Sunday, August 28, 2011

The Help

There are movies that entertain you, there are movies that move you, and there are movies that make you think. The Help is that rare movie that does all three.

Here are the bare bones of the story: It's 1963 in Jackson, Mississippi. Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan has recently graduated from Ole Miss, she wants to become a journalist/writer, and she would like to work for a publishing house in New York. She finds her vehicle to do so in interviewing the African-American maids of Jackson, getting them to tell her their true stories of what their lives are like. Such candor can easily lead to broken lives.

This was the tail-end of the Jim Crow era in the American South, the last gasp of legal, institutionalized racial segregation. It was the atmosphere I was born into. I once, in my teens, met an elderly black woman who told me that she babysat my father when he was a young boy. She then proceeded to tell me that she'd call him Huston in private but Mr. White in public, because she "knew her place."

That story lead in the movie, and I assume in the original novel, to the publication, credited to "Anonymous", of a book entitled The Help. How very meta.

I took away a few concrete notions from the movie: 1) Courage is defiant. 2) We come to know each other only through sharing our true stories, and truth is the most necessary story of all. 3) Love is subversive.

I'm ashamed that I don't remember my father's babysitter's name, but I hope she'd find that the truth and subversion in The Help would make "her place" a bit wider.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

My World Shook Today

Twice, in fact.

At 1:51 pm, the shaking was quite literal:


I once toured a century old Cone Mills fabric plant. The heart of the factory was the huge room that held around 100 automated looms, all sitting on the second floor of the building. That floor was made of solid oak beams, and when all the looms ran, the floor vibrated, so loudly that I could not think.

My desk started vibrating like that at 1:51; in fact, the entire building thrummed, a deep bass rumble, like it was on top of a huge diesel engine. This only lasted a few seconds, but the questions -- Did you feel that? Was that an earthquake? -- lasted significantly longer.




This is my daughter Gigi. Today, she joined a proud and profound tradition in our family, second generation on her mother's side, third generation on mine. She became a teacher.

Gigi, it's been a hard wait these past 15 months, trying to find that first job in your degree field. You didn't give in to the despair I know you had to sometimes feel; it's frustrating and beyond frustrating to train yourself for four years, to know without doubt that you can do the job, if only someone will take a chance on you.

That is not only admirable, it is the root of all human success. You've kept the faith with yourself; now, you get to pass it on.

I am quite proud of you.





Monday, August 22, 2011

Mountain Man

Fifty-one years ago, Herman James, a North Carolina mountain man, was drafted by the Army. On his first day in basic training, the Army issued him a comb. That afternoon the Army barber sheared off all his hair. On his second day, the Army issued Herman a toothbrush. That afternoon the Army dentist yanked seven of his teeth. On the third day, the Army issued him a jock strap. The Army has been looking for Herman for 51 years.