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Stuck on the Island

May 1, 2017 By admin

A R T S  There was an endless parade of silly baby boomer sitcoms. The best/worst is arguable, but the most iconic is clear. None reaches the pop culture television status of Gilligan’s Island.

Virtually everyone, including the creator’s agent, panned the idea before it debuted. The then-president of CBS West Coast remarked: “I thought it was a stupid show. Nobody liked it.” The network brass complained all the way to the bank.

The sitcom had solid ratings from 1964-1967 and attracted even more viewers in syndication, becoming one of the most re-run television shows. But wasn’t this at the same time that baby boomers were in “serious” rebellion against traditional values?

Hollywood legend Sherwood Schwartz said that he envisioned the castaways to be a microcosm of society who demonstrated how very different people could come together to help one another in a crisis. Who knew? It was a serious counterculture theme in clown-face disguise; maybe that’s why boomers dug it, even if the attraction registered only a subconscious level.

Schwartz wrote an “exposition” theme song—a music opening and summary repeated on each show—that told the complete story premise. Complete it was, the longest such song in television history. Schwartz overruled his writing staff who didn’t care for the idea or lyrics.

Hollywood gods work in mysterious ways. Schwartz wanted Jerry Van Dyke (Dick’s brother) to play the goofy, inept Gilligan. Jerry thought the show would never fly and chose instead to star in My Mother The Car, which barely made it through one season and is often judged the worst television show ever. Bob Denver’s role as beatnik Maynard G. Krebs on Dobie Gillis had just ended, and he jumped on the chance to be Gilligan, who was basically Maynard without a goatee.

A young Dabney Coleman auditioned for The Professor. Carroll O’Connor (Archie Bunker) tested for the role of The Skipper, which went to grade-B movie cowboy Alan Hale.

Jayne Mansfield turned down the role of Ginger, which fell to Tina Louise, known for serious (sensual) acting parts. There was a running battle between Tina and the producers over everything from Ginger’s personality and status to her costumes. She refused to go to Gilligan reunions and complained later that the role had destroyed her career as a serious actress, which gives new meaning to the phrase “whatever was she thinking?!”

No less an actress than Raquel Welch lost out to Dawn Wells for the character of Mary Ann. Dawn was a former Miss Nevada.

Terry Hamburg writes the Baby Boomer Daily about the exciting and revolutionary baby boomer years.

Filed Under: ARTS

The Recliner Generation

May 1, 2017 By admin

modern-recliner-chair-furniture-design-modern-recliner-chairE  S  S  A  Y   Great news! Baby boomers are getting face lifts in record numbers, but even better than that, they have spurred a revolution in recliner chair design. That’s right, recliner chairs have gotten their own face lift.

Out of fashion are the big and bulky recliners your parents might have favored. They never fit in with your sleek décor anyway. But now that baby boomers are ready to recline, they want something more aesthetically pleasing and the furniture industry has responded.

A little history might be helpful here. La-Z-Boy (there’s something so perfect about that name) introduced the recliner in 1928. Apparently it was an immediate and long lasting hit with lazy men, and since they were often bought in pairs, there must have been a decent number of lazy women conjoined with their lazy mates.

The new and sleeker recliners not only have a smaller footprint, some are equipped with device charging stations and beverage coolers. They have even begun to motorize them so that the recliner will stand us up when we’re ready to get out of the chair (but why would we want to get up?). It’s not hard to imagine recliners that come with IV drips and other hospital-like features so that aging boomers never have to get up out of their chairs.

Four out of 10 recliners sold in 2014 were sold to baby boomers. Face it. Our generation is ready to get off its feet and stay off. But we want to do it in style. No more hiding the recliner. We want it out in the open for all to see and it has to look attractive. As usual, whatever boomers want, boomers get, as manufacturers clamor to please us.

Still, the old boxy recliner models are not going away. La-Z-Boy representatives say that they will never stop making the traditional recliner. So if you’re not jumping on the latest “sleek recliner” trend, La-Z-Boy can still accommodate your lack of fashion sense.

Either way, boomers appear ready to take this all lying down.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Camus to You Too

April 10, 2017 By admin

 

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F I C T I O N   I ran into Albert Camus the other day. (it’s my fiction, I can meet up with anyone I want).

We were in front of Starbucks.

Quoi de neuf? I hailed.

“Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?”

Jesus, you go dark all the time. Lighten up, I replied.

“To know oneself, one should assert oneself.”

Come on Al. It doesn’t have to be like that. Are you working on anything new?

“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.”

Oy, you’re killing me with these quotes. You’re like a one-liner factory. Just tell me if you’re working on a new book.

“Charm is a way of getting the answer ‘Yes’ without asking a clear question.”

See, this is why everyone thinks of you as an existentialist.

“We are all special cases.”

Enough! Are you seeing anyone?

“It is necessary to fall in love… if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.”

Can’t you ever be rational?

“Stupidity has a knack of getting its way.”

Totally! I have always admired the way you are in touch with your inner self.

“If something is going to happen to me, I want to be there.”

That’s what I’m talking about. And you know what you like.

“I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn’t.”

That’s absurd. But then you’re absurd. Has anyone ever told you that?

“I draw from the Absurd three consequences: my revolt, my liberty, my passion.”

Right, right. Not like you’re some kind of fame whore or anything like that.

“To be famous, in fact, one has only to kill one’s landlady.”

Seriously? You’re going there?

“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”

Yeah, okay. Listen Al, it was great seeing you again. I know you’re still not speaking to Sartre but you know he thinks the world of you. Maybe it’s time you guys patched things up.

“Every man, and for stronger reasons, every artist, wants to be recognized. So do I.”

Okey dokey. Good seeing you again. You take it easy. Or take it any way you can get it.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: FICTION

Not Really

April 10, 2017 By admin

F I C T I O N  Johnny quit the band to get married and start law school. We played together for the last time at their wedding reception, and then loaded the guitars and headed west for California without him. Another friend from school had rented a big house in Portola Valley and he was eager to become the new drummer who could book us into the San Francisco music scene.

We holed up to practice for two weeks, and then started playing the North Beach joints, including a few nights on stage with Carol Doda. The writing on the wall came after we cut the demo with Jim Lange in August. We listened to the playback and nobody, but nobody, thought there was a future. It’s a sad thing to see the dreams of artists dashed. The guys all drifted back to Houston, and I moved in with Bonnie.

We met when the group was playing Sunday nights in the Marina District. The Annex was a happening weekend scene, and she had come to town from Seattle with flowers in her hair. One thing led to another, and then she’s telling me I’m going to be a parent.

“Are you sure?”

She said she had not been to the doctor yet but had missed two periods and was absolutely never ever late.

“My parents will kill me. What are we gonna do?”

I was more than a little concerned that they might kill me first, so after some discouraging looks at options, I proposed, she accepted, and we drove her Austin-Healy down to Monterey where her parents lived comfortably and did the right thing with a lavish, if sudden, noon wedding at their church.

We were too young and stupid, and it turned out she wasn’t pregnant after all. What she was and continued to be was an actress, and a specialty model whose legs kept showing up in advertisements. She was doing a ton of local ads for the Bay Area papers, and that led to her working in Los Angeles, New York, Nice, and South America. I was spending a lot of my time alone and wondering about my pals back in Texas. Then I got the phone call I should have been expecting.

“We need to talk about this. When are you coming home?”

“That’s the point, you big dummy. We’re done. I’m really sorry, Rivers. This whole thing was a mistake.”

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

Filed Under: FICTION

At the Shooting Range

April 10, 2017 By admin

shootingrangeE  S  S  A  Y   Here’s something to know about me at the start. I’m not a fan of guns and not knowledgeable about them. Gun, rifle, pistol, even an Uzi. It’s all pretty much the same to me. Up until the time of the incident at the shooting range I had never seen a gun up close, much less held one in my hand.

It was a dreary Saturday afternoon in autumn, one of those days when you just want to eat hot soup and contemplate the coming winter. A young man of my acquaintance suggested to me that I ought to know how to handle a gun for my own protection. I doubted that. I immediately flashed on to a vision of a home intruder grabbing the weapon from my hands and turning its power on me. This is something I’ve read happens to inexperienced gun owners.

Exactly why you need to use a gun, the young man said – so that sort of thing won’t happen. I could think of another way to prevent it from happening: keep the doors locked and guns out of my home. But I remained silent on that point. He was a young, twenty-something relative, eager to please, and I was pushing sixty, a guest in his home, and wanting to keep harmony in the family. Besides, as I said, it was a gloomy day with nothing much to do.

We drove through a light rain to the shooting range, he chattering on about how I was going to love the feel of the gun in my hand, me mostly silent – no point arguing about it now. We were already launched on the mission.

The range turned out to be a large metal building, rather forbidding looking. If there’d been any sun that day it probably would have reflected off the walls in a blinding glare. But as it was, the building just sort of loomed at the end of the road as we approached it.

Once inside, I learned that I would have to read a handbook, see a short film, and then take a test on gun safety before I would be permitted to touch a weapon. I found that comforting. Good idea, I said, as the almost deafening sound of gunfire rattled around the tin can of a building. People were busy shooting all around me and I was glad to know they’d all passed the safety test. Or so I hoped.

It turns out I was the threat. I passed the test but somehow didn’t get the message that I should not point the gun at people when I’m talking to them. Here’s how it went: First, I was surprised, when I actually had a gun in my hand, at how easy it is to shoot it. It takes a little effort to release the safety but once you’ve done that you can almost shoot the gun by just looking at it. Of course it doesn’t tell you that in the instructions. I guess they assume everyone knows. Second, when you’ve spent your life looking at people when you talk to them it’s a hard habit to break. The rule is, set the gun down before you turn around so you do not point it at someone. Not once but twice, I turned around from the target to talk to my companion, gun in hand and waving wildly to make my point, and he hit the ground in a very admirable, quick reaction.

“Oops, sorry,” I said each time.

But really, can you be expected to change a lifetime habit after just reading a little booklet? The young man looked pretty shook up after the first incident, and just plain tired after the second, so we called it a day. I didn’t shoot him, of course, but I’m startled all over again when I think how easily it could have happened. I rolled up my Osama bin Laden target (he was the villain of choice just then) and we left the shooting range. The sun had come out, our spirits were at least somewhat restored and, best of all, we were both alive.

Norma Libman is a journalist and lecturer who has been collecting women’s stories for more than twenty years. You can read the first chapter of her award-winning book, Lonely River Village, at NormaLibman.com.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Chicken…Road…Crossing

March 29, 2017 By admin

chicken_road_crossingE  S  S  A  Y   So, I’m driving home about 5:00 last Friday night, and have safely made it across our busiest road, the one that leads from our small town west into the wilds of the nearby rural county. Because it’s Friday it’s particularly busy, with folks hurrying home to a good meal, a football game at the local high school, or simply to start a relaxed weekend. I’m within a minute of home when I have to jam on the brakes to stop for not one, but two waddling fowl. In what I’m fairly sure must have been a daring escape from a nearby farm, a cheerful multi-colored duck and his traveling companion, a fairly complacent white chicken, leisurely stroll across my path without a care in the world. One can’t help but ponder just why these fine feathered friends are out on this beautiful autumn evening. Have they indeed escaped the confines of pens at Farmer Jones’? And if so, just how far has their journey brought them tonight? While there are still plenty of rural areas within ten or fifteen miles of our little town, that seems quite a long distance for these two to have traveled without being either maimed or killed. Where exactly are they headed?  Are they simply strolling or deliberately  heading for the feed store about three blocks up the road?

If so, I totally get it.  I myself am a regular visitor to our local wine and cheese shop for the Friday wine tasting…who doesn’t want to get out at the end of a long week and sample the newest and best of the local cuisine?

I swear, I could not get these two out of my mind, so cheerfully making their way uptown, totally oblivious to the myriad dangers that lurked enroute. Were they okay? I asked myself during the night. Had some kind soul with an extra chicken coop in the yard felt sorry for them and taken them in?  Was their farm family worrying about them too and searching for them in the Friday night dark?  When I mentioned all of these concerns to my  daughter,  she showed scant sympathy for either the fowl or me.  “But Mom,” she logically pointed out, “Haven’t I seen you eat fried chicken more than once, and don’t you ALWAYS order duck when it’s on the menu in a restaurant?”  Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.  And yet…I’m still wondering a week later HOW duck and chicken are, WHERE duck and chicken are, and indeed IF duck and chicken are at all. I choose to believe that they’ve found a happy place to settle themselves and their wandering days are thankfully at an end.  And if this seems both naive and optimistic, well, consider that I work with children, I read a fair number of stories aloud to them that anthropomorphize animals, and let’s face it…I’m an eternal optimist.  I’m in your corner, wandering barnyard fowl, I’m in your corner….

Barbara Tulli is a retired elementary school librarian in Virginia. Now she devotes more time to writing, reading, traveling and sleeping past 5:15 AM. Read more at her blog Just Beyond the Tracks.

Filed Under: ESSAY

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