Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Eliot Ness: Man of Irony
Eliot Ness survived numerous violent assassination attempts during Prohibition, narrowly escaping death in a hale of bullets on more than one occasion. But, in the end, accountants brought down Al Capone, IRS agents led by Elmer Iray.
Despite (or perhaps because of) Ness's heroic stature with the public, Herbert Hoover hated Ness, kept a file on him, thought he was a glory-hound, and blackballed Ness from the FBI. After Prohibition, Ness wisely left Chicago to be Safety Director in Cleveland, cleaning up the corrupt police force as well as prostitution and gambling in the Flats.
Who leaves Chicago to end his career in Cleveland? Most Clevelanders dream of retiring down to Florida. But for Ness, it was the thing to do.
Later Ness, famous for battling booze throughout Prohibition, developed a drinking problem (perhaps in direct response to his new environs), hit another motorist in a probable DUI, fled the scene of the accident, and resigned his post soon after.
Ness made a brief comeback attempt in '47, running for Mayor. He lost.
Great Lakes Brewery in Cleveland has named a beer after him.
~
2/25/2004 03:35:00 PM
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Robert Louis Stevenson: Hekyll, Jekyll, Jive
"I incline to Cain's heresy," [Mr Utterson, the Lawyer from The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,] used to say quaintly: "I let my brother go to the devil in his own way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men.I readily admit I have no idea why this strikes a chord with me, nor why the last words of Mr Stevenson himself seem to me to be so poignant:
-R.L.S.
"What's the matter with me, what is this strangeness, has my face changed?"...uttered to his wife just before he died suddenly of a cerebral hemorrhage (rather than the respiratory illness and feared tuberculosis that haunted him nearly all his life.) Stevenson was only 44 when he died.
But, at the very least, "What's the matter with me, what is this strangeness, has my face changed?" instantly brings to mind images of Dr Jekyll becoming Mr Hyde.
Obviously I never knew Mr Stevenson, at least not in this life. But he has always struck me as a fine fellow. No Jekyll, he. No downgoing man, not gone to the devil in his own way nor any other.
Boredom, Strangeness,
the Relationship Thereof
In related news, my love affair with my cheap but wonderful little Aiptek Pencam Megacontinues. Last night I tried desperately in front of my camera to transform myself into one Mr Argy Hyde. But, I think the Best Beastliness I was able to achieve was to pick my nose and snarl unconvincingly.
Whoa-ho, it's out at night he goes,~
He slips easily into conversation.
Hey-hey, he's cool in every way,
Sometimes he loves to sing "That Old Black Magic" . . .
Oh hey-hey, he fumbles for what to say,
He loves the world . . . except for all the people . . .
This is the story of Dr. Hekyll and Mr. Jive,
They are a person who feels good to be alive,
This is the story of Dr. Hekyll and Mr. Jive,
Believes the underdog will eventually survive . . .
-Colin Hay, crazed Aussie and man of mystery with chameleon eyes; he's just looking for jack, and aren't we all? May none of us go to the devil in our quest . . .
2/19/2004 11:19:00 AM
Saturday, February 14, 2004
(All pictures "found" on the 'Net.)
2/14/2004 05:17:00 PM
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
The Trick
A rough draft of The Trick was here, but it is in the process of migrating elsewhere.
Note to editor:
Don't worry, ArgyBarple has a circulation of about two dozen, plus or minus. Rough drafts posted here net me feedback from a few friends, but otherwise are mostly unread.
-Shane
2/11/2004 03:09:00 PM
Sunday, February 08, 2004
2/08/2004 10:49:00 PM
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Winter
Bare tree, stark against white clouds, waits patiently in the stillness of a frozen day.
~
2/07/2004 04:57:00 PM
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Cardinal in the Snow
I found a dead cardinal today. It seemed casual and relaxed, almost nonplussed by the fact of its own death. It lay on its back, wings spread as if it had been swimming the backstroke across the snow, pausing now, floating still to watch the beauty of a cloud passing above.
Floating. Still. Cloud passing.
The cardinal was beautiful, still perfect really, the only sign of its unfortunate state being a slight stiffness of the legs, its claws clutching at nothing, reflex memory of holding branches, perches, nest.
Let go now, cardinal. Float; pass above.
I stroked its crimson feathers lightly, touched them briefly, as I carried it to the back yard (and out of my dog's territory). The ground was frozen solid, and I would not dig a grave this time. Perhaps I would write my respects later. And I knew a hungry raccoon would unearth the bird no matter how deep it were buried. So I left its body atop the snow, food for creatures still struggling through the winter night. It does not need that body anymore.
It occurred to me that death was not just casual to the bird, but had become casual to me as well, simply a part of nature. So be it:
Clouds pass overhead.
~
2/01/2004 07:14:00 PM
