The man is straight out of Shakespeare — sometimes Iago, sometimes Lear, sometimes (in his better, though rare, moments) Prince Hal himself. (Never Falstaff, though.) Nobody doubts his brilliance or cunning, but oh, what venality. He could never get over the contempt he had for the kinds of people LBJ called “the Harvards” — those golden boys who effortlessly controlled the levers of power and sneered at awkward ladder-climbers like Richard Nixon.
Mark Feldstein’s “Poisoning the Press” pairs Nixon with one of his fiercest critics, muckraking columnist Jack Anderson. In Anderson, Nixon had more than a foe in the media — he had someone who was surprisingly like the 37th president himself. Like Nixon, Anderson had a ne’er-do-well brother and a fractious relationship with his father; like Nixon, Anderson was a working-class striver; like Nixon, Anderson grew fond of a wealthy lifestyle at the expense of his ethics. (One of Anderson’s early gets had to do with payoffs Nixon received from rich benefactors. Anderson would later sacrifice much of his regard for money.)
I didn’t expect “Judge Parker” to turn into a Quentin Tarantino movie, but that’s the comparison that came to mind after I read Sunday’s strip, featuring two characters pointing guns at each other. Two women, yet.
But there was also a sense of fatigue revealed in a bit of meta-dialogue between those two characters, Sophie’s kidnappers. (I’m still thinking, “kidnapping”? What about the car crash? Was that part of the plan? Awfully destructive if all you wanted to do was kidnap Sophie.) Early on, one character tells the other, “You never had a handle on this plot!”
Ralph Branca won 21 games in 1947. Ralph Branca had a respectable lifetime ERA of 3.79. Ralph Branca pitched for all or part of 12 seasons in the majors, was a three-time All-Star and a respected member of the Brooklyn Dodgers pitching staff for years.
Some baseball players are forever associated with one pitch or one event. I know a guy who spit every time he heard Calvin Schiraldi’s name because of Schiraldi’s role in losing Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. I think of Donnie Moore as a Braves reliever, but most people probably remember him for giving up that home run to Dave Henderson in the 1986 ALCS.
And Branca? He gave up the most famous home run of them all, the one by Bobby Thomson that won the 1951 pennant for the Giants in a game they were losing 4-1 going into the bottom of the ninth.
Branca, though devastated by the home run, was a true sportsman. He appeared at card shows with Thomson and helped form the Baseball Assistance Team (B.A.T.), which helps former major leaguers in need. The priest he visited after the homer had it right.
Later Branca recalled sitting with a priest and family friend, asking why this had happened to him.
“Because,” he was told, “you’re strong enough to bear it.”
P.S. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a link to Red Smith’s column about the game, still one of the greatest deadline-written pieces in journalism history: “Now it is done,” it begins. “Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention. Only the utterly impossible, the inexpressibly fantastic, can ever be plausible again. …”
For some reason I was thinking about one of Weingarten’s most famous pieces. It’s about a children’s entertainer, the Great Zucchini. Back in 2006, when Weingarten published the story, the Great Zucchini was considered perhaps D.C.’s best preschool children’s party entertainer, a man who made $100,000 a year and only worked weekends — yet the rest of his life was incredibly disorganized, even sad. I won’t say why — you’ll have to dig into today’s Sunday read for that.
I don’t know what to make of today’s “Judge Parker.” Is that Sophie? I’ve already forgotten what she looks like. I guess it could be that cunning Honey. But isn’t Honey a blonde?
And how did she end up in the hospital? Weren’t the cops still going through the woods?
Well, I know it’s not Neddy. She’ll soon be hauled up on felony charges of negligence and skirting the permit process, since an upstanding corporate honcho wouldn’t have placed their factory — a shipping container! — over a sinkhole. Looks like money can buy you a lot of things, Spencer-Driver clan, but it can’t buy you ethics.
And not just the cool comics, like “Pearls Before Swine,”“Pearls Before Swine” and “Pearls Before Swine.” I read every single strip that appears in my local newspaper, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. In fact, the comics page is one of the main reasons I still subscribe to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, despite the fact that there’s only one page of comics now (down from two full pages in the ’90s) and they still carry “The Lockhorns.” (On the other hand, they’re running “Peanuts” strips from the late ’60s, a golden age for Charles M. Schulz.)
(Note: Yes, I know I can read a whole ton of them online. Yes, I know there are lots of oddball independent strips that would never make a major metropolitan newspaper — or even the New York Press in its glory years, which is where I discovered “Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer.” Sometimes we just like to remember things the way they were, when we were 11 and the comics page was the best part of the whole morning.)
Among the comics I read: “Judge Parker.”
Now, I would never confuse “Judge Parker” with high quality. It’s a soap opera strip, better than “Mary Worth” (which is not part of the AJC comics page anymore) and “Mark Trail” but still stupid, with impossibly good-looking men, surprisingly buxom women and no cares beyond horses, rock bands and poor RV driving.