review: The Most of S.J. Perelman.

Scholars attempting to wrest knowledge from the skimpy shelves of the Marshall-University High School library in Minneapolis in the year of our Lord 1970, would be sadly taxed by the giggles of a slender youth who just happened to bear a remarkable resemblance to myself.

This bean pole of an adolescent, all Adam's apple and beaky proboscis, was bent over a tome entitled "The Most of S.J. Perelman" and enjoying himself tremendously with such classic pieces of literary insanity as "The Idol's Eye" or the numerous manic memoirs prefaced as "Cloudland Revisited".

He cared not that most of the pieces involved a vocabulary that would baffle a Rhodes Scholar -- the sheer insanity of the word play and blistering sarcasm shone through like a beacon on a murky night.

There has never been, nor can there ever be, another writer of the ilk of Sidney Joseph Perelman. But I refuse to try to cajole you into reading his work. If ever a writer were an acquired taste, it is Mr. Perelman. He disdains to use a simple word when a ten-dollar whopper is available. He uses French, Italian, German, and Yiddish phrases extensively, with no translation. His references are archaic and obscure to the point of Gnosticism. I still need to have a dictionary at hand when I read him.

So who wants to bother with such a shovboat? Me, for one -- and anyone who admires an artist of the first water. For Perelman is undoubtedly a virtuoso with the English language. He makes it do his manic bidding with deceptive ease.

You want I should give you an example, boychick?  Here's all the example you'll get from me, boyo: Perelman co-wrote several of the early Marx Brothers movies. So, if you've always been a closet Grouchophile, you'll realize just what kind of magical stuff Perelman is capable of. Nuff said.

Sadly, I've never been able to interest my family or friends in the brilliant work of S.J. Perelman. The common complaint is always: "He's too hard to read!"

Well, gold and diamonds are hard to find -- that's what makes them valuable. Anyone who will go to the trouble of exploring Perelman for even a half hour, wading through his coruscating prose with an encyclopedia in one hand and a LaRousse in the other, will be rewarded with lapidary writing the likes of which no longer exist in American literature.

I recently picked up a used copy of The Most of S.J. Perelman on Amazon.com for two dollars, plus shipping and handling.


Real journos do not take a bribe

Since the election, most of the attention about “news” has centered on how to get “fake news” off of Facebook and Google. Instead, why can’t organizations that care about good journalism launch a promotional campaign to teach the American public what a real journalist is? 
from The News & Observer

Real journos do not take a bribe.
Nor spiritous liquors imbibe.
The truth is their life.
They do not fear strife.
They never stoop to diatribe. 



Read more here: http://www.newsobserver.com/opinion/op-ed/article118741663.html#storylink=cpy

Light the World #4

 Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun:
Ecclesiastes 11:7

Sweet light, from sun and stars and moon.

Sweet light, to which we must attune.

Sweet light, that meets us from above.

Sweet light, a symbol of His love.


Still light, that warms the heart to peace.

Still light, that brings us to our knees.

Still light, one night so long ago;

shown on a manger all aglow.


Strong light, that no one can abate.

Strong light, our life to calibrate.

Strong light, an heirloom and a force.

Strong light of Christ, our only Source! 



Sunday, December 4, 2016

The Gospel Pedagogue

Machine gun through the lesson,

most Gospel teachers try;

they do not like long comments, 

or questions such as "Why?"

They send me off to slumber;

such pedagogues provoke

a boredom that does tempt me

to try an ad-lib joke.

These teachers do not like me,

as in my folding chair

I try to push the boundaries 

and ranging thought I dare.

But then, on further thinking,

uneasiness does lurk --

Am I an sincere seeker,

or just a classroom jerk?