Mississippi Airplanes

 For guys in my dad’s generation, for those who were also from here, there wasn’t much more impressive than an airplane.  Some, like his cousin Ben, went for sailboats instead.  Sailing has the advantage that you don’t fall to your death if the wind goes out of your sails, but you may end up shark food, so it’s a trade-off.

Part of this phenomenon might have been driven by wanting to impress people that there was something more to them than just another country boy, and a machine that can actually fly is a pretty good way to do just that.  In some cases, it was a thing that their parents had only read about.  It’s hard to imagine what that would be like today.  I guess my father never dreamed of such a thing as a submersible that went to the Titanic, so if I got one, it’d be impressive to him, although apparently ill-advised.

Bob Neblett was the first weatherman in Mississippi on the first television station in Mississippi.  He was a weatherman because he was also one of Mississippi’s first private pilots.  Besides doing the news, he was in charge of Mississippi’s only airport, Hawkin’s Field, out by the zoo.  Today, pilots check their phones for weather reports before going out.  Neblett didn’t have that available to him, and NOAH didn’t send out weather reports on the wire, so he learned basic meteorology himself.  When WJTV went on the air, Bob was the only choice.  He also sold ice cream and introduced Mississippians to Reddy Kilowatt.

Serving in the ROTC, my dad wanted very much to be a pilot.  He was in ROTC, so when he went into the service, he would be an officer.  His father insisted.  He was completely ready to fight the Nazis in World War II, but it ended before he graduated, so he served in Korea.  The airforce said he was too tall for a pilot, but he could be an engineer, so they sent him to school to learn this fancy new thing they had called “radar,” and he spent his entire military career listening for Russians flying over the border into West Berlin, and learning the specs of every aircraft on the base.

Most of Dad’s friends were as plane obsessed as he was.  When Brum Day ascended at Trustmark, Trustmark got an airplane.  My uncle Boyd loved trains.  He was part owner of a railroad in North Mississippi for a while, and Missco had a sleeper car they could attach to the City of New Orleans for trips to Chicago and beyond.  When my dad took over, the sleeper car was replaced by a Beechcraft King turboprop airplane.  The first of three, each one a seat or two bigger than the last.  His last aircraft had previously belonged to Roy Clark, the singer, who traded it for a jet.

There are scary moments with airplanes.  The Missco plane was hit by lightning twice and by geese several times.  Ben Puckett, one of his best friends, was flying out of Hilton Head when they crashed and killed six passengers, including Roger Stribling.  Ben had a broken back, and it took him months to recover.  One of Roger’s daughters was in my class.  The idea that this could have been my family was very clear to me.

Not rated to fly a craft the size of a Beechcraft King, my dad had to hire a pilot.  A retired WWII pilot named Tony Staples came highly recommended.  Tony was a square-shouldered, steel-eyed gent with shocking white hair.  

Tony was the most fastidious guy I ever knew.  He was so good at taking care of airplanes that each of our airplanes sold for more than what we paid for them.  While his voice had great power, he used a very controlled tone.  This is a trait often found among pilots whose lives depend on radio communications.

Tony, very conspicuously, wore a gold Mason’s ring.  From what I understand, he never missed a meeting.  He talked to me about it a few times but never pressured me to join.  I was interested because there were several Freemasons in my family, but never joined.

One of my favorite stories about Tony is that once, we were stopped at a small airport for fuel, and inside the fuel center were four young men wearing denim and t-shirts but with their faces painted in elaborate designs.  We assumed they were clowns and avoided them.  Tony never met a stranger and struck up a conversation with the boys and came back reporting that they were a band, and their gimmick was that they never appeared without their makeup.  He even bought one of their albums.  Showing me the album, I could see the artwork of the same four boys in makeup and the words “KISS” on top.  I always heard they did pretty well after that meeting.  

When my dad died, the man who took over his position hated flying, so it was clear the days of our airplane were numbered.  They were having a pretty terrible year and hoped this infusion of cash would improve the bottom line.  Tony had retired, but the new pilot passed me in the hall.  “They’re selling your daddy’s airplane.”  He said.  The comment was more potent coming from him because it meant he was out of a job.  “Things are changing,” I said.  Things are really changing.

Broken Fire Hydrant

 Last night on the news, they interviewed a woman who had a fire in her neighborhood, but the Firemen couldn’t find the hydrant, and when they did find it, it didn’t work.  The firemen fought the blaze for hours without a source of water and prevented this one-house fire from taking over the neighborhood.

I was struck by the abject poverty of this woman and her neighbors.  I’ve seen neighborhoods like this before, but I don’t get that many opportunities to talk to the residents.  

Some people would say, especially in Mississippi, say that her subculture and her race are what made her this poor.  While there’s no evidence that race has this effect, whoever you are, whatever you become, your subculture has a lot to do with it.  

No subculture is perfectly logical or perfectly successful.  My subculture makes me read books I don’t understand (looking at you, James Joyce.)  Her culture has given her all the tools necessary to live in abject poverty but hasn’t provided her a path out of it.  Even though my city has an administration that’s more attentive and generous to people on her end of the economic spectrum than ever in the history of Mississippi, we still failed her, and we don’t have a clear path to improving things for her.  If not for some inventive firemen, her entire neighborhood could have been destroyed.

Ivan Allen made more money in the Office Supply business than anyone in the history of stationery.  He was also a brilliant statesman.  Allen had a theory that went something like this:  all of our boats are tied together–the greatest and the smallest.  When the tide comes in, my boat cannot rise to its potential unless this poor woman whose house burned down has a boat that’s allowed and encouraged to rise too.  No matter how seaworthy my vessel is, I’m never going to reach my potential unless I take her with me.  There’s no way to stay here and cut the ropes.

A lot of people choose not to stay here.  You have to go pretty far away, though.  You can’t just go to Madison or Brandon and expect to escape the cycle of poverty; you have to leave the state, and sometimes you have to leave the South.

We have a responsibility to improve all of our citizens, starting at birth.  In Mississippi, we don’t do such a great job of that.  Unless we improve the lot of the poorest and weakest born to us, the strongest can never reach their potential.  

The woman on television said she’d lived in Jackson all her life.  I believe her.  She was the product of the Jackson Public Schools and all the organizations we have and create to improve our citizens, and we didn’t do such a great job with her.  We can do better.  A great society recognizes the necessity to improve every child born within its borders.  We don’t do such a great job of this, but we can do better.  

Surrender at Appomattox

 Through my association with Kappa Alpha Order, I’ve been given or otherwise accumulated five portraits of Robert E. Lee.  As per KA tradition, they are all post-war portraits of Lee.  One was immediately post-war.  

I haven’t displayed them for years.  They sat quietly in a closet, wrapped in butcher paper.  After what seemed like one hundred KA Conventions and spending two years raising money for a massive renovation of the Alpha Mu house, I felt like, whatever I owed KA, I had given.  I appreciated Dick Wilson and Doug Stone's effort and time invested in KA, but I didn’t want to do that.  I felt like there were other things to come in my life.

Many of my peers focused on the Confederate part of Lee’s life.  There were Confederate flags and Confederate uniforms everywhere.  In the South, having a relative who served in the war was considered a badge of honor.  I have a grandfather who served in the Mississippi Regiment.  My brother has his musket.  

The boys who created KA saw things differently.  They served under Lee in the four years before.  Like Lee, they were officially considered traitors in the eyes of the United States Government.  Lincoln had spoken of a pardon for Lee, but an assassin's bullet stopped that.  

Having followed Lee into battle, these boys didn’t know what to do with their lives.  Most of Virginia was destroyed, and what wasn’t ruined by fire was devastated by the massive economic depression that followed the war.  Lee taking the job as president of Washington College gave them some direction in life.  They would pick back up the studies they left behind when the war started.  

What these boys wanted was not to glamorize or memorialize the war.  They wanted to be citizens again and rebuild their ruined homes, and they saw Lee’s guidance as the best path to do that.   They didn’t want to be Confederates again; they wanted to be Americans.

Lee surrendered his commission because he felt that Virginia was in danger.  He was right.  Union troops marched over every inch of Virginia.  He’d only ever been a military man, and now he couldn’t do that.  The offer of a job at Washington College would be similar to the position he performed at West Point.  He was very grateful for the opportunity.

The Confederate War was a fool’s errand.  We lost nearly everything in it.  At Appomattox, Lee had many advisings not to surrender.  His men wept when they saw him riding off on his horse, Traveler, to meet Grant.  

Lee knew that surrender would save lives no matter how horrific Grant’s terms might be.  The Confederate cause was lost, not that it ever had much chance.  Grant was gracious and generous.  The men left the meeting with respect for each other and respect for their men.

As Lee left the courthouse to return to his men, the Union soldiers lowered their hats as he passed.  There were no photographs of the event, but an artist named Alfred Waud captured some of the events with gesture sketches.  

One of these sketches, the one of Lee riding Traveler away from the courthouse, with the Union soldiers doffing their hats, was given to me by my cousin Robert Wingate.  I framed it and hung it in my home for many years.

In my new home, I think I’ll store all the other portraits of Lee, even the ones of Lee and Traveler, but hang this one.  Surrendering was probably the most important of all the things Lee tried to do for his homeland.  

I know many people who try to cling to our four years in the Confederacy as if that were our culture.  It is not.  It did, however, leave devastating scars on the South.  Wounds that only began to heal when Lee surrendered at Appomattox.  

Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!

In 1929, Christopher Isherwood traveled to Berlin on the advice of his childhood friend W.H. Auden, the poet.  Like Auden, and many men his age, Isherwood developed an interest in economic justice and social reform.  He saw Berlin as a way to explore social and economic ideas that weren't allowed anywhere else in the world.  

The years between the wars saw an explosion of philosophy and art in Berlin.  Its influence is still felt in the worlds of film, theater, painting, and music.  It was the birthplace of German Expressionism.  Berlin saw a great opening of the strata between class, culture, and sexuality.  It was here that Isherwood discovered his own latent bisexuality.

In Berlin, Isherwood met a young English communist writer named Jean Ross.  Ross was a very serious writer on topics of economic justice and feminism.  She was a communist until she realized the communists weren't any more accepting of her feminist ideas than English capitalists, and she left the party to go out on her own.  

Isherwood spent most of his days and nights in a basement bar called "The Cozy Corner," where he sometimes dated one of the busboys and where Ross would sometimes sing for extra money.  It was Ross's singing that inspired Isherwood to create a character in his semi-autobiographical novel that became known as "Goodbye To Berlin," where Jean Ross became Sally Bowles.  

Jean Ross The Real Sally Bowles

Ross didn't care for Isherwood's portrayal of her, calling Bowles "silly" and "inconsequential."  She was also not happy with Isherwood's portrayal of her abortion.  Isherwood's publicist felt "Goodbye Berlin" had potential as a novel and sought out a letter from Ross, absolving them of any liability in the novel.  She reluctantly signed it.

John Van Druten saw potential in adapting the novel for the stage.  After securing the rights, he worked with Isherwood to write "I Am A Camera," based on "Goodbye to Berlin," with Julie Harris as Sally Bowles.   In 1955, "I Am a Camera" was produced as a film, starring Shelly Winters as Sally Bowles.

In 1965, Hal Prince saw the filmed version with Winters and thought maybe it would work as a musical since Bowles was a singer, and so much of the action took place in the Kit Kat Club.  He brought in John Kander for music and Fred Ebb for lyrics.  A team Prince would work with again.  

A young Julie Andrews was offered the role of Sally Bowles, a part she wanted to play, but her management team rejected it because of the "immoral nature" of the play.  Jill Hayworth accepted the role of Sally and Burt Convey as Cliff.  

Prince changed the play considerably from "I Am A Camera."  The antisemitic landlady became a more likable second lead, in love with a Jewish fruit seller.   Their doomed love affair becomes almost the heart of the play.

A very young Joel Gray was hired as the Emcee.  Originally, this character wasn't much of a character.  He introduced the songs, and that's about it.  Without much help from the script or his director, Gray struggled for ways to understand his character.  

Ultimately, he decided that the Emcee could be something of a Greek Chorus, reminding the characters of the realities they faced, and not necessarily being on their side.  Despite being married, with a child, Gray knew he was a gay man, and so did his wife.  Together, they developed makeup and mannerisms that bring out an androgynous, almost brutal character.  Prince, Kander, and Ebb all saw and encouraged Gray in what he was doing with the role and expanded his part to the point now where the Emcee is really the star of the show, more than Sally or Cliff. 

With choreography by the famous Bob Fossee, Cabaret opened at the Broadhurst Theater in New York in 1966.  Criticized for its "immoral content," the play wasn't a huge success financially, but it attracted a great deal of artistic attention.  The West End production fared better and attracted Judi Dench as Sally, considered by many to be the best portrayal of the role yet.

Bob Fosse wanted very much to direct for film.  His earlier effort, "Sweet Charity," didn't do well, but he used all his Broadway contacts to get the rights to "Cabaret" and funding for a shoot in Berlin.  Considering the subplot about Schneider and Schultz as sentimental, he reduced their role in the story considerably and focused more on Cliff, Sally, and von Heune.  

Fossee introduced a very young Liza Minnelli as Sally Bowles, who saw her part as much more cheerful than any of the previous incarnations.  Fossee's interpretation of the story was a big hit, and several of the songs rose on the pop music charts.  What was considered scandalous a few years before was "progressive" and "intellectual" in the seventies.

"Cabaret" works because you know what's coming.  Even though none of it is shown, you know that all of these characters will either have to escape Berlin or die in the very near future.  The original ending of the play leaves the audience looking at themselves in a twisted and distorted mirror.  It made the point, but in the 1993 London revival, with Alan Cumming, they make the point even stronger, with each character reviving bits of their theme song, and in the very last moment, the Emcee, standing by himself where he takes off his coat revealing a concentration camp uniform, with a yellow star and a pink triangle.  Known for his facial expressions, Cumming leaves the audience with a fierce accusatory stare.  

Sometimes, I see in today's world what I saw in the Berlin Stories.  Surely this can't happen again.