"Confederate Honey" with Bugs Bunny (1940)

This little cartoon was released a year after "Gone With the Wind" hit the silver screen. It is very much simplified and plays lose with the characters and the events, but it's easy to see that this is a satire of the film. I've been getting into looking at these type of cartoons, ones which are takeoffs of films and books. Some of them are very clever. This is one of the not so clever ones.

And of course, here is the trailer for the movie "Gone With the Wind", from which the plot of the cartoon was taken;

"April Flowers" - Al Jolson ( Live 1949)

It's raining in North Carolina. We always need it, and so we're glad when it comes. April is the time for it anyway. When I was a kid, my Uncle Irving used to sing Al Jolson songs to himself. He had a terrible voice, and never knew the words, so he kind of mumbled along to the melody. That was my introduction to Al Jolson, who was arguably one of the major entertainers of the first half of the 20th Century.

So I thought I'd celebrate today's rainy weather with his iconic (I like that word) version of "April Showers", performed live at Chicago's Soldier's Field in 1949. Here are the lyrics written by B. G. De Sylva. The music was written by his partner Louis Silvers and first published in 1921. It became one of Al Jolson's signature songs for decades to come. And Uncle Irving used to hum it under it his breath every April when it rained. That still goes for me, too.

April Showers

Though April showers may come your way,
They bring the flowers that bloom in May.
So if it's raining, have no regrets,
Because it isn't raining rain, you know, it's raining violets.

And where you see clouds upon the hills,
You soon will see crowds of daffodils,
So keep on looking for a blue bird, And listening for his song,
Whenever April showers come along.

And where you see clouds upon the hills,
You soon will see crowds of daffodils,
So keep on looking for a blue bird, And listening for his song,
Whenever April showers come along.

"Midnight's Blues"

“Midnight’s Blues”

CFG
I got a cat named Midnight
He just loves to roam
I got a cat named Midnight
He just loves to roam
But it’s past 12:30
And he still ain’t home.

I got your can of tuna
Waiting by the door.
I got your can of tuna
Waiting by the door.
I’d gladly feed you baby
If you’d come home once more.

FC/ G
Seen you in the moonlight slinking around
Seen you in daytime sleeping so sound.
Seen you in the sunshine and out in the rain
I just wish you’d come home again.

CFG
I seen you down the street
With the big white cat
I seen you down the street
With the big white cat.
I don't care who you been with,
I just want you to come back.

I got a cat named Midnight
He just loves to roam
I got a cat named Midnight
He just loves to roam
But it’s past 12:30
And he still ain’t home.

"Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer (1888)

The 2012 Major League Baseball opens today with the Cardinals and Marlins facing off at the new stadium in Florida. The season runs through October 3rd and will, as usual, galvanize millions of Americans, as it always has. In 1888 Ernest Lawrence Thayer's classic American poem "Casey At the Bat" was published to much acclaim in the San Francisco Examiner.

There are actually 3 versions of the poem, each one only slightly different. I have used the standard version, which I have posted here before. It has stood the test of time, and has actually been sung by various artists throughout the years. Even James Earl Jones has done a musical version of the piece. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can ever replace the inner voice when reading this poem. The tension, anger and disappointment all come through in the words themselves. With its simplistic rhyme scheme and cadence, this is always a sure winner with younger children, and a great way to introduce them to the joys of winning, as well as the necessity of sometimes coming up short. Now; "Play Ball!"

"Casey At the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

"The Man Who Broke Into Auschwitz" by Denis Avey (2012)

This is the most unlikely, yet true, true tale of World War Two you will ever read. Denis Avey, a young Englishman, joined the service, as he says, “not out of loyalty to king and country", but a sense of seeing things first hand. Brother, did he ever! After basic training in the Rifle Corps; he had been a crack shot since an early age; he was shipped to North Africa, where he saw some of the most intense fighting of the war. The temperature at Tobruk and El Alamein often topped 138 degrees Fahrenheit.

With water; and fresh provisions; in scarce supply, the going is rough against a numerically superior Italian force, yet they manage to capture tens of thousands of the enemy, and their weaponry. Corporal Avey is wounded, after losing some of his best mates, is embarked on a ship bound for the labor camps in Italy, working for the German war industry, in violation of the Geneva Convention. On the way they are sunk, and Avey finds himself washed ashore and on the run through Greece, and later Italy, where he is recaptured.

There, the prisoners do all that they can to sabotage the work to which they are assigned. Eventually they are shipped by rail to the infamous IG Farben plant which adjoined Auschwitz, outside of Oswiecim, as the town was then known. It is there that the story really picks up speed, boggling the mind in the process. For it is here, in the labor camp adjoining the death camp, in which an idea is born that will bear witness to what went on in that hell on earth. (IG Farben still exists in several different forms today. At the close of the Second World War it was split into different corporations, such as Bayer, Hoescht, BASF, the Agfa-Gevaert Group and Cassella AG., and they are among one of the largest political contributors in world politics today.)

First off, the author notes the difference between the 3 sets of prisoners at Auschwitz. There are the POW's, who are housed separately and subject to the Geneva Convention. Although they are not required to work for the enemy, they are, in violation of the treaty, forced to do so. And that brings the POW's, mostly British and Australian, in close contact with the two other groups; the Russians, who are treated with brutality and beatings, while being slowly starved to death as they work at tasks to which they are wholly unsuited. In addition, the POW's are working in close contact with the Jewish prisoners, whom the author describes as "moving shadows, shapeless and indistinct, as if they could fade away at any moment. I couldn't tell who, or what they were." These were the prisoners who would be shot on a whim, for nothing, save the amusement of the SS.

Avey works alongside of Hans, and later Ernst, two Jewish prisoners, and does the unthinkable. He changes places with Hans for a night by shaving his own head and swapping uniforms. He has studied the shuffled walk wearing the wooden clogs that the Jews are required to wear, and blends in with the returning prisoners, not knowing if he would be randomly selected for an execution that evening; several of which occurred each night. If you moved too slowly; or quickly; you could be clubbed to death on the spot. If not by the Germans themselves, then by the hated "Capo's", or Jewish guards, who for a crust of bread in that dreadful place, traded their last ounce of dignity, in a cowardly bid to survive.

After that adventure, he is still determined to go back again to the Death Camp for one more night, and again swaps places with Hans. This time though, fate takes a hand, and Avey is set forth on the Death March from Auschwitz, when the Germans tried to salvage what slave labor they could. Soon though, the whole plan falls apart as the war winds down. Avey, as well as the German soldiers, are left wandering around Germany looking for either homes that are no longer there, or in his case, Allied troops, so that he can be repatriated to England. Sick, malnourished and wounded, with a blow to his eye; which would eventually cause its removal; Avey finally returns home. It is there that his battles really begin, as he attempts to come to terms with all that he has seen.

This book is also an account of the 70 years it took the author to come to terms with all that he had experienced in the war. For decades after the war he suffered from PTSD, before it had a name. Most doctors dismissed him with some pills and advised him to "get over it." At one point he found himself waking up, in the middle of the night, choking his wife to death as the result of a nightmare. He turned himself into the Police, but they refused to take the charges seriously, and his marriage ended soon after that.

This book marks the first time in which Mr. Avey has finally spoken about his experiences during the war. He seems to be at peace with himself, and his actions. In that sense, it is also a book of healing, and the perspective which only the passage of time can offer.

In 2002, Avey was awarded the Medal of Valor by the Prime Minister at a ceremony which took place at Number 10 Downing Street in London. Fully documented, and written in a wonderfully readable prose, this book may be one of the best written accounts of the Holocaust, as witnessed by someone who lived it on both sides of the wire. A very unusual book, written by a very unusual man, you don't want to miss this one.

"Gastonia Gallop" - Cotton Mill Songs (1927-1931)

This unique recording is the real deal; 24 songs recorded by local Cotton Mill bands during the years 1927-1931. The town of Gastonia is about 20 miles from my home and I have even driven past the old mill shown on the cover many times. At one time Gastonia was amongst the leading cotton mill towns in North Carolina. The Great Depression, as well as the increasing demands of the Unions, both combined to shut most of these mills down. When "Globalization" and "outsourcing" began in the 1980"s, it spelled the end of these mills. But what a rich history they leave behind in terms of music and storytelling!

Cotton mill workers were pretty much the victims of greedy bosses and a lack of labor laws during their time. They worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week, with no protection from the fibers as they spun the threads to make the clothes that were sold worldwide. The irony of it all was that, even in the heady days before the Great Depression struck, these same workers were wandering about in near rags, never making enough to buy the clothes made from the threads they spun. But they survived, in their own fashion, through song, sex and liquor. Even with the country in the grips of that great experiment, Prohibition, the supply of local "hootch" made Saturday night dances, often called "socials", the most attractive, and affordable means of entertainment.

These men and women, pictured here marching on Main Street in Gastonia during a strike on Labor Day 1934, were the backbone of the industry. They were also the ones singing these songs, and living the life described in them. From the opening number by The Carolina Twins doing an instrumental number on harmonica and guitar, to the more risqué "Get Your Head in Here", which describes some of the Saturday night pleasures available in a mill town, this album teems with the real life experiences of these men, women and children who labored so hard and long for so little.

Some of the songs are Union oriented, as in Wilmer Watts and The Lonely Eagles number "Been On the Job Too Long", as well as the "Cotton Mill Colic" by David McCarn, which describes the hardships faced by the average Cotton Mill worker.

The mills may be long gone, but the music, and stories, left behind by these hardworking men and women will live forever thanks to these recordings, which were restored and re-released in 2009.

There is an empty feeling in the air when you walk down the Main Street of an old mill town. They used to connect one town to another, but now have all been supplanted by the Interstates, which took most of the businesses to the freeway exits, leaving the Main Streets to become ghost towns. But when walking past the mill, if you lean your head just right, you can hear the spindles and looms humming away. And if you're really lucky, you can still hear the strains of the songs sung on Saturday nights at the socials.

Farewell Earl Scruggs -"Dim Lights - Thick Smoke"

There are no further words to add to all that has been written about Earl Scruggs since he passed away earlier this week. His funeral is being held today in Nashville. This TV appearance from the 1950's, with Lester Flatt, doing "Dim Lights Thick Smoke" is one of my favorites. The vocals are great, but just listen to that banjo singing in Earl Scruggs signature 3 finger style. I chose this tune in order to showcase that Earl Scruggs was a star, in his own right, long before "The Beverly Hillbillies" came along. Thanks for the music Earl, now you're picking in Heaven...