Lisa Burks Online

I See Wax People: My Encounter with Glenn Ford

This is sort of cemetery related, as I've visited Mr. Ford's crypt.

read more at Adventures in Grave Hunting

The Perfect Combination of Voice and Words

I was lucky enough to be raised by parents who enjoyed reading books to their children.  Today I love, love, love listening to audio books because it drums up in me the same cozy, visceral experience.

Back in 1957, actor Franchot Tone recorded an entire album of readings ~ The Jazz Age of F. Scott Fitzgerald ~ which included selections from The Great Gatsby, This Side of Paradise and The Crack-Up. I can't think of another recording that has combined a better blend of voice and words.

Franchot had the perfect, velvety, lyrical voice for such projects. While I'm glad to own this marvelous LP, selfishly, I wish he had done more of them.

Astute film buffs will recognize a further connection between Franchot and F. Scott ~ the original story/script for MGM's 1938 film Three Comrades was penned by Fitzgerald (his only screenwriting credit) and starred FT, Robert Taylor, Robert Young and Margaret Sullavan.

Special thanks to UK filmmaker and writer ClarityInWonderland who created, and alerted me to, a wonderful excerpt from this rare recording for all to enjoy! (Part II now available as well, thanks Ami!)

 

When The Bird Was The Word

Mark Fidrych, Baseball’s Beloved ‘Bird,’ Dies at 54


My favorite personal snaps of Mark Fidrych
Tiger Stadium, August 1976

You can't grow up in Detroit and not love the Tigers, even when they stink to high heaven.

I was lucky enough to grow up during an era when I experienced them winning the World Series in 1968 and again in 1984.  The interim years were still fun, because my best friend Reetz and I were teenagers with serious crushes on half the team, with our hearts belonging mostly to Tom Veryzer.

But midway between pennants, we were mesmerized by a Massachusetts pitcher who took Detroit (and baseball in general) by storm. Mark "The Bird" Fidrych was an unassuming, quirky dude who talked to the baseball and groomed the mound between batters.

The Bird signing autographs for fans
(Including me, see below)

And he won games, despite the oppressive fan and media attention.  You couldn't go anywhere in town without hearing the refrains of Bird, Bird, Bird, The Bird is the Word...

When I heard of his untimely death today, my adult heart ached for the senseless loss, for his pain and that of his family.  And my inner teenager pulled out her old Tiger albums filled with yellowing pictures and wept for one of her super heroes.

Mark on the mound, snapped in June 1978

But I also smiled thinking of all the joy he brought me and to so many people doing what he loved, being himself.  We should all have such brief, shining moments. I'm glad to have been around to witness his.

I still have my Mark Fidrych autographed baseball

God bless you, Mark.  You'll always be The Word!  Rest in peace.

Related article: State rules Mark Fidrych's death an accident.

1985 interview courtesy of Media Burn Archive:

Knott's Berry Flashback

I love seeing Charles Phoenix's SLIDE OF THE WEEK when it lands in my email in-box each Friday, and today's offering was one that I could really relate to:

Then and now (52 years later, when I visited in Feb-07), those rascals Handsome Brady (so handsome that I copped a feel - My, what a big gun you have, sir!) and Whiskey Bill are still workin' it with the tourists.

Read more about Charles' slide, and sign up for his mailing list, here.

Devils Night.v1

The scariest thing about Halloween 2006 is that I didn't participate.  Fighting a monster head cold, so my body has forced me to slow down a bit and catch up on sleep.  It's now 1am and I've already logged my requisite eight hours of ZZZs.

Therefore, in lieu of my own photo to mark the holiday, here's one by Flickr-tographer InnUSA that I just love:

Sea of Pumpkins (30,128 of them in Boston Common)

Earlier today at our weekly Toastmasters meeting the Table Topics revolved around the ghosts of Halloween past.  What was your favorite costume, candy, fright night experience.

What scares you?

For me, it's public speaking.  So I attempted to conquer that fear by volunteering to answer a question instead of trying to avoid eye contact with the Table Topics Master who otherwise will surely call on you to talk for 1-2 minutes on the one question you least relate to.

What is your favorite trick-or-treating memory?

I am most at home talking about growing up in a rural Michigan town in the subdued '70s, so this question gave me lots to fill my timeslot with.  Two minutes when you're not keen on public speaking can feel like a lifetime.  One minute and forty-five seconds later, I had painlessly met my goal.

My favorite trick-or-treat memory involves what was known as Devils Night, the eve before Halloween, October 30th.  Back in the day, the original version, before some crazy-assed Detroiters brought the tradition to nasty national attention by torching abandoned buildings and setting the city ablaze.  Duh-vils.

I'm talking about toilet papering your neighbor's trees, rolling metal garbage cans down a hill, egging a garage or two, soaping windows and putting shaving cream on mailboxes.  This is why Meet Me In St. Louis has been one of my favorite movies since childhood.  The Halloween scene where little Tootie "kills" Mr. Braukoff by throwing flour in his face rocks.  Reminds me of our pranks but much more ballsy a move than we ever tried.  Go, Tootie!

Anyway, at one point my parents decided this was just too risky of a night to let my brother and I run loose and they made us stay in so we wouldn't be blamed for anything too devilish. Despite our protests, we were thankful in the end.  That was the year someone thought it would be funny to put dog poop in Mr. Cresman's Saab gas tank. *insert scary music here*

What an expensive mess.  Total Scandal.  Particularly since the Cresman's were the token Jehovah's Witnesses in the 'hood and therefore didn't approve of anything Halloween-related.  Mom was sympathetic to their situation but could honestly say it wasn't us because we were "grounded" inside watching television. Devils Night was never the same after that.

Instead, the next year we spent the evening on the roof of the garage with a garden hose and weeks worth of rotten tomatoes from the garden to pummel other Devilers with should they try to egg our property.  We went from attacking to defending, a bizarre thought process for us at the time but in the end a blast.  That was about as close to vicious  Lakeside Drive "gang wars" that we ever got, that I can remember.

In light of our pre-Halloween tradition, I think it's amazing that no one in the neighborhood ever put needles in the candy they handed out the following evening.  This while knowing full well that if they left their jack-o-lanterns out after the candy was gone, it would be smashed before daylight.  The childish hijinx that were tolerated as status quo then crack me up now in retrospect.

If I had to name my favorite trick-or-treat memory it is the vision of a huge platter of FULL SIZED candy bars set out by our next-door neighbors, Donna and Carl Matheny.  Their children were grown and so they would go out to dinner that evening and trust us little ghouls to abide by the honor system of taking just one each.  I just can't imagine that happening today.

It seems that my Halloween memories are the stuff that fiction - dreams - are made of.  I'm glad that I didn't dream them up, though; that I lived in those times and had those very real, Americana experiences.  At the very least, if for nothing other than to be able to talk and write about them today, when the world is now so very different and I find myself at an age where a head cold can KO me on one of my most favorite of holiday nights.