Matt of All Trades blog, like the title suggests, is by a Vermont author and offers offbeat musings on pop culture, media, journalism, humor, weirdness, stupid people, smart people, my life as a journalist, landscaper, photographer, married gay man, dog lover and weather geek and more. It's run by me, Matt Sutkoski, a native Vermonter living in St. Albans, Vt.
NPR's Carl Kasell (on piano) was a serious journalist, and a
boffo quiz show judge and voice mail provider
Carl Kasell, the longtime news reader for NPR, died last week at the age of 84.
Upon his retirement from NPR, he got a stint as the funny scorekeeper, judge and prize provider for "Wait Wait....Don't Tell Me!"the humorous NPR news quiz show.
As Morning Edition anchor before his retirement, Kasell was super serious, but "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" was his chance to be the comedian for once.
"Host Peter Sagal says no one could have guessed that Kasell would be so funny. 'The greatest thing about Carl was anything we came up with, he was game,' Sagal says. 'When we were in Las Vegas, we had him come onstage in a showgirl's headdress. No matter what we asked him to do - silly voices, or weird stunts; we had him jump out of a cake once to make his entrance onstage - he did it (with) such joy and dignity."
"Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me," didn't have a budget for prizes to be given to winning contestants, so Kasell just did voice mails for the winners. They were terrific.
Chuck Barris died this week at the age of 87. He was
lowbrow, for sure, and I'm eternally grateful to him for that
Word arrived this morning that Chuck Barris, best known as the emcee of the very, very lowbrow 1970s talent contest television program "The Gong Show" has died at the age of 87.
I was a teenager when "The Gong Show" was on, so it fit my mentality perfectly. It was cruel, gaudy, annoying, anti-intellectual, druggy, stupid and a complete waste of time
In other words, perfect.
Most of the acts on "The Gong Show" were amateur, and many were not very good, to say the least.
Panelist Phillis Diller gave the "PopsicleTwins" as they were called a score of zero on a scale of 0-10, but Jaye P Morgan gave them a 10, saying, "Do you know that's the way I started?"
Yeah, OK. And the show was really that tacky.
(For those who are somehow unfamiliar with the wonders of "The Gong Show," if a judge didn't like an act and couldn't bear watching it anymore, he or she would strike a big gong behind the panel, thus ending the act.
"The Gong Show" was impeccably chaotic. It was obvious that Barris, and many of the judges, were on something, and that something wasn't just a natural good mood. We're talking pharmaceuticals, folks!
As Billboard reports,other celebrity judges that somehow got roped into doing the show included June Allyson, Milton Berle, Ruth Buzzi, Adrienne Barbeau, Dione Warwick, Sarah Vaughn, Joan Rivers, Tony Randall, Johnny Paycheck, Martin Mull, Wolfman Jack and Peter Lawford.
This is probably the reason we had all these luminaries on "The Gong Show": Whether you admit it or not, all of us like to wallow, to slum it from time to time. It's an opportunity to let your guard down, to not think, to take a break from always burnishing your image.
Chuck Barris understood this, which is why he had so many unlikely successes in life. And made us happy.
Very little of what Barris did with his life Changed History, but his life added plenty of color to plenty of other peoples' lives. Those were gaudy colors, and that was the point.
Barris kept popping up in American pop culture in random ways. He was kind of a smart, goofy, shameless but still loveableForrest Gump.
As the New York Times reports, Barris first turned up as a guy to babysit a young ABC star named Dick Clark to keep him out of trouble during the Payola Scandal in the 1950s. (Though the Times reported that Barris mostly spent his time on that job drawing on pads of paper.)
By 1965, Barris hit his glorious tackiness stride by created the television game show "The Dating Game," in which a bachelor or bachlorett would choose a date based on answers of three possible suiters hidden behind a screen.
After that, Barris created the equally lowbrow "The Newlywed Game," that beautifully icky game show that had newly-married couples test how in tune they really were with each other.
Then, in the mid-1970s, of course came "The Gong Show," which echoes on television today.
"The ghost of "The Gong Show" is evident in numerous reality-television shows of more recent vintage - the early rounds of any given season of "American Idol", for instance."
See? Barris was a visionary of sorts.
New episode of "The Gong Show" were only produced for about two years, but the party lived on in syndication.
Barris faded from the scene a bit until he wrote the book, "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" in 1984 where he claimed that in addition to his being a game show king, he was also an assassin for the CIA.
Now, that seems completely improbable, but with Barris, you have to wonder. Was he? Barris never gave a straight answer, but the CIA says Barris had nothing to do with them. But you never know. Just another bizarre chapter in an odd life
Nevertheless, a movie based on the book became a smash hit movie directed by George Clooney and starring Sam Rockwell as Barris.
He went on to write several more books in recent years.
The New York Times saidBarris would have preferred to be rememberd as an author, but he knew - correctly - that he'd be remembered differently.
Barris said: "I think on my tombstone it's just going to say, 'Gonged at last,' and I'm stuck with that."
I suppose Barris can be partly blamed for the so-called dumbing of the American mind.
However, as I said, he gave us all many welcome chances to go slumming in the most kitschy, strange and dim resources of American culture.
My low brows are very low withiBarris' legacy.
And I'm eternally grateful to him for that.
To give you a refresher course on how delightful, stupidly wonderful "The Gong Show" was, here's a few clips.
Here, Barris, and the judges, are particularly taken by an act called "The Worms," so much so, that Barris kept demanding encore performances:
Next, here's juggler Hillary Carlip on "The Gong Show" performing a glorious, bad physical pun routine that still has me laughing out loud. (This might be my favorite Gong Show clip.)
And here's that "Popsicle Girls" clip, the one I mentioned in the narrative. It's the most cringe-worthy thing I've seen in ages. Also, TOTALLY NSFW
The accomplished actor and comedian was known for many roles in her decades in the business, but everybody most relates to her lead role in that 1970s show "The Mary Tyler Moore Show."
I think Moore, and her role on that show, helped smooth the way for what could have been an even rougher ride for women in the 1970s than they otherwise could have had.
The 1970s was a time when women were asserting their demands for equal rights, equal pay, equal everything that they deserved.
Women are still (!!!) fighting that battle (See: Womens March last weekend) but I think Moore and her show helped show that efforts toward equality weren't such a bad thing. She normalized the idea of a single, independent, intelligent woman who, as the show's song went, could make it on her own.
For an amazing number of people in the 1970s, that was too much of a concept to bear. Women were supposed to be the supportive little wifey, at least to some minds. She was sort of a transitional figure: Still sometimes deferential to men, other times asserting herself.
In the Mary Tyler Moore show, her character, Mary Richards, was a television producer and journalist, good at her job if, like everybody else, imperfect.
The very first episode of the show set a very good tone. Mary Richards was applying for a position at the newsroom of fictional television station WJM. Her would-be boss, Lou Grant, asked her a lot of unwelcomed questions about her age and relationship status.
Mary responded: "You've been asking a lot of very personal questions that don't have a thing to do with my qualifications for this job."
"Some early viewers balked at Richards' eagerness to please the men in her life and the fact that she almost always referred to her gruff boss as Mr. Grant. But even leading feminists recognized Richards as a breakthrough figure. 'The was a happy human image of a woman as an independent person that several generations of young (and not so young so young) women alone stopped suffering if they didn't have a date on a Saturday night,' Betty Friedan wrote in a 1978 article in the Washington Post. Richards wasn't exactly a goody two shoes. As the series progressed, we watched her demand a raise, get suspended, go to jail to protect a source and come down with a case of the giggles at a funeral. On occasion she stayed out all night. She was on the pill."
I also like to think Mary Tyler Moore, through her character Mary Richards, helped a lot of men warm to the idea of dating an interesting women who had her own thoughts and ambitions.
That seems quaint now, but it wasn't then.
Maybe we should all get online and binge watch all kinds of Mary Tyler Moore episodes tonight. Can't hurt. Can only help.
There's a statue of Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis. It depicts that famous moment in the opening credits of the show where she gleefully throws her hat up in the air on a busy Minneapolis street corner.
"I hope when a little girl walks by the statue, she'll ask her mother who that was, and it'll be explained to her that she was a young women who had a dream and followed it through."
That's still a message most young women, and men for that matter, need to hear. Over and over.
Thanks, Mary. Because of your help, I think we'll make it after all.
Here's two clips in remembrance of the great MTM, first, the famous opening credits to the Mary Tyler Moore show, then the famous Chuckles the Clown funeral scene:
I've been in a dark mood lately, and I've been consoling myself by listening to gloomy, haunting Leonard Cohen music.
My mood, and that of many other people who love thoughtful, incredible songwriting, got even darker this morning when we learned Cohen died yesterday at the age of 82.
He'd just released a new album, "You Want It Darker," just last month. As always with Cohen, that album was universally acclaimed by critics.
"Cohen was the dark eminence among a small pantheon of extremely influential singer-songwriters to emerge in the Sixties and early Seventies. Only Bob Dylan exerted a more profound influence upon his generation and perhaps only Paul Simon and fellow Canadian Joni Mitchell equaled him as a song poet. "Cohen's haunting bass voice, nylon stringed guitar patterns and Greek chorus backing vocals shaped evocative songs that dealt with love and hate, sex and spirituality, war and peace, ecstasy and depression."
Cohen is most widely known for the contemplative song "Hallelujah," which has been covered by just about every singer, but is still one of my all time favorite songs. Unlike some critics, I don't believe this song is overplayed, or even could be overplayed.
In a recent New Yorker article that came out with the release of his new album, he said he was in poor health. "I am ready to die... I hope it's not too uncomfortable. That's about it for me."
However, he later said in another interview that he was exaggerating. "I've always been into self-dramatization....I intend to live forever."
At least Cohen's music will.
For a sampling of Cohen's songs, or at least fantastic covers of them, here's a few videos/soundtracks for you below. You might have to click on "Watch on YouTube" to activate some of them: Rolling Stone has these and other wonderful Cohen covers on This Link.
Here's a famous cover of Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley
The other night, after the election of Donald Trump, Cohen's song "Everybody Knows" struck me as fitting the national situation perfectly. I posted the Concrete Blonde cover of the song on Facebook but it's worth reprising it here
Here's Tori Amos doing a haunting cover of Cohen's "Famous Blue Raincoat."
Finally, here's Lana Del Rey doing Cohen's "Chelsea Hotel 2"
My dad, Red Sutkoski, in his tavern, Red's Place, shortly
before he retired in 1991. Red's Place
was a popular gathering spot in West Rutland,
Vermont for the four decades my father owned the place.
Photo by my brother in law, David Jenne.
My dad, Red Sutkoski passed away Saturday afternoon, January 23, 2016 at the age of 95.
He had a damn good run, that's for sure.
He wasn't well known outside of Vermont, but in a time when we can all be overwhelmed by the greed, crassness, ill will and anger out there, the whole world could learn from his grace, giving nature and gentle wit.
Dad was born in 1920 to Polish immigrants in what was then the busy marble quarrying town of West Rutland, Vermont.
Dad, known to everyone from Day One as Red for his red hair, lived a sweep of West Rutland's history:
He saw onstruction of the duplexes built for Vermont Marble Company workers, the Great Flood of 1927, the Great Depression, the labor riots among West Rutland quarry workers in the 1930s.
Red saw Prohibition,during which he good naturedly took note of who got busted for making what dad called "Screech," which was the shockingly abysmal home made booze people discreetly made during that time.
Along with most of West Rutland's young men, Red marched off to World War II. He came back, opened his restaurant and bar, and from that perch saw the town at first thrive with the marble quarries, then go into a near death spiral when the quarries closed and the jobs evaporated.
He watched West Rutland struggle back from those days, and had a hand in its slow rebirth, by encouraging its redevelopment while honoring the community's history.
Red was the unofficial Town Historian, as he was the go to person to ask whenever you wanted to know what happened in town anytime after 1920, the year he was born. His mind was sharp to the end.
He was much more than West Rutland's memory vault, and everybody in town knew it. His warmth, humor, compassion and friendship brought out the best in the town,. The best in its people. His family. Me.
My dad, Red Sutkoski outdoors in his younger days. He loved
being outside, especially if it was working on a project
to benefit those around him.
That restaurant and tavern Red owned for 40 years in the heart of West Rutland had the official name of Marble Valley Restaurant, but everybody just knew it as Red's Place.
Or maybe embrace it. With Red's laughter ringing out over the sound of either a Polish polka or Patsy Cline warbling from the juke box, the smoky Red's Place was the most welcoming and lively place in town.
There's even a song by the excellent Vermont bandStarline Rhythm Boys called Red's Place that is about my dad and his bar. It captures the vibe of the bar, and my dad just perfectly. (Watch the video of the Boys performing that song at the bottom of this blog post.)
Red's Place wasn't fancy, and neither was the clientele. Dad liked it that way. Sure, he embraced and befriended everyone, including the rich and powerful. As long as they didn't abuse people with their power and money, or victimized them with it.
Dad's soft spot, though, was for the underdog, which was why Red's Place was such a good fit for him, and such a good fit for West Rutland.
Red's Place was a second home to quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, farmers, and other town residents who just wanted a friendly refuge for the evening.
Many of us Americans are perhaps inadvertently raised to celebrate the rich, the powerful, the flashy, the thrilling. And that's all OK, except when we do so at the expense of everyone else. Or worse, we ignore the underdogs as not important and not worth our time.
Dad knew everyone was important, and he showed it by being welcoming to everybody. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else.
Dad's example in his life and work showed me how to do the opposite of that. He taught me to seek out the people we're "supposed" to ignore and dismiss. The ones that have no power, who live quiet lives, who live humbly, through choice or circumstance.
For all that I'm a much richer, happier, well-rounded person. We should all live by dad's example. The world would be a much better place if we did.
Red Sutkoski as a young man reading the paper with a faithful
companion at his West Rutland, Vermont home. It was
a perfect combination for him. Red loved animals,
and he was always curious about what
was going on in the world around him.
That doesn't mean we should be somber sympathizers to those who aren't at the top of the heap. The only way dad's example worked, how his life worked, was through a sense of humor.
If there's not laughter, according to the Rules of Red, there's not much else to live for.
So Red loved telling stories of other's foibles, in a way that celebrates rather than ridicules our pratfall moments.
As mentioned, West Rutland had many Polish immigrants that came to work in the quarries during the later 19th century and early 20th century. Many people, including dad, regularly spoke Polish.
At Red's Place, you'd often hear people yell out "Nostrovia," the Eastern European equivalent to "Cheers!" when people share a toast.
At one point, a new guy started coming into Red's Place. He was worried about fitting in, and didn't speak much. He listened, trying to understand the vernacular.
This guy kept hearing everyone saying "Nostrovia!" and finally decided to make his move. He bought the man sitting next to him a beer, and chimed in with that golden cheer. The man clinked the bottle with his new buddies at the bar and shouted, "Nice driveway!"
The moment was so funny that dad immediately embraced the Nice Driveway guy as a good friend.
Dad loved telling the "Nice Driveway" story, such that I've taken it upon myself to spread the tale. Everyone knows that when they share a drink or a bottle with me, we'll clink our glasses and tell each other, "Nice driveway."
If that's not a good tribute to Red, I don't know what is.
God knows dad's sense of humor was gloriously goofy. One great example was a day a long time ago when he was walking along Marble Street in West Rutland.
A car with out of state plates pulled up along side him, its driver obviously lost and in need of directions. "How do you get to Tinmouth?," the woman in the passenger seat asked dad.
"My brother takes me,!" dad replied.
Of course, he said he was just kidding, and made sure the couple in the car got on the right road to Tinmouth.
Roads figure pretty prominently in my memory of dad.
When I was about six or seven years old, the state was building a four lane road in back of our house. The Brand New Route 4.
The way the road was built in back of our house, there was a two lane eastbound lane, situated at an elevation several feet above the parallel westbound lanes.
As they were building the road, dad and I would go up and explore the construction site. Often, he'd start singing, of all things, a bit of the Scottish song "The Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond."
The part he'd sing, was "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."
On the surface, his words could be taken as a simple commentary on the highway construction. But there was a deeper meaning. He was instructing me to take the high road in life, just as he did. I guess the best way we can remember Red and his life is to always take that high road. And I'm not talking about eastbound Route 4 here.
Red's M.O. was to take the high road quietly. He had a gorgeous habit of honoring history, and the people that came before him. In a remote corner of West Rutland, the Whipple Hollow Cemetery had become overgrown, broken down and all but forgotten by people in town.
So he took it upon himself to clear the broken trees and branches, rip out the weeds, replant grass and got some help fixing broken grave stones. This kind of stuff dad did is infectious.
As dad was at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery one day, Markowski Excavating was working on a nearby construction project. When they saw what dad was doing, they quickly went up to the cemetery with an excavator to clear rocks, stumps and debris away.
Dad never worried about controversial topics, especially when they involved love. When I came out as gay and introduced him to Jeff Modereger, the man I would marry, dad embraced Jeff like he would his own son.
Dad's biggest goal was that his three children, me, Lynn and Laurie, would be happy and well taken care of. Dad went out knowing that the husbands and partners of us three kids were making us all happy, and would take care of us beautifully once he was gone.
My dad and my father-in-law, Don Modereger, were both about 90 years old when Jeff and I married. Don had a lot in common with Red, especially in terms of their warmth, generosity, compassion and good humor.
Red and Don's only face to face meeting was at my wedding. (Don lived way out in South Dakota, and it was hard for both Red and Don to travel.)
Even so, Red and Don immediately became good friends. I can't help but think the two fathers are sharing a good laugh as I write this.
This month, dad's physical heart finally gave out, worn down by 95 years of work and family and joy and troubles and worry and friendship. But his metaphorical, spiritual and loving heart kept beating strong. It still is.
There's not going to be a wake or a funeral or anything like that, because Red said he didn't want such ceremonies. He never wanted people to make a fuss over him. Red told us that if anybody wanted to mark his passing, they should just do something kind for someone else.
To close out and keep celebrating Dad's life,the video of the Starline Rhythm Boys performing "Red's Place" is coming up.
When you watch it, grab a beer, and another one to share with a friend. Clink the two bottles together, tell each other "Nice driveway," laugh, and then say or do something good for anyone you see around you.
Red will see this, fetch another round for his friends in heaven, and the party will go on here and up there. Just as he wants it.
So dad, all I can say to you now is "Nice driveway."
Marselis Parsons, the Walter Cronkite of Vermont has passed away, and now even fewer of the great old school Vermont journalists are left standing.
Here in Vermont this week, we're mourning the loss of a guy named Marselis Parsons, who was widely regarded as the Walter Cronkite of Vermont.
Every evening for a quarter century, ending in 2009, Vermonters settled down to watch the Channel 3 news on WCAX, and there was Parsons, in just-the-facts-mode, reviewing the day's events in the Green Mountain State.
"Div" as Parsons was called, had an hour to fill, including the sports and weather, of course, but as anchor and news director, was always able - nightly - to make our gloriously weird state understandable.
Parsons delivered the news in a steady, deadpan voice, never seeming to break his evenhandedness or show emotion. Except of course when his mentor, WCAX anchor Mickey Gallagher, died suddenly, while at work at WCAX in 1984, and Parsons had to report that news.
He was an institution, having spent 40 years at WCAX, as a reporter, then anchor, then filing occasional stories in retirement
Parsons could sure as hell tell you about the plane crash, but he told you why the plane crash mattered, who it affected, and how such a thing could be prevented from happening again. He followed the stories to the end.
If it took five years for the plane crash investigation to end, by God at the end of five years, there was Parsons reporting on the outcome of that probe.
"'I'm not crazy about being anchor,' he once told the Burlington Free Press. 'Most stations hire Ken and Barbie dolls.' He wanted newshounds in his newsroom. 'Most of these reporters aren't going to win a beauty contest. But I think they are good reporters, he said once, pointing at his newsroom."
Makes you want to rid your cable news stations of all those perky blondes reciting a script instead of reporting the news, doesn't it?
Donoghue, along with Parsons, are, or were, the last of the old school Vermont journalists. The kind I'll miss the most when they're gone or retired.
Oh, sure, I'm a fan just like the rest of the world of the way news is done now. Disasters become visual "weather porn" on the nightly news, and the important parts of those stories are buried.
I enjoy watching the smarmy news satire ofJon Stewartand John Oliver.I'll even indulge in the news-free, facts are stupid conservatism ofFox News.
I also accept that it's a different journalism world, where reporters are judged by the number of Twitter followers they have, or the number of Facebook comments they get.
There's nothing wrong with being entertaining and engaging. Any journalist wants to be that, as they should. However, news isn't always a popularity contest. Sometimes news is not candy, to be happily consumed. Sometimes it's medicine we have to take, to understand the world around us.
That seems like a statement from Captain Obvious, but I'm not sure anymore.
I was in Vermont journalism for more than 20 years, until the Burlington Free Press let me go in 2013. I understood, and they understood. Journalism had changed, and I wasn't sure I fully bought into the change. Both me and the Free Press knew it was time for me to go.
Parsons (and Donoghue, for that matter) stayed put. Stayed committed. Stayed on the story.
Parsons could have jumped ship and moved up the journalistic ladder to bigger markets, but he stayed in Vermont. That's where his commitment was.
In the Free Press, Donoghue writes:
"(Parsons) was happy being in Vermont, where there was easy access to politicians, judges and other newsmakers.
Parsons loved chasing hard news. When the city of Burlington experienced a large number of arson fires in the 1970s, Parsons, after finishing the 11 p.m. newscast, joined reporters and other media outlets hanging out at the police station trading war stories and waiting for the alarms. He became an auxillary firefighter for the city of Burlington and sometimes would sleep over at the fire station. His blue Fiat convertible had an emergency red light to help him get to scenes quicker."
Nowadays, trading war stories and hanging out at the police station is no way to get more Twitter followers nowadays. But it's surely the best way to get the most compelling news.
Vermont Gov. Peter Shumlin summed it all up as he reacted to news that Parsons, 70, had died. "We lost a legend - the Walter Cronkite of Vermont," the governor said.
I'm not quite sure what evolved between "It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To" and "You Don't Own Me," But Leslie Gore sure made some ahead of her time statements back in the 1960s.
At first "It's My Party" seems like a typical pouty teenager upset that her boyfriend dumped her.
The song is precisely that, and more. I like how Gore takes control in the song, even if what she's taking control of is the angst of a boyfriend bailing on her.
Maybe she's a little bit too enthralled by that cad Johnny, but she's not going to let everyone else's expectations control her.
"Play all my records, keep dancing all night But leave me alone for awhile 'Til Johnny's dancing with me I've got no reason to smile It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to Cry if I want to, cry if I wan to. You would cry too if it happened to you."
The lyrics, sung to the tune of some assertive minor keys, nowadays seem like only a complete dufus would have to be told this but in 1964, this was kind of groundbreaking:
"You don't own me, I'm not just one of your many toys. You don't own me, don't say I can't go with other boys And don't tell me what to do And don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display, 'cause You don't own me, don't try to change me in any way."
The sad thing is, you know how I said only a complete dufus would have to be told he doesn't own any women?
If you look at a lot of the online community, especially the legions of trolls out there, any time a woman dares to voice her opinion on say, online gaming, or sexism in the computer industry or anything for that matter, the jerks pounce.
What an odd juxtaposition. The computer nerds are so futuristic, foward thinking. At the same time, a few of them continue to live in the darkest, most sexist corners of the 1950s.
At least Leslie Gore had the presense of mind in 1964 to start setting the record straight. It helped lead to generations of women who are not owned by anybody.
I personally like their reworking of the Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction." The video is awesome and entertaining and weird and wonderful, too. Watch:
I have to admit as a kid I couldn't STAND Eydie Gorme and her husband and singing partner Steve Lawrence. So lovey dovey. So cheesy. So many teeth in those smile.
The late, great Eydie Gorme
Of course my negative opinion of Gorme and Lawrence was unfair. What's wrong with love? And if they were so happy and in love with each other and their lives, why should I complain?
One has to remember to not get all cynical and eye-rolling with sedate contentment. And Gorme was a talented singer.
Steve and Eydie were together for 55 years. Steve Lawrence released this touching and sad statement about his wife's death.
"Eydie has been my partner on stage and in life for more than 55 years. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her and even more the first time I heard her sing."
Very sweet. Really, I retract any nastiness I had toward Gorme.
Which would make my mother happy. She LOVED Steve and Eydie.
Goodbye, Eydie. I'm sure whereever you are in the afterlife will sound sweeter with you there.
Here's perhaps her most famous song. Yes, it's cheesy, but it's become a guilty pleasure of mine:
He had a huge string of wonderful hits, placing an incredible 143 songs in the Billboard Top 40 Hot Country Songs over the years.
The late, great George Jones
He was famously married to the late Tammy Wynette, another of my absolute favorite country singers. Their duet, "We're Not The Jet Set," is a punny, funny classic that I'll never get sick of.
Jones and Wynette were staples on the jukebox in the neighborhood bar my father owned while I was growing up in West Rutland, Vermont. Any time I'd visit him there, chances are I'd hear George Jones crooning from that brightly lit jukebox in that dimly lit bar.
Jones' best known song, one that has often been called the greatest country song ever written and performed, is also a terribly disturbing tune, which is of course why I love it so much.
For those somehow not familiar with "He"He Stopped Loving Her Today," it was written by R.V. Braddock and C. Putnam Jr., tells the tale of a man who for decades carries a torch for a woman who left him.
Some lyrics:
"He kept picture on his wall Went half crazy now and then He still loved her through it all Hoping she'd come back again."
Finally, she did come back, to reiterate the love affair was over a long time ago and would never rekindle. So we get this:
"He stopped loving her today They placed a wreath upon his door And soon they'll carry him away He stopped loving her today."
Yep, after waiting for her all those years, essentially wasting his life, that last visit drove our man to suicide.
Like I said, a disturbing, sad, but brilliant country song. Here's a YouTube clip of Jones performing "He Stopped Loving Her Today:
As you surely heard on the news, Pauline Phillips, better known as the original Dear Abby, died Wednesday at the age of 94. Through the magic of making stuff up, we found some letters she answered that we run here to celebrate her life:
Dear Abby:
I always look around for the best advice available whenever I have a problem. But my go-to gal for the best advice, I'll call her "Abby" passed away Wednesday. There are so many advice columnists everywhere these days, and they offer conflicting advice. Where do I turn to to guide my life?
--Bereft in Burlington.
Dear Bereft:
You are not the center of the universe. I knew your Abby. If you boiled down her advice it was all about using looking at the good examples around you and using common sense.
Dear Abby:
Things are so confusing nowadays. It seems like there are so many sharp opinions and anger. Everybody is always yelling at each other and being nasty When I was a kid, it seemed like things were calmer and it was easier to figure out what was really going on. Where do I go now?
--Confused in Colchester.
Dear Confused: Wake up and smell the coffee. I've always said to treat others with respect. In one column I wrote "The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good." Remember that.
Dear Abby:
Voices are so loud around me. On the TV, on the Internet, on the radio, everybody is always saying they are right, and talk, talk, talk as if that will make everybody agree with their point of view. It's boring and obnoxious, and it's getting worse. None of these people make any sense, and I can't understand what they're trying to say because they're foaming at the mouth so much. How do I sort all this out, and how can I make my voice rise above the din?
--Deaf in Duxbury.
Dear Deaf: Again, I have to go back to one of my past columns in which I said, "The less you talk, the more you're listened to."
Dear Abby:
Everybody wants to be famous. More and more, people are doing all kinds of dumb things so they can get Web hits and attention in the blogosphere. I guess everybody is supposed to be famous. But what if I never attain fame? Does that make me a bad person with a bad life?
--Unknown in Underhill.
Dear Unknown: I'll repeat something else I said in a past column: "If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters."
Dear Abby:
My neighbors' children are lazy. They're teenagers, and it looks like they've never worked a day in their lives. I see their parents struggling to shovel snow, and they have health problems. The kids just hang out and snicker, and their parents don't ask them to help. So the kids do nothing. I worry they'll just drift through life. What's going on, and how can the parents give their kids a little ambition?
---Working in Worcester.
Dear Working: I've always said, "If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders."
Mostly it was to the point: Look kid,wake up and smell the coffee. You are not the center of the universe,no matter what your parents say. You better suck it up and just keep on keeping on.
