THE VIEW THROUGH A DISTORTED LENS
All through the ages, humans have been subjected to a lot of history, some of which was absorbed and some of which was shed like water from a duck.
For thousands and thousands of years, this history was in oral, written or art form and this allowed every individual who could hear, read or view the great artists to shape in their own minds their own (albeit misguided) outlook on things that transpired in the past.
The process of absorbing history underwent a great change with the advent of the camera in the mid 1800s, when an actual photo of an event could put a more lasting face on bygone days.
In the early part of the 1900s, this process took a giant leap forward with the introduction of the moving picture and its derivations such as television and "re-enactment."
At this point, history began to get a little out of hand.
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LIGHT FROM THE PAST
Movie-makers and television producers quickly saw the light from the past, along with a way to make a present-day dollar from it, and history of one sort or another became the basis of most of their work, from cowboys to wars to presidents.
There were two problems with this: (1) Every re-enactment bore the stamp or the "spin" of the re-enactor, and (2) seeing all this stuff happen in moving pictures took away the viewer's ability to create his own mind-art about what went on, and replaced it with a new generic view.
So in the modern world, the "re-enactment" became more "correct" than the original event.
This happened in the U.S. with the bombing of Pearl Harbor, which was not captured on film at the time but masterfully re-created later, and the process ran wild thereafter with re-creation of everything that ever happened from Salem's witches through the Civil War to D-Day.
The influence of this is all-pervasive, so that now the general attitude of the public is that if it didn't happen in front of a camera, it didn't happen.
And of course it follows today that if something happens and there is no camera around, it really hasn't happened until we are shown a re-enactment, which then becomes the real thing.
That's why 88% of the adult American public thinks John Wayne took part in every important battle in World War II.
"Willie and Joe" cartoonist Bill Mauldin has been quoted as saying: "If we hadn't had Allies like Texas and John Wayne, we could've lost World War II."
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'NOBODY WILL GIVE A DAMN'
In the Bainbridge hospital ward, there was a fellow from Maryland named Arthur (I forgot his last name), nicknamed "Radio Arthur" because he always had his radio on, and when possible it was tuned to a disc jockey named Arthur Godfrey, who also seemed to be just about always on.
Radio Arthur was able to get out of his "sack" and walk around the ward for an hour or so at a time, and he was a very thoughtful and interesting conversationalist.
I had deep feelings of inferiority about being a shave-head recruit in a ward full of real war-wounded heroes, and as I still tend to do sometimes after all these years, I was bemoaning the fact that I hadn't done anything important during the greatest war in history.
He consoled me with some well-chosen words that to me carried a ring of authority: "Don't worry about it, kid. Twenty years from now, nobody will give a damn whether you were alive or dead, 1-A or 4-F in this war. Mark my words: The people that won this war ain't going to get the credit for winning it, and the people that will take credit will be ones that weren't anywhere close to the war."
And except for the one with Audie Murphy, I have never been able to watch a "war movie" since without thinking about Radio Arthur and his prophecy.
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$5 A DAY ~ AND THE DAYS WERE LONG
Molly Ivins, a very astute syndicated columnist, once got a bit confused about history, also. She said in one of her columns that ". . . in 1914 Henry Ford unilaterally raised (the pay of) all his workers to $5 an hour, a then-unheard-of sum . . ."
Now $5 an hour was really unheard-of in 1914. For the 60-hour work-week standard at that time, $5 an hour would have figured out to $300 a week, a sum probably more than old Henry himself was taking home from the company.
Molly's item should have said $5 a day, which for 10 hours came to 50 cents an hour.
In May 1940, the federal minimum wage was 40 cents an hour for covered workers, or $16 for a 40-hour week. But all of us weren't covered. In my May 1940 job, I punched a time clock for a 40-hour week. My pay was $3.50 . . . . a week.
Also, around the time Ford was getting so free with his $5 bills, railroad workers were getting $12 a week. That was their total pay for a week of six 12-hour days, or 72 hours. To keep their jobs, they were additionally required to come to the yards every other Sunday to polish engines for six hours. You could look it up.
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TWO-FOR-A-PENNY CANDIES
Movies and television shows will have a lot to answer for on the day when the accumulated debits and credits of truth-telling are totaled in the Big Book.
But as with most things – except Nazis – they weren't all bad. There are a few segments from film and TV that balance off well against all the shoddy stuff that has been put through the camera lens.
One such scene was in the movie "Grapes of Wrath," when the old man – followed by his two young grandchildren – goes into a service station-store to try to buy a half-loaf of bread.
As he prepares to pay the store lady, he notices the two little kids eyeing a nickel-candy jar on the counter.
"Ma'm," he asks respectfully, looking into one hand and pointing to the jar with the other, "is them penny candies?"
The lady looks at the children, looks at the old man, hesitates for a long while, and finally says, "No, mister; them ain't penny candies. Them candies are two for a penny."
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George Parker
c. 1932
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Charles Lindbergh
c. 1927
DARK SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS
Charles A. Lindbergh was a very brave and enterprising young man who did a very daring and noteworthy thing the same month I was born. Hearing about him from birth certainly shaped my view of him and the world around me.
Add to this the fact that my father must have been a fan of "The Lone Eagle" also, because when I was about five years old, he made for me (with his own hands) a wooden model of "The Spirit of St. Louis," complete with wheels and propeller and large enough for me to sit on and soar around the front porch.
I was very worried the day that our house and lot at Poor Town were sold at a foreclosure auction and we faced a move to a rented house a couple of miles away.
I asked my daddy how in the world we were going to get that big airplane to the other house.
He said, "Don't worry, son, I'll get your airplane there even if I have to get in it and fly it there." His statement told me a lot about what a father would try to do for a son.
A lot of years passed before I learned that people like my hero, Charles A. Lindbergh – who lost his first son to a kidnaper-killer – could be as evil-minded as any of his many Nazi friends.
From 1934 on, I – along with the country – went through alternating spasms of admiration and hate for the Lone Eagle's Nazi buddies, who seemed apparently capable of straightening out their economy and making the trains run on time.
A lot more years passed before we fully learned where those on-time Nazi trains were taking Germany.
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TEETOTALING IN THE 'BIG EASY'
I had the privilege ~ or misfortune ~ of attending a week-long convention in New Orleans once, around 1970.
We stayed on the second floor of a Downtowner or Rountowner or some such, on Bourbon Street, for the entire week. At night we'd sit on the wrought-iron balcony and watch the liquefied parade back and forth.
My wife and I went with some others in our party to spend an evening at a bar called Pat O'Brien's (I think), and somebody took a big photo of the whole group.
I never drank alcohol ~ then, before or after ~ but after several days of just being on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, like everyone else in that photo I surely looked drunk.
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