Touch and Go (30 page)
Authors: Studs Terkel
Scopes, a young teacher in a Dayton, Tennessee, high school, a young teacher of biology, had been tried for having violated a state statute: No theory of the origins of man could be taught that contradicted the Book of Genesis. The trial lasted eleven hot July days in 1925. The contest between Clarence Darrow, attorney for the defense, and William Jennings Bryan, prime witness for the prosecution, is celebrated in folklore as well as history. The devastating effect on Bryan's life is also common knowledge.
Toward the end of our studio conversation, another recording by Vernon Dalhart is heard. He had written it as a tribute to Mr. Bryan, who died five days after the trial ended.
There he fought for what was righteous and the battle it was won.
Then the Lord called him to heaven for his work on earth was done.
If you want to go to heaven and your work on earth is through,
You must believe as Mr. Bryan, you will fail unless you do.
“Yes,” says Scopes, “I think the tragedy is more man's than Bryan's. Because we haven't advanced too much.”
54
54
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GIRARD, KANSAS, 1867 onward.
It was so named in honor of his hometown in Pennsylvania by Dr. Charles Strong, a deer hunter. As far as I know, and what a couple of old Wobblies at the Wells-Grand told me, this expectedly conservative town experienced some remarkable and strange happenings between the years 1895 and 1922.
A freethinking, American Socialist journal,
Appeal to Reason
, was published in this town. Though native as its base, it had many immigrant adherents who remembered their own dreams and the works of Thomas Paine and all those other visionaries. There was a time when its circulation approached a million.
Appeal to Reason
, was published in this town. Though native as its base, it had many immigrant adherents who remembered their own dreams and the works of Thomas Paine and all those other visionaries. There was a time when its circulation approached a million.
John Graham of the University of Nebraska Press noted: “Although almost erased from our collective memory that was selectively focused on the American character, war, party politics, ideas, and great men to the exclusion of the faceless âinarticulate' working people, those same Americans created a challenging movement as the twentieth century began.”
With the Gilded Age, the growth of trusts, the powerful, “so ordained by God” as George Baer proclaimed; as World War I broke out, and the Palmer raids broke in, especially into the homes of outspoken immigrant militantsâand don't forget the flivver and the
harvesterâall these factors succeeded in breaking down these urges and movements. Reason was equated with treason in the quarters of the powerful. A danger to the status quo had to be exorcised. Some of the old boys in the lobby of the hotel still got a bang out of recounting that hopeful epoch, even though the falcon had already flown.
harvesterâall these factors succeeded in breaking down these urges and movements. Reason was equated with treason in the quarters of the powerful. A danger to the status quo had to be exorcised. Some of the old boys in the lobby of the hotel still got a bang out of recounting that hopeful epoch, even though the falcon had already flown.
Every now and then, old Bill Brewer, whose gnarled hands intimated the jobs he'd had in the fields, on the railroads, and on the waters, would haul out of his hip pocket a little blue book. Let's not forget this informal library. E. Haldeman-Julius was the publisher. There were far more than a thousand of these nickel blue books published in, yeah, Girard, Kansas. They were published primarily for workingmen on the road, so they could read while they ran. You name it, they published it.
The first among the thousand little pocket-sized books that followed was Robert Burns. It is, I am told, still its bestseller, without any assist from Oprah. I challenge you to name one Scotsman, unlettered though he may be, who doesn't know a stanza, let alone, a line from Rabby Burns.
(Ironic note. How many can I call upon?) When I had that slight encounter in Pennsylvania's Girard, the wild-eyed boy, whose mother's case I found so moving, was named Robert Burns. The father, whose name was Robert, too, was silently standing by, addressing his knuckles. It was Mrs. Burns who was so overwhelmed by all the craziness and Godlessness that was holding sway and trying to hush-a-bye her lone child, Robert Jr.
When I discovered the name he bore, I felt so hopeful. Perhaps I could bring up the subject and tell him of his father's namesake. The more I tried “a man's a man for
a' that
” and “The best-laid plans of mice and men,” the more furiously he threw Luke, Mark, Paul, and Peter at me, citing the book it was from and the numerical code. He didn't hear a word I said, and here is the moment that really destroyed me. As Mrs. Burns wiped her face with her apron, she urged him to listen. She did want him to know some things outside his sphere.
a' that
” and “The best-laid plans of mice and men,” the more furiously he threw Luke, Mark, Paul, and Peter at me, citing the book it was from and the numerical code. He didn't hear a word I said, and here is the moment that really destroyed me. As Mrs. Burns wiped her face with her apron, she urged him to listen. She did want him to know some things outside his sphere.
The next day, when the big papers, as she referred to them, the Pittsburgh
Gazette
and the
Los Angeles Times
, ridiculed her, I felt I had lost it all.
Gazette
and the
Los Angeles Times
, ridiculed her, I felt I had lost it all.
Namesakes: the two Girards; the two Burns families. There had to be some other more civil way than further hurting and humiliating these hard, hardworking people.
Â
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THANKS TO OUR ELDER GUESTS and my brother Meyer, I subscribed; that is, I replied to the full-page ads of the blue-book people in the alternative journals, such as
The Nation
and old-time prototypes of
The Village Voice
. For one buck plus postage you received twenty such marvelous works. To name a few of the thousands: Bernard Shaw, Tom Paine, Tolstoy's
Essays
, Darrow giving the literal interpretation of the Bible a hard time, Voltaire, Aristotle, Whitman, of course, down the line to Fabre's lectures on the Mason Bee.
The Nation
and old-time prototypes of
The Village Voice
. For one buck plus postage you received twenty such marvelous works. To name a few of the thousands: Bernard Shaw, Tom Paine, Tolstoy's
Essays
, Darrow giving the literal interpretation of the Bible a hard time, Voltaire, Aristotle, Whitman, of course, down the line to Fabre's lectures on the Mason Bee.
After some seventy-five years, if I searched my messed-up closets arduously enough, I'd probably find a John Ruskin blue book. No Billy Sundays here.
55
(Did you know that a long Sandburg poem, a polemic such as you never have seen, was held off publication for years, it was so inflamatory? And so direct: He called a fink a fink.) Oh, there was Frederick Douglass and old Abe's best speeches.
55
(Did you know that a long Sandburg poem, a polemic such as you never have seen, was held off publication for years, it was so inflamatory? And so direct: He called a fink a fink.) Oh, there was Frederick Douglass and old Abe's best speeches.
What it does tell us is that a yearning is there, expressed in one manner or another as to what we can be about, something of peace, grace, and beauty. The dreamer could be an autodidact, raised on nickel blue books, or a Harvard grad.
Girard, Pennsylvania, tells me one thing; and that one magic moment in Girard, Kansas, tells me another.
Claude Williams, a circuit rider (traveling evangelist) who I interviewed for
Hard Times
, comes to mind some forty years after we spoke.
Hard Times
, comes to mind some forty years after we spoke.
I've used the Bible as a workingman's book. You'll find the prophetsâMoses, Amos, Isaiah, and the Son of Man, Old Testament and Newâyou find the Pharaohs, the Pilates, the Herods, and the people in the summer houses and the winter houses. These people like John the Baptist are our people and speak our word, but they've been kidnapped by the others and alien words put in their mouth to make us find what they want us to find. Our word is our sword.
I interpreted this for the sharecroppers. We had to meet in little churches, white and black. It was in the tradition of the old underground railway. I translated the Bible from the vertical to the horizontal. How can I reach this man and not further confuse him? He had only one book, the Bible. This had to be the book of rights and wrongs. True religion put to work for the fraternity of all people. All passages in the Book that could be used to further this day I underlined in red pencil. The Book fell open to me.
The rabble-rousers hated me. I had the longest horns in the country because I was using the very book they were using. I turned the guns the other way, as it were. I interpreted as I thought the prophets would interpret it, given the situation.
We have a religious phenomenon in America that has its origin in the South. Established churches followed urban trends. People out here were isolated and delivered religion on the basis of what they saw. Store-brought clothesâwhich they could not buy out of povertyâbecame wordly and sinful: “We had rather be beggars in the House of the Lord than dwell in king's palaces.” They were denied schooling. They were called rednecks and crackers and damn niggers. But the Bible was God's Book. Refused access to medical aid, faith healed the body as well as the soul: “We seek another world.” It was a protest against things economically unavailable. I interpreted this protest and related it to the Bibleâinstead of calling them hillbillies and rednecks.
I translated the democratic impulse of mass religion rather than its protofascist content into a language they understood.
In Winston-Salem, when we went out to organize the tobacco workers, the leader said: “If you crack this in two years, it'll be a
miracle.” We went to the oldest church. It was a bitter night. The pastor was a white woman, Sister Price, sitting there with an army blanket around her shoulders and a little old hat. I knew she was the bellwether. Unless I got her, I got nobody.
miracle.” We went to the oldest church. It was a bitter night. The pastor was a white woman, Sister Price, sitting there with an army blanket around her shoulders and a little old hat. I knew she was the bellwether. Unless I got her, I got nobody.
I gave the gospel of the Kings: Good News is only good when it feeds the poor. This woman pastor got up and drawled: “Well, this is the first time I heard the gospel of three square meals a day, and I want in on it. I love to shout and now I know every time I shout, I know I need shoes.” First thing I know, she was touching cadence and going way off.
I had to translate this emotion into action. But if I'd let her go on shouting, we'd never have made it. In three months, they called a labor board election. We won. We called on the Bible and the Son of Man.
Imagine Claude Williams meeting Mrs. B. in Girard, Pennsylvania. She has a Sister Price with
in
her. If only Mrs. B. could meet Claude Williams, she could be one of the most stalwart of humanists.
in
her. If only Mrs. B. could meet Claude Williams, she could be one of the most stalwart of humanists.
24
Evil of Banality
W
hen Hannah Arendt wrote
Eichmann in Jerusalem:The Banality of Evil
, she was referring to the trite, the trivial, the meaninglessness, and the lack of serious thought that leads to fascism.
hen Hannah Arendt wrote
Eichmann in Jerusalem:The Banality of Evil
, she was referring to the trite, the trivial, the meaninglessness, and the lack of serious thought that leads to fascism.
Consider: KEEP OFF THE GRASS. That is an order. You may kill someone near the grass, i.e., a Jew or a leftyâbut do not disturb the lovely symmetry of the lawn.
When Federico Fellini offered us in his tender and affectionate remembrance of his hometown,
Amarcord
, the lighthearted and light-headed exchanges between the villagers, he was also telling us of the vulgar, the flatulent brass of Il Duce's braying band in the background. The one dissenter was cleansed by the castor-oil treatment. Things went on as usual.
Amarcord
, the lighthearted and light-headed exchanges between the villagers, he was also telling us of the vulgar, the flatulent brass of Il Duce's braying band in the background. The one dissenter was cleansed by the castor-oil treatment. Things went on as usual.
Let us reverse the phrase of Hannah Arendt. Let's call it, even more properly, the evil of banality. It has profoundly affected our language, and it has perverted our speech.
The word “liberal” today has replaced the word “Communist” as used in the high-flying days of Tailgunner Joe. When John Kerry, the Democratic candidate for president, Vietnam War hero, defends himself, “I am not a liberal,” as though to be a liberal were shameful, less than American, we are deeper than Alice ever was in Wonderland.
I look up the word “liberal” in the dictionary.
Liberal: 1. Having, expressing, or following social or political views or policies that favor non-revolutionary progress and reform. 2. Having, expressing, or following views or policies that favor the freedom of individuals to act or express themselves in a manner of their own choosing.
I thought that's what Tom Paine was writing about when he said, “Reason is not to be confused with treason.” Being a liberal, I had thought, is to believe in the First Amendment.
I think of myself as a radical conservative. Radical means getting at the core of things. Louis Pasteur was a radical. Some would have called him a nut. The physician Ignaz Semmelweiss, who said, “Wash your hands,” was a radical. He
was
called a nut. I'm a radical conservative. Conservative: I want to conserve the blue of the skies, the potability of our drinking water, the First Amendment of the Constitution, and whatever sanity we have left. Labels mean
nothing
; issues mean everything. How do you stand on the issue of social security, or national health care, or the death penalty?
was
called a nut. I'm a radical conservative. Conservative: I want to conserve the blue of the skies, the potability of our drinking water, the First Amendment of the Constitution, and whatever sanity we have left. Labels mean
nothing
; issues mean everything. How do you stand on the issue of social security, or national health care, or the death penalty?
“Banality” is the operative word. We stare daily into our TV set, turn the dial on the radio, flip through the local tabloid. What do we experience?
Britney Spears, a pop singer, shaves her head and goes into rehab. Most Americans know her name. She is a celebrity. None of the contestants in a recent episode of
Jeopardy
, a popular TV quiz show, knew who Strom Thurmond was. For most of the twentieth century, on the floor of the Senate, he was the drum major of segregation. Not even his fathering a black child was within the ken of the
Jeopardy
participants. Nor did they know the name of Kofi Annan (the newly former United Nations secretary general).
Jeopardy
, a popular TV quiz show, knew who Strom Thurmond was. For most of the twentieth century, on the floor of the Senate, he was the drum major of segregation. Not even his fathering a black child was within the ken of the
Jeopardy
participants. Nor did they know the name of Kofi Annan (the newly former United Nations secretary general).
There have been exceptions in the past. During the civil rights fighting days, TV did a good job. At least, it showed us the dogs of Birmingham. It did a decent job, to some extent, on the Vietnam WarâThe Television War, Michael Arlen called it, in
The New Yorker
magazine. Today, our commander in chief forbids the showing
of caskets carrying slain American soldiers home from Iraq, and the networks comply.
The New Yorker
magazine. Today, our commander in chief forbids the showing
of caskets carrying slain American soldiers home from Iraq, and the networks comply.
Basically, there is an affront going on, an assault on our intelligence and sense of decency. We have a language perverted, a mind low-rated, and of course, the inevitable end resultâforgetfulness. This is what haunts me at the moment.
The young know nothing about the past, nothing about the fight of abolitionists, nothing about Elijah Lovejoy, or Frederick Douglass. The gap is deep here between almost all generations.
We say “younger generation.” What is a younger generation? Do I have to be ninety-four years old to remember these names? Are they otherwise erased from history?
Were you to ask the average kid today who our enemies were in World War II, they would know Germany and Japan, because of films if for no other reason. I've a hunch that 50 percent might say the Soviet Union was our enemy. During the Cold War that followed World War II, a phony “patriotism” took over. Forgotten was the fact that the Soviet Union army wiped out four out of five German soldiers on the Eastern Front.
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