"Hey, Boo: Harper Lee and To Kill a Mockingbird" (2011)

If you have never read “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee then skip this film. It will not be as meaningful if you have not read the book which spawned this wonderful documentary look behind one of the most powerful books ever filmed, and the remarkable woman who penned it.

Through archival footage of New York City in the late 1950”s, and also photos of the small Alabama town where Ms. Harper grew up, the film tells the story of how the book came to be written, and the two remarkable people who made it possible.

It was Christmastime 1956 when Ms. Lee arrived in New York City to visit her friends Joy and Michael Brown. She had been working as an airline reservation clerk and writing sketches of the people she knew back home. These sketches tremendously impressed both Joy and Michael who were fellow transplants form the South. Believing in the integrity of her work they proposed to her that she should remain in New York with them for one year in order to write the book they knew she had within her. That was their Christmas present to her. She accepted the offer and “Atticus” was born.

The initial printing was 5,000 copies, which scared everyone except the publisher. By 1960 the book was released and the awards began to flow in. The book garnered the Pulitzer Prize in 1961 and was made into the classic film starring Gregory Peck in 1962. The film, just as the book, was an instant hit and is considered one of the finest contemporary American classics ever written.

With commentary about the book from such luminaries as Andrew Young, Richard Russo, Roseanne Cash and Oprah Winfrey, the film tells of the impact this book had on the Civil Rights Movement from the perspective of the people who lived through the Jim Crow years down South. When she wrote the book, Ms. Lee had no idea of the impact, and change, that her book would engender.

Sometimes, when explored through the eyes of a child, the image of what we see around us becomes clearer. That is what happened with “To Kill a Mockingbird”. When the nation looked at the plight of Tom Robinson, and then walked around in his skin; as Atticus would say; it became harder and harder to look in the mirror. Though Ms. Lee never wrote another book, “To Kill a Mockingbird” will stand the test of time for the gem that it is.

The Christmas Tree from "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" by Betty Smith

This is from my favorite book ever written, "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" by Betty Smith. I actually keep extra copies on hand to give away. This text is from the 1943 Harper & Brothers 5th Edition. To me, this portion of the book represents something which lies beyond each of our exteriors; the true essence of who we are as individuals; in this case it is the "tree man", who is emblematic of us all; both wanting to give more, yet keenly aware of our own need to survive what is, indeed at times, “...a God-damned, rotten, lousy world!” All the more reason to give what you can to those in need during this holiday season.

There was a cruel custom in the neighborhood. It was about the trees still unsold when midnight of Christmas Eve approached. There was a saying that if you waited until then, you wouldn’t have to buy a tree; that “they’d chuck ‘em at you.” This was literally true.

At midnight on the Eve of our dear Saviour's birth, the kids gathered where there were unsold trees. The man threw each tree in turn, starting with the biggest. Kids volunteered to stand up against the throwing. If a boy didn’t fall down under the impact, the tree was his. If he fell, he forfeited his chance at winning a tree. Only the roughest boys and some of the young men elected to be hit by the big trees. The others waited shrewdly until a tree came up that they could stand against. The littlest kids waited for the tiny, foot-high trees and shrieked in delight when they won one.

On the Christmas Eve when Francie was ten and Neely nine, mama consented to let them go down and have their first try for a tree. Francie had picked out her tree earlier in the day. She had stood near it all afternoon and evening praying that no one would buy it. To her joy it was still there at midnight. It was the biggest tree in the neighborhood and its price was so high that no one could afford to buy it. It was ten feet high. Its branches were bound with new white rope and it came to a sure pure point at the top.

The man took this tree out first. Before Francie could speak up, a neighborhood bully, a boy of eighteen known as Punky Perkins, stepped forward and ordered the man to chuck the tree at him. The man hated the the way Punky was so confident. He looked around and asked;

”Anybody else wanna take a chanct on it?”

Francie stepped forward. “Me, Mister.”

A spurt of derisive laughter came from the tree man. The kids snickered. A few adults who had gathered to watch the fun, guffawed.

“Aw g’wan. You’re too little,” the tree man objected.

“Me and my brother — we’re not too little together.”

She pulled Neely forward. The man looked at them — a thin girl of ten with starveling hollows in her cheeks but with the chin still baby-round. He looked at the little boy with his fair hair and round blue eyes - Neeley Nolan, all innocence and trust.

"Two ain't fair," yelped Punky.

"Shut your lousy trap," advised the man who held all the power in that hour. “These here kids is got nerve. Stand back, the rest of youse. These kids is goin’ to have a show at this tree.”

The others made a wavering lane. Francie and Neeley stood at one end of it and the big man with the big tree at the other. It was a human funnel with Francie and her brother making the small end of it. The man flexed his great arms to throw the great tree. He noticed how tiny the children looked at the end of the short lane. For the split part of a moment, the tree thrower went through a kind of Gethsemane.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” his soul agonized, “why don’t I just give ‘em the tree, say Merry Christmas and let ‘em go. What’s the tree to me? I can’t sell it no more this year and it won’t keep till next year." The kids watched him solemnly as he stood there in his moment of thought. "But then," he rationalized, if I did that, all the others would expect to get 'em handed to 'em. And next year nobody a-tall would buy a tree off of me. They’d all wait to get ‘em handed to ‘em on a silver plate. I ain’t a big enough man to give this tree away for nothin’. No, I ain't big enough. I ain't big enough to do a thing like that. I gotta think of myself and my own kids." He finally came to his conclusion. "Oh, what the hell! Them two kids is gotta live is this world. They got to get used to it. They got to learn to give and take punishment. And by Jesus, it ain’t give but take, take, take all the time in this God-damned world.” As he threw the tree with all his strength, his heart wailed out, “It’s a God-damned, rotten, lousy world!”

Francie saw the tree leave his hands. There was a split bit of being when time and space had no meaning. The whole world stood dark and still as something dark and monstrous came through the air. The tree came towards her blotting out all memory of her having lived. There was nothing – nothing but pungent darkness and something that grew and grew as it rushed at her. She staggered as the tree hit them. Neeley went down to his knees but she pulled him up fiercely before he could go down. There was a mighty swishing sound as the tree settled. Everything was dark, green and prickly. Then she felt a sharp pain at the side of her head where the trunk of the tree had hit her. She felt Neeley trembling.

When some of the older boys pulled the tree away, they found Francie and her brother standing upright, hand in hand. Blood was coming from scratches on Neeley’s face. He looked more like a baby than ever with his bewildered blue eyes and the fairness of his skin made more noticeable because of the clear red blood. But they were smiling. Had they not won the biggest tree in the neighborhood? Some of the boys hollered “Hooray!” A few adults clapped. The tree man eulogized them by screaming,

“And now get the hell out of here with your tree, you lousy bastards.”

Francie had heard swearing since she had heard words. Obscenity and profanity had no meaning as such among those people. They were emotional expressions of inarticulate people with small vocabularies; they made a kind of dialect. The phrases could mean many things according to the expression and tone used in saying them. So now, when Francie heard themselves called lousy bastards, she smiled tremulously at the kind man. She knew that he was really saying, Goodbye – God bless you.”

"Redemption" by Howard Fast

Howard Fast was one of America's most prolific authors. And the range of his work is truly phenomenal, encompassing Fiction, History and Religion. From the first time I read "April Morning", in 5th grade, the story of a young boy on the morning that the American Revolution began at Lexington and Concord, I was a fan. And over the years, although I have drifted almost entirely into non-fiction, his books have continued to draw me back as he explores new topics and interests. Hey, this is the guy who wrote "Spartacus."

This book, "Redemption", was written in 1999, just a few years before his death in March of 2003, at age 89. It is remarkably candid in it's exploration of the accidental relationship of Ike Goldman, a professor emeritus at Columbia University, and Elizabeth Hopper, a woman whom he meets while driving across the George Washington Bridge at about 3 AM. She is standing at the rail on the walkway, ready to jump. He, a widower of several years, is returning from a gathering of old cronies, talking law, politics, and smoking cigars. She is the battered and abused wife of a Wall Street tycoon, who will be found murdered very shortly after they meet. And the murder is committed with Ike's long forgotten pistol, which he hasn't seen in years.

This leaves two obvious suspects, both with ample motive, opportunity and time to commit the murder of the late Mr. Hopper. But is circumstancial evidence ever enough to be sure? Especially when it is a capital crime? As a professor of contract law, Ike must learn, with the aid of a former student turned defense counsel, to navigate the pathways of the justice system rather than the board room.

Mr. Fast did not just write simple novels. They can be taken at "face" value and make great reading. But the secret to his long and varied suceess as a writer has always been his ability to educate the reader along the way. The story is just a vehicle. The plot here encompasses Womens Right's, Faith, and the possibilities of fate accidently taking hold in one's life.

With a wedding between 79 year old Ike, and 47 year old Liz in the balance, the story takes on a whole new dimension, as Ike struggles with the seeming absurdity of love with a younger woman. Will his judgement, and integrity, be tempered by his emotions? Or will the simple logic of truth, which he has always taught, hold sway?

With supreme character development, as expected of Mr. Fast, the book takes on an urgency that will keep you turning pages. The court trial and jury summations are spot on to real life, leaving the reader just as unsure as in an actual courtroom, when the jury is really out.

Mr. Fast passed away in 2003, at age 89. He wrote until the end. I wish I had had the opportunity to thank him for the treasure of literature he has left behind.