Reviews of books that have held my interest. And things that happen along the way.
I have made it simpler to leave a comment. Just hit the comment selection and choose anonymous at the bottom- Or at my yahoo;
robertrswwilliams@yahoo.com
And let's not forget my friends at the Public Libraries!Most of my selections come from the Libraries listed on my sidebar. They are a great resource and a wonderful use of our tax dollars.
Have you hugged a Librarian today?
Looking for a great Christmas film? You just found one. It begins in the late summer of 1936 in New York City and winds up on Christmas Eve at midnight. Something went wrong with the upload, so use this link instead.....https://youtu.be/SruIpM523RM?si=W3tJLcFnKumowZFK
Eight-year-old Flavia (Margaret O'Brien) lives in a New York tenement during the Great Depression with her mother Helen (Phyllis Thaxter), and father Joe (Warner Anderson), who's nearly broke and needs a job. Her aunt Susan (Angela Lansbury) lives with them, too. Flavia's thrilled because her aunt's sweetheart, Steve (George Murphy), is returning from a one-year absence. The little girl is unaware that Steve has been in jail for racketeering. She has been told he was a sailor on a long voyage
Flavia lives in a world built around fantasies and white lies told to her by her mother and Aunt. For instance, when she sees a mouse and is afraid, her mother tells her a story that if you catch a mouse and make a wish, it will turn into money.
In the midst of the Depression everybody's desperate for money. Flavia's mother Helen is pregnant and faces physical complications. Steve is unable to get his old job back, driving a taxi. His gangster friends offer him a quick job stealing a truck, but Steve's conscience gets the better of him at the last minute and he backs out.
This leads Flavia to catch a mouse, which she hides in a cigar box in an alley near Mac (the blind newspaper man's) stand. She wants the money to buy Steve a taxi cab of his own. Christmas Eve is now fast approaching.
Two neighborhood youths rob "Blind" Mac (Rhys Williams) and, by coincidence, hide the money in the girl's box after finding it and throwing out the mouse. Flavia then returns and finds that the mouse really has turned into money! She is overjoyed; until the adults accuse her of stealing it from Blind Mac. Her mother has to tell her the truth about the story and Flavia realizes that so many things she has been told are "lies". This leads her to a crisis of faith.
Her mother is having a rough time in the last stages of her pregnancy and, in an effort to give Flavia back her faith that all will be well, tells her another "story" about how on Christmas Eve all cows kneel at midnight in homage to Jesus' birth, just as in the scene of the Manger. Flavia is desperate to believe this, but assumes it to be just another "lie".
Still, in desperation for her Mom, she tries to find a kneeling cow in New York City on Christmas Eve. It is now approaching midnight; and the last few minutes of the film. She heads to the railroad by the meat market to find one out the "truth" before it's too late. Her whole world now depends on finding out if cows really do kneel, or if this is just another "lie."
This is a delightful, and well written drama about a young girl's search to have her faith restored. Along the way she discovers that life is really made up of a balance between truth and faith. And when the church bells ring at midnight; all is revealed.
For a Jewish kid I sure love gospel. There is nothing like
careening down the road; or up one for that matter; on a blind curve singing
about Jesus and just feeling good. Like I said, for a Jewish kid this is
probably not quite kosher; or normal.
My love for the music comes from 2 places; the transistor
radio I constantly had at my side; especially at night; and the history I read
about slavery and the Negro Spirituals. Those 2 things are the most to blame
for my passion for gospel music. Plus it just makes you feel really good.
Hank Williams took gospel to a whole different level; as did
James Brown and Jerry Lee Lewis. It morphed into rhythm and blues and then rock
and roll. But it all began with the gospel music. And gospel music came from
the African-American Diaspora; which began in Africa when the first slave was
either abducted or sold into slavery.
The ancient rhythms and chants of the slaves became the
field hollers and spirituals of the Caribbean plantations, and later the pre-Civil
War Era. During Reconstruction the music spread up the Mississippi River; with
each port adding its own flavor.
But all that has little to do with this song and Patsy
Cline. Not sure what year this is from, but it is obviously the audio from a
radio show in the late 1950’S. Patsy Cline performed this song a score of times
on the radio; and even on television. There was just one hitch; she did it
differently each time. Sometimes slow; sometimes fast. Blues; or up tempo. This
was her true artistry as an interpreter of songs. And this version is one of my favorite gospel
songs.
The parable in the
New Testament concerning Jesus and his encounter with the fig tree just before
overturning the money changers tables in the temple has always been a source of
contention for many people; Christian and Jewish alike.
As a child; and
being Jewish; I took this as simply being proof that Jesus was not the
spiritual, healing person he claimed to be. That was before I knew about
analogies; and also before I had actually read the New Testament for myself. (I
got that opportunity while serving 3 days on bread and water in a Navy brig in Norfolk.
They only had New Testaments, and as I
had no previous engagements, over the next 3 days I read it.)
This was the first
time I ever heard of the book of Romans, which to my mind is the key to the larger
meaning of the New Testament. It explains; in the form of an olive tree; the
relationship between the Jewish faith and the Christians.
This past weekend I
was reading the Religious Viewpoints column in the newspaper. I find it to be
informative; and sometimes infuriating; but I enjoy reading it as both an
intellectual exercise and also due to the possibility of learning something
new. In this case I was pleasingly surprised to see that some of my
suppositions concerning the larger meaning of the New Testament were possibly
shared by another person; and a Reverend to boot!
Here is what the
Reverend Eugene Curry, pastor of Park Hill Baptist Church wrote about the
Parable of Jesus and the Fig Tree:
The incident with the fig tree troubles many people when
they first encounter it. Stripped of context, it can make Jesus seem petty and
impulsive.
But Jesus wasn't just being an unreasonable jerk to a
plant. Instead, he was making a point.
The Israelites believed that they had a special
relationship with God. And in the Hebrew Bible, this idea was commonly presented
through agricultural metaphors: God was a farmer, and Israel was his
much-beloved plant that he tended. Sometimes Israel was described as a
grapevine, sometimes as a fig tree (Hosea 9:10).
Well, like any farmer, farmer-God hoped that the fig tree
that was Israel would produce good fruit, things like justice and faithfulness.
But time and again, the prophets warned their countrymen
that Israel wasn't being particularly fruitful in the virtues that God expected
of them. And Jesus took up this motif of prophetic warnings in his own
ministry.
So, in the Gospel of Mark, we're given a little sandwich
of stories in Chapter 11.
Jesus approaches the fig tree, sees that it has produced
no fruit, and curses it. Then, right after that, he marches into the temple and
condemns the rank commercialism he finds there.
Again, Jesus finds no fruit, this time on the
metaphorical fig tree that was Israel.
With that done, Jesus and his entourage leave the temple
and Peter notices that the literal fig tree has withered, just as Jesus said.
The moral of the stories is that Israel needed to finally shape up, that
continued fruitlessness would not be tolerated much longer.
Tragically, Israel didn't heed this warning, and terrible
consequences followed. The temple was destroyed. The nation was scattered. The
figurative fig tree withered.
Now it's on us. We're called to produce the "fruits
of the Spirit," things like love, goodness and self-control. Will we now
heed God's call? Or will we be just another bunch of fig trees that refuse to
produce fruit?
And here is my note
to Reverend Curry;
Good Morning,
This message is for Pastor Eugene Curry. I just finished
reading your wonderful viewpoint in "Voices of Faith" in the
Charlotte Observer. I couldn't help but to try and find you to say thanks.
I am Jewish. My father was Catholic and my Mom was
Jewish. I chose the Jewish faith as an adult. I read the New Testament while in
my early 20's. My favorite portion was Romans. I especially enjoyed Romans 11;
and the part about the Olive tree. Once again; a tree; just as in the parable
referenced in your column.
In this section of Romans the Christians are warned about
becoming too haughty over the original branches of the tree (Hebrew) being
broken off- it says that if the original branches can be lopped off by God then
what of the newer Christian branches if they displease him.
Reading your interpretation of the parable of the fig
tree and Jesus brought Romans 11 to my mind in an instant! How wonderful that
you can see the imperfection in us all- and that we do fall short- and so must
try even harder to avoid being fruitless.
Your column was a breath of fresh air to someone like me
who has a hard time with "organized" religion.
In light of the
recent Supreme Court ruling concerning Sectarian Prayer in Public Forums, the
Justices would do well to read the following, which first appeared in the
Carolina Israelite in 1961. It was first introduced to me by Leonard Herman; the father of a friend; when I was about 15 years old. The painting above is "Shylock After Trial" by John Gilbert. "Teaching Shylock" by Harry Golden
I know that if anyone suggested the censorship of the
Merchant Of Venice either as a book or a play I would fight the attempt with
everything I have. But having said that, I will also say that, if it were up to
me, I wouldn’t teach The Merchant of Venice in secondary schools.
I would use Julius Caesar and Mid-Summer Nights Dream,
Macbeth and As You Like It. When the student enters college, The Merchant of
Venice, of course, must be read and studied. My view of the secondary schools
comes from experience. On several occasions an English teacher in one of the
local high schools has asked me to lecture her pupils on the historical
background of the Merchant of Venice. This, of course, is wonderful. But the
mere fact that a humanitarian schoolteacher felt the need for some background
“explanation” is evidence enough that the play should be left to colleges. On
each of these occasions I said to myself, how can I stand up before 50 or 60
boys and girls- Presbyterians, Methodists and Baptists- and tell them that the Shylock
play is a satire on the Gentile Middle Class of Venice? If I even attempted
such a course there would be a danger that my words might be interpreted as a
lack of respect for the Christian Faiths.
So all I could really do with the background was recite a
bit of history of the Middle Ages, and explain the legal processes by which the
Jews were forcibly urbanized and driven to dealing with money. I also traced
the development of Shylock; how almost from the beginning the English actors
recognized Shakespeare’s purpose and as early as the year 1741 Shylock was
portrayed on the English stage as the sympathetic figure in the play. On one of
these occasions a boy in the class asked me a question: “Mr. Golden, why the
Jews? Why have the Jews been picked out for all these terrible things?”
It was a good question, a pertinent question. I looked at
the clock and saw that I had two minutes to go. I told the boy I’d sit down and
answer his question in my paper and send him a copy. And I’ll do it soon, of
course.
Shylock and
William Shakespeare
The presentation of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice
at Stratford, Ontario has resulted in a wave of comment in the English-Jewish
press. There are Jews who dread to see the play produced and protest its
presentation. Others feel that Shylock has been drawn with great imaginative
penetration and have no objection to its production. Still others are not
interested in either way but are against censorship of any kind under any
circumstances. This is natural and during each of my lectures on Shakespeare I
could always count on the controversy
when we came to the lecture on Shylock.
The German Nazis understood Shakespeare very well, and
they did not use Shakespeare’s Shylock in all their gigantic propaganda
campaigns. They spent plenty of money in distributing Bud Schulberg’s “What
Makes Sammy Run?” but not a single copy
of the Merchant of Venice reached those shores as part of the defamation
campaign. The Germans knew. They knew their Shakespeare. German was the first
language into which Shakespeare was translated. Now let us go back a little.
You must remember that the Jews had been expelled from
England in the year 1290 and they were not readmitted until Oliver Cromwell’s
time in1655. Legally that is. Actually the authorities did not enforce the law
too rigidly after the ascension of Elizabeth I, a century earlier. Elizabeth
sensed that her reign would usher in the age of Gloriana. Trade was the thing.
She wanted peace, exploration and trade and commerce. That meant, let up on the
discrimination against the guys who knew all about peace, trade and commerce.
But Elizabeth had a Jewish doctor, Roderigo Lopez, and this Dr. Lopez was
arrested and convicted on the charge of attempting to poison Elizabeth. Let us
not get into that at the moment. We have enough to worry about. Let us leave
Lopez hanging outside the East gate of London in the winter of 1594. Very
likely it was a plot to reactivate the laws against the Jews, which Elizabeth
was trying to minimize at the moment. We are not sure. If it was plot, it
worked. A wave of Anti-Semitism spread over England. The people who love to
have their prejudices confirmed were again reminded of the stereotype of the
Jew which had persisted in literature and folklore all through the Middle Ages.
Now, to ride the crest of the wave, the balladeers, poets, playwrights and
journalists jumped into the act to cash in on the revived Anti-Semitism. Even
the two greatest dramatists of the day, already legends in their own time,
could not resist this audience interest. Christopher Marlowe wrote The Jew of Malta
and on July 22, 1598 , James Roberts entered into the Stationer’s Register “
The Merchant of Venice, or otherwise called The Jewe of Venyce”, by William
Shakespeare.
Now, let us start all over again.
All through the Middle Ages thousands of Anti Jew plays
were produced all over Europe. These plays are lost to us. They were really
nothing. No art. No Value at all. In the main they were poorly improvised or
poorly written. “Passion” Plays. They were the standard drama form of the
Middle Ages. Their hostility to Jews was based on a simple formula: “this is
evil because it is evil.” And no questions asked. All of these cut and dried
Anti-Jew plays continued for four hundred years, culminating in the work of a
literary giant-
Geoffrey Chaucer – in The Prioress’s Tale. Chaucer was a genius,
and he was read and how! From the year 1385 right down to this day in every
college you must know Chaucer. Well. Chaucer did us more harm with his few
lines about Ritual Murder than all the four hundred years of junk “Passion”
plays put together. The myth of the Wandering Jew also flourished through these
centuries; a myth of hate, libel and murder. But Chaucer was not the only
immortal to have accepted the stereotype of “evil because it is evil.”
Christopher Marlowe, one of the giants, also played it straight without a
single editorial comment, and Marlowe’s hostility could not have been “Wandering
jew” stuff;
He was an outspoken Atheist. And let us not brood too
much over the Middle Ages. Let us come right down to Modern Times, and we find
Edward Gibbon, the greatest of all historians, in his Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, speak of ritual murder like he was reporting an automobile
accident, also without any editorial comment, and even Winwood Reade, in his
Martyrdom of Man, who checked every detail of his writings (he even made a
special trip to the African Coast just to double check his chapter on Negro
slavery). Yet this wonderful man tells how the Jews stole all the Pharaoh’s
silverware when they left Egypt . This, he knew. He had footnotes for
everything, but for this he didn’t need any footnotes. He was sure. An
outspoken Atheist, Mr. Reade held up to scorn and ridicule everything in the
Bible except those passages which he could interpret as being unfavorable to
the Jews. How can you figure it?
Now let us get started on William Shakespeare and The
Merchant of Venice. Mr. Shakespeare was first and foremost Mr. Theatre. He was
a craftsman interested in filling his theater; earning dividends for his
colleagues and partner-producers and providing a livelihood for his fellow
actors. He also wrote a “Jew” Play. But this was Shakespeare! This was not
Marlowe, nor Chaucer, nor Gibbon, nor Reade. We are dealing here with the jewel
of mankind, the greatest brain ever encased in a human skull.
Shakespeare gave his audience a play in which they could
confirm their prejudices- but he did much more. Shakespeare was the first
writer in seven hundred years who gave the Jew a “motive”. Why did he need to
give the Jew a motive? Certainly his audience did not expect it. For centuries
they had been brought up on the stereotype, “this is evil because it’s evil”,
and here Shakespeare comes along and goes to so much “unnecessary”
Trouble giving
Shylock a motive. At last- a
motive!
Fair sir, you spit on me Wednesday last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me dog.
Fighting words. Many a Southerner of Anti Bellum days did
not bother about getting a “pound of flesh”. He finished his transducer on the
spot. But Shakespeare gives us no rest. He is actually writing a satire on the
Gentile Middle Class and the Psuedo-Christians, and he wastes no time. What
does Antonio, this paragon of Christian virtue, say to this charge of
Shylock’s? Does he turn the other cheek? Does he follow the teaching of Jesus
to “love thine enemies?” Not by a long shot. This “noble” man replies to
Shylock’s charge:
I am as like to call thee so again,
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
But Shakespeare has hardly begun. Mr. Poet Philosopher is
playing a little game with Mr Theater. Shylock loans Antonio three thousand
ducats for three months and demands a pound of flesh as security. This is good.
This right up Middle Ages alley, according to the seven hundred year old
pattern- “evil because it’s evil”, that’s all.
But Shakespeare does not let his audience off so easily. He makes them reach for it. In the first
place, Shylock loans the money to Antonio without interest. But that’s only the
beginning. Since Anti-Semitism is the renunciation of all logic, Shakespeare
says if that’s what you want to believe, I’ll not make it easy for you. You
must renounce all logic. You must also believe that Shylock loaned the money to
the richest man in Venice and that somehow he knew that this rich man would
lose all his money in ninety days and couldn’t pay off a debt which was really
peanuts to him. How could he possibly know that? A pound of flesh, yes, but how
could Shylock figure that within ninety
days a storm in the Persian Gulf and in the Mediterranean , and in the Indian
Ocean would suddenly destroy all of Antonio’s ships, all within the same ninety
days.
And look here, why does this noble Antonio, the Christian
merchant, want the three thousand ducats to begin with? Why did Shakespeare go
out of his way to show that Antonio’s request for a loan was based on cheapness
and chicanery? He did not have to do that. Certainly not for an Anti-Semetic
audience of 1598. He could have contrived a million more noble causes.
Patriotism. Antonio needed the money for widows and orphans. Or to defend
Venice against an Invader. How the audience would have eaten that up. But
Shakespeare refuses to make it that simple. Let us discuss the play from the
viewpoint of the audience, like when your children go to the movies. The “good
guys” and the “bad guys”. Antonio and
his friends are the “good guys”; Shylock, the Jew, is the “bad guy”. Now what
do we have here? Antonio’s friend, Bassanio, one of the “good guys”, is in debt
to Antonio. He wants to pay back and he has a scheme. Portia just inherited a wad of money. If he can get Portia and her dough all his
troubles would be over. But Bassanio says the project needs some front
money. You need money to woo a rich girl
like Portia. So he says to Antonio, lend me just a little. He says that when he
was a youth and when he lost one arrow, he shot another in the same direction
and often retrieved both. So now. Lend me some dough so I can make love to a
rich lady who has just inherited a vast fortune, and with good luck I’ll not
only pay you back what you advanced me but I’ll give you all back debts I owe
you.
This is the dal the two “noble” guys in Shakespeare’s
play made. Antonio says, “It’s a deal,
only all my ready cash is tied up in my ships, and I’ll not be able to lay my
hands on ready cash for ninety days or so.”
And so they go to Shylock to borrow the money.
How could we help but sense that Shakespeare was writing
an indictment of the hypocrites who vitiated every precept taught them by
Christianity? Shylock is a widower. He has only one daughter, Jessica, who
falls in love with Lorenzo, a Gentile. The “good” guys induce her not only to
desert her widowed father but to rob him, and dressed in boy’s clothing ( a
third crime in Jewish law). Jessica
steals away in the night to elope with Lorenzo.
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.
Based on Western law Jessica has committed the crime of
theft. She has also committed the moral crime of stealing out of her father’s
house during the night and deserting him, and as the young thief comes away with
her father’s money, what do the “good” guys say? Gratiano exclaims;
Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew!
Can you imagine how the audience howled with glee as
Jessica was leaving Shylock’s house with his caskets of money? Shakespeare
probably figured that during this howling the audience would miss the follow up
line. You have deserted your father, stolen out of his house during the night dressed in boy’s clothing,
and robbed him of his money, and NOW you are a Gentile, and , by my hood, no
Jew. The playwright set his 1598 audience to howling. The poet-philosopher
wrote for all future generations.
Later on, the “bad” guys, Shylock and his friend Tubal,
are discussing Jessica’s theft and desertion. Tubal tells Shylock that Jessica
had exchanged one of the rings she had stolen for a monkey. Says Shylock, “I wish she hadn’t pawned that
ring. That was Leah’s turquoise. That was my wife’s ring; she gave it to me
before we were married. I wish she hadn’t pawned that ring for a monkey.” This
from a Jew money lender in the Anti- Semetic atmosphere of the sixteenth
century. For the first time in seven
hundred years of “Jew” literature in Europe, a writer had given a Jew a motive.
Then he put the cloak of “human being” around him. “I wouldn’t have taken a whole wilderness of
monkeys for Leah’s ring,” says Shylock.
Bassanio invites
Shylock to supper and the Jew replies;
Yes, to smell
pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the
devil into.
The Italics are mine and I say that no Christian writer,
before or since Shakespeare, has dared to put such “blasphemy” in the mouth of
a “heretic.” Nor has a Christian writer shown such cynicism about the
hypocritical setup, as when Shakespeare
has Launcelot, one of the “good” guys, say that we had better be careful about
converting so many Jews to Christianity; all we’ll be doing is raising the
price of pork.
But it is in one of the subplots of the play, with the
three caskets and Portia’s suitors, that Shakespeare gives us the key to his
purpose. One of the suitors is Morocco, a black man, and in the year 1598
Shakespeare has him speak these amazing lines;
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,
To whom I am neighbor and near bred.
“Bring me the
fairest blond from your northern forests, make the incisions and you’ll find my
blood as red as his,” says Morocco .
Thus Morocco’s brief part in the play unlocks the door to the whole
business. Shylock asks, “When you prick
us, do we not bleed?” Morocco, Shylock, Antonio- under the skin all men are
brothers.
Shakespeare leads us up to the clincher. The audience and
the players are now waiting for the big moment before the court where Shylock
is bringing his suit against Antonio, the merchant, for his pound of flesh.
Portia enters disguised as a lawyer and what does she say? What are her first
words at this final showdown between the “good” guys and the “bad” guys? Portia asks a most natural question:
Which is the Merchant here, and which the Jew?
Both the Plaintiff and the Defendant are standing before
the court. Portia has never seen either one of them before, but as an educated
gentlewoman she has behind her the culture of many centuries of the stereotyped
Jew. If not actually with horns, you certainly can recognize the “devil” a mile
away. And there he is ten feet away- she has a fifty fifty chance at making a
guess between the “good” guy and the “bad” guy but she won’t risk it.
Which is the Merchant here, and which the Jew?
And when it all goes against Shylock, Shakespeare seems
to go out of his way to give us a frightening picture of the “victors.” He has them standing together pouring out a
stream of vengeance. We’re not through with you yet Jew, and the money we have
left you after you have paid all these fines, you must leave that to Jessica
and your son in law who robbed you. Shakespeare keeps them hissing their
hate. Tarry yet a while, Jew, we’re
still not through with you. You must also become a Christian. The final
irony. The gift offered in an atmosphere
which is blue with hatred. And as all of this is going on, Shakespeare leaves
only Shylock with a shred of dignity!
Everyone remembers the scene from Cool Hand Luke when
Luke comforts himself on his mother’s old banjo after she has passed away. The
story behind the song is kind of interesting, so I thought I’d share it with
you.
The song is not as old as most people would think. In the
film it is portrayed as an old gospel tune, but in reality it was only about 4
years old at the time. It was written as a joke to parody gospel music and came
in many variations. The original credit for the song, as far as I can
ascertain, is due to a man named Ernie Marrs, who was born in 1932, passing away in
1998.
Marrs wrote the song for the magazine “Sing Out” in 1964,
and from there it took on a life of its own. But when Luke sang his version in
the film “Cool Hand Luke”, the song was taken to be an old gospel tune. From
such bits of misinformation, legends are born. Other sources credit Ed Rush and
George Cromarty with the initial concept of the parody.
Since it is Sunday, I thought I’d run a bit of pseudo-gospel
along with the back story and a whole bunch of the various lyrics which have
cropped up over the decades since the song was first conceived.
Some of the
verses were undoubtedly written after consuming a bit of “white lightning” and
I bear no responsibility for their content. I imagine that most of these were
lyrics sung at the bar with the guys on Saturday night, while the wife was home
getting ready for church in the morning.
Plastic Jesus
(Variable lyrics)
Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
CHORUS
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through my trials and tribulations,
And my travels thru the nations,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,
You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're travelling far
I don't care if it's dark or scary
Long as I have magnetic Mary
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car
I feel I'm protected amply
I've got the whole damn Holy Family
Riding on the dashboard of my car
You can buy a Sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell
Goin' ninety, I'm not wary
'Cause I've got my Virgin Mary
Guaranteeing I won't go to Hell
I don't care if it bumps or jostles
Long as I got the Twelve Apostles
Bolted to the dashboard of my car
Don't I have a pious mess
Such a crowd of holiness
Strung across the dashboard of my car
ALT CHORUS
No, I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
But I think he'll have to go
His magnet ruins my radio
And if we have a wreck he'll leave a scar
Riding through the thoroughfare
With his nose up in the air
A wreck may be ahead, but he don't mind
Trouble coming, he don't see
He just keeps his eyes on me
And any other thing that lies behind
ALT CHORUS
Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Though the sun shines on his back
Makes him peel, chip, and crack
A little patching
keeps him up to par
When pedestrians try to cross
I let them know
who's boss
I never blow my
horn or give them warning
I ride all over
town
Trying to run them
down
And it's seldom
that they live to see the morning
ALT CHORUS
Plastic Jesus,
Plastic Jesus
Riding on the
dashboard of my car
His halo fits just
right
And I use it as a
sight
And they'll
scatter or they'll splatter near and far
When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say Damn
I can let all
sorts of curses roll
Plastic Jesus
doesn't hear
For he has a
plastic ear
The man who
invented plastic saved my soul
ALT CHORUS
Plastic Jesus,
Plastic Jesus
Riding on the
dashboard of my car
Once his robe was
snowy white
Now it isn't quite
so bright
Stained by the
smoke of my cigar
God made Christ a Holy Jew
God made Him a Christian too
Paradoxes populate my car
Joseph beams with a feigned elan
From the shaggy dash of my furlined van
Famous cuckold in the master plan
Naughty Mary, smug and smiling
Jesus dainty and beguiling
Knee-deep in the piling of my van
His message clear by night or day
My phosphorescent plastic Gay
Simpering from the dashboard of my van
When I'm goin' fornicatin
I got my ceramic Satan
Sinnin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
The women know I'm on the level
Thanks to the wild-eyed stoneware devil
Ridin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Sneerin' from the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Leering from the dashboard of my van
If I weave around at night
And the police think I'm tight
They'll never find my bottle, though they ask
Plastic Jesus shelters me
For His head comes off, you see
He's hollow, and I use Him for a flask
ALT CHORUS
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Ride with me and have a dram
Of the blood of the Lamb
Plastic Jesus is a holy bar
There is nothin that is cuter
than a smilin
Jolly Buddha,
Ridin on the
dashboard of my car,
I don't have no
idol cuter,
comes in plastic,
bronze and pewter,
Take him with me
when I go afar.
Jolly Buddha, fat and squattin,
on a pad of aspirin cotton,
He's with me wherever I may roam,
When it's late and I start to hurry,
I know he ain't
gonna worry,
He looks at me and
all he says is, "Oooommmmmmm."
There is nothing that is gaucher
Than eatin food that isn't kosher,
Right in front of my smilin Moses' face,
I'm afraid that he'll awaken
When I'm eatin ham or bacon,
And throw them Ten Commandments in my face.
I don't care if I'm broke or starvin'
As long as I've got a fish named Darwin
Glued to the trunklid of my car
God, I'm feeling so evolved
Drivin' with my problems solved
Proclaiming what I think of what we are
Riding home one foggy night,
With my honey cuddled tight,
I missed a curve and off the road we veered.
My windshield got smashed-up good,
And my darling graced the hood.
Plastic Jesus, He had disappeared.
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,
No longer chides me with His holy grin.
Doctors in the X-ray room
Found Him in my darling's womb.
Someday, He'll be born again!
I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
He's the dude with the rusty nails,
Walks on water, don't need no sails
Riding on the dashboard of me car
I don't care if the night is scary
As long as I got the Virgin Mary
Sittin' on the dashboard of my car.
She don't slip and she don't slide
Cuz her butt is magnetized
Sittin' on the dashboard of my car.
Now I'm feeling quite contrary,
cos I got the Virgin Mary
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
There's no room for imperfection,
in my Catholic collection
Which sits upon the dashboard of my car
Jesus, Mary and St. Patrick,
now I've got the holy hat-trick
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
One more statue I've got to get
is the plastic Bernadette
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
Plastic Jesus, you've got to go,
your magnet's burst my radio
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
But I, won't lose faith and I won't lose hope
cos, now I've got a pope on a rope
Swinging from the dashboard of my car
Once as I drove to Knock,
at a petrol station I got a shock
at the special offers that they had for me
20 more points and I can barter for a Jesus with stigmata
This is one of my favorite pictures of Jesus, riding into Jerusalem on what became known as "Palm Sunday", which happens to be today for the world's Christians, who number in the billions. Although I am a Jew by birth, my father was a practicing Catholic until I was about 6, attending Church each Sunday morning. And, occassionally, I used to go with him.
I especially looked forward to Palm Sunday, for several reasons. The first was purely mercenary, it was one week until Easter, and the candy which the Easter Bunny would bring. The second, and more immediate delight was in the long palm fronds which were handed out to the congregants, in order that they symbolically welcome back their Saviour. These Palm fronds, to me, represented not only Jerusalem, the Crusades, Kings and Gods; these Palm fronds were no mere leaves! Rather they were the embodiment of the whole world, and what lay beyond the borders of my little life beyond Kings Highway and Bedford Avenue.
The last time I went to church with my Dad on Palm Sunday was in 1959. I still remember coming home from church with him, and the long palm fronds, teasing my brother with them. The fronds seemed so much longer to me then. The ones I see now a days can hardly compare to the expectations of that six year old boy I used to be. But just the memory of them awes me.
This card was from my Mom's old Monopoly set, the original one, copyright 1936, look at it closely. It promises me that I can use this card, within the confines of the game, of course, to get out of jail without paying any further penalty. It is forthright, and honest in touting it's limited powers.
This card was given to me at a rest stop in South Carolina the other day. I suppose alot of folks shop for religion at rest stops, though I'm not sure why. Anyway, pay attention to the writing. Now, I know what the card is supposed to mean, but being the type who likes to parse words, this one gives me a problem. It says that if I meet you and forget you, I lose nothing. True enough. It then goes on to say that when I die, at which point I presumably lose all, and then meet Jesus, and then turn away from him, I will lose everything. Now, maybe it's just me, but, in theory, having already died there is not much else that I would have to lose. I think I will stick with my Mom's card for the present.
Now, you all know this is tongue in cheek, and not meant to offend anybody, either Christian, or Monopolists. But, considering the recent events in the Middle East, with specific regards to the violence attending any humorists depictions of Prophets, as well as the burning of a Quran, I do feel the need to say thank you for your indulgence, as well as having a sense a humor.
To all of my Christian friends, as well as the world's 2 billion people of the Christian Faith, I wish you a Joyous Easter. May the year ahead bring us all closer together in the true Spirit of God.
The above painting, "The Ressurrection of Jesus Christ" is by Noel Coypel, a French painter who lived from December 25th, 1628- December 24th, 1707. It was painted in oil on canvas in 1700. It is almost impossible to escape the irony of both his birthdate and day of passing.
There was a time in New York when people celebrated Easter Sunday by promenading down Fifth Avenue dressed in their "good" clothes. It was called "The Easter Parade" and was in vogue from the late 1890's until about the time this photo was taken in 1965.
My brother and I wore seersucker jackets with gray slacks and brown loafers. My mother wore what you see - an A line ensemble with a yellow hat. This was right before the whole world seems to have dropped any sort of dress code. We went to Manhattan that day and joined the crowd walking up the Avenue. I remember thinking that this type of "entertainment" was probably on the way out, and I smiled a little bit wider knowing that this photo was probably going to become a slice of history, a piece of the past.
So much of our world has changed in the last several decades. There seems to be a great intolerance for one anothers' beliefs. A massive incivility seems to have overtaken us all. Let's hope the coming year brings us all a mutual respect and understanding. After all, isn't that really what it's all about?
This is an inspirational book penned by a man who served aboard my old ship,(well it was his before it was mine so let's call it "our ship") the USS Milwaukee.
When you serve onboard a ship you really get to know one another very quickly and very closely. But what do we really know about anothers' inner thoughts? What do we know about their lives? Mr. Rothacker paints a vivid picture of his journey from Cleveland, Ohio and Catholic School, to where he is today. And he does it in less than 100 pages!
Spiritually grounded and with a wry sense of humor the author takes you through the phases of his life. School, adolescence, the Navy, playing in a band, meeting and marrying his wife Cindy and having kids. Two common threads emerge in all these periods of his life. Music and God. First in church with piano lessons, later in the Navy for Chapel and a ships' rock band, music takes him on a journey of discovery.
Spirituality cannot be crammed down your throat. It is an evolving journey that takes place over the course of a lifetime during which one is tried and tested. Therein lies the measure of spirituality. It's in how you deal with what life throws your way.
During the Milwaukee years Mr. Rothacker writes of praying on the fantail under the stars. That feeling is the closest to God you can get while still being alive. I know, I've done it.
After leaving the service he witnesses for God and offers prayers for His intervention in the lives of the people he meets. And the results are so evident that they cannot be ignored. Mr. Rothackers' Faith in God literally leaps from the pages and touches your heart.
This was a real departure for me in terms of reading material. I am Jewish. But the message in this book goes beyond labels. Spirituality knows no bounds, it crosses all lines of demarcation, it pierces the most dense barriers. All you have to do is let it in. And then pass it on.
