Each region of the world has its climatological cross to bear. The paradise of Island life (Caribbean or south Pacific) is annually wracked by hurricanes or typhoons. For southern Californians, it's the constant knowledge that an earthquake is possible, and the devilish offshore flow, known colloquially as the Santa Ana winds. These super-heated winds that blow like hell from the northeast, make this rain deficient part of the country a literal tinderbox. As I put this week's thoughts down, I can smell the smoke from Malibu, one of 5 areas at this end of the state that has burst into flames, whipped to a frenzy by those winds. It puts my planned topics into perspective--it's strictly for amusement. Worse things are happening right around me.
Fortunately out of harm's way, regardless of the smell and the ash that floated down like snowflakes, I spent the day napping like an aging cat, catching pieces of two football games between the fire coverage which, though urgent, can get tedious. A lot of ad-libbing broadcasters with nothing to describe (you can see the picture) and little fact to provide, start filling the air with a lot of needless verbiage. The one TV anchor who never failed to share incisive expertise during these events was Hal Fishman, who died unexpectedly, earlier this year.
To show you how immensely local television news depends on the physical appearance of its reporters, even I kept thinking that the stellar ad-lib work done by an early morning weekend anchor on KNBC-TV would be a major star if she looked like a less competent reporter on KCBS-TV, Channel 2. This same gorgeous Asian woman had been at different local station 15 years ago, reporting on yet another Santa Ana fire in Malibu. As I recall, she was with her news crew, beaming back pictures from Pacific Coast Highway, as flames licked close to Pepperdine University. The anchor asked her question after quest about the location of the blaze, where it was approaching, etc. To paraphrase what Johnny Carson once said of a would-be competitor, she couldn't ad-lib a fart. She bumbled and phumphered and stumbled along. But, she was so stunning in casual clothes (a jacket and, as country folk say, "tight-fittin' jeans), it almost took your mind off the fire.
I can't protest too much, because I've watched it affect my viewing habits. Without question, in Los Angeles, KCBS and KCAL, two stations co-owned by the same company, utilizing the same reporters, employ a cadre of Miss America contestants. They are so good looking you almost look past the fact there's not a story about sex, molestation, a car chase, kidnapping, or other violent act that doesn't fill up the late newscast. KABC employs attractive anchors, but seems to offset its tabloid stories with those less titillating. KNBC seems to not give a fig about looks. Fox 11 is...well, it's Fox. ..what can I add? Mind you, this is coming from someone who just wants to get the news. There's nothing scientific about what I've surmised. This is just how it looks to someone not associated with the world of TV Journalism.
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In my youth, the World Series would be over by now, before weather turned inclimate around the country, making players not the boys of summer, but the Icicles of late fall. Two things happened today that were not necessarily unexpected: It snowed in Denver and the Boston Red Sox beat Cleveland for the American League pennant.
It's always an event when the Red Sox make the World Series because of the team's schlep-rock history as the most cursed of the cursed. they won the Series in '04. The curse is done, but their park is so steeped in tradition and quirkiness, and their fans so rabid, it's like you know the team. It also helps that ESPN, located in Bristol, Connecticut, positioned between NYC and Beantown, is so East Coast-centric, it's as if the Red Sox and Yankees play in your home town.
No one, however, could have predicted that Denver's Colorado Rockies would be the Sox' national League opponent. The Rocks have been sitting on their duff's since last Monday, having vanquished the Arizona Diamondbacks in the National League Championship series. As a Dodger fan, this hurts like a glutial pimple...to see expansion teams vie for a Series spot. Yet, after having watched the Rockies step up and beat L-A with the skill of their name-less but sensational players, I respect them. It didn't hurt that Vin Scully, the legendary voice of the Dodgers, pointed out the talents of each sensational Rockie player has they planted a foot firmly in the ass of Dodger pennant hopes. It's not easy to listen to, but helps you appreciate your opponent. Announcers in other cities don't do that. I'm sure while Arizona was castrating the Chicago Cubs en route to their series with Colorado, the Cubs announcers weren't pointing out how talented the Diamondbacks were. Chicago broadcasters have a tendency to describe anything that goes against the Cubs like unsuccessful surgeons greeting an apprehensive family.
I can handle the Rockies in the series. It's more interesting to chew over how the World Series will turn out played in Denver, in that park where the ball flies far, where October snow can happen any minute, than to endure the teeth gnashing I'd experience had the Giants or Padres or Angels made it. Their fans gloat with too much relish when their teams are hot, and the Dodgers are not. Not appreciated by this writer.
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Finally, I've spent a lot of spare time since October 5th, wrapped up in Journals: 1952-2000, the compiled journals of Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., the renowned historian. It's 858 pages long, and I've enjoyed 714 of them so far. His commentary and assessment of events as they happened over all those years is eye-opening and honest. Schlesinger passed away in February of this year(he'd have been 90 on the October 15th). Two of his sons assembled stacks of his typewritten journals that are a behind the scenes look at how politics , academia , and the society set functioned, and how all it evolved during one man's public lifetime.
Of his impressions of the politicians and Presidents, it's memorable to note that, as opposed to a memoir, a journal is related in real time. What Schlesinger thought of some of these men and women stands the test of time. He worked in the Kennedy Administration as historian, speechwriter, policy maker. He apparently knew nothing about JFK's celebrated indiscretions when they were happening, and later, after they were revealed, thought they were nothing more than titillation.
In one 196o's entry, Schlesinger shares that Kennedy often quoted a Chinese Proverb: "Many are on the stairs but no one's in the room ."
The author was prescient on most of his observations, but was wrong in 1980, when, distressed over the Carter Presidency, surmised that a Reagan Administration could be contained by a Democratic Congress. He was wrong, there. But he was quite right concerning another twice-elected President.
The biggest kick I've gotten out of this tome is that Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., a scholar, professor, historian; a man of letters and a reservoir of words, would choose the following to put Richard Nixon in crystal-clear perspective: "He's a shit." Schlesinger was also prescient in his ruminations about Nixon's Administration. In an eerie way, they mirror the machinations of our current White House occupants.
I laughed out loud as I read that, in 1979, Schlesinger and his family got new neighbors on New York's East Side: The Nixon's. The author's descriptions are priceless, as Nixon douses the lights on Halloween to avoid trick or treaters. He's hilarious when he relates looking out his bedroom window to see "the unmistakable visage" of Nixon in profile, skulking around the house. One afternoon, Schlesinger's 8 year-old-son was climbing a jungle-jim in the backyard, and scaling the fence. Schlesinger's wife later reported that Nixon began waving feebly at the boy, who later told his parents Nixon was telling him to get off the fence. Soon, the secret service had established a presence, and installed cameras.
The descriptions of Nixon walking back and forth, lugging firewood, only to take it back for smaller logs, then locking himself out makes you think of Tricky Dick as Mr. Wilson of Dennis the Menace fame. Schlesinger looking out his window to see a semi-clad Nixon sunning himself, only to have his wife ad, "It looks like a sunbather in a Nixon mask," had me on the floor. That and Nixon playing catch with a grandchild in a three piece suit and tie. You can't make this sort of stuff up.
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Speaking of Halloween, we'll try and jot down some notes before the holiday about the fun of fall. If I could just stop laughing about Nixon, jowls flapping, chasing kids off the backyard fence!
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