Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Golden Plunger Awards (44 page)

Silly as he could be, Kelly had a serious side. Political commentary
on nuclear weapons was a recurring theme in Kelly’s work. His
G.O. Fizzickle Pogo
book was based on the “International Geophysical Year,” an international scientific effort that lasted from June 1957 to December 1958 and included discoveries about the deep sea and the launch of the Soviet satellite
Sputnik I
. Chapters in Kelly’s book included “The Defense of Utter Space” and “A Mine Shaft to the Moon,” and one storyline features the animals trying to explore the world.

In some cases, Kelly’s political messages are enduring. Pogo’s most famous quote is, “We have met the enemy, and he is us,” which originally appeared in a strip Kelly wrote about pollution. Kelly took the line from Naval Captain Oliver Perry’s 1813 message to then-U.S. Army General (and future U.S. president) William Henry Harrison after the Battle of Lake Erie: “We have met the enemy, and he is ours.” Pogo’s version is often resurrected by environmentalists as a rallying cry.

And if that weren’t enough to make Pogo and Walk Kelly worthy of a Golden Plunger, many famous cartoonists cite the strip as an influence, particularly in the art of combining comics with satire. From Jim Henson of Muppets fame to Garry Trudeau (
Doonesbury
), Bill Watterson (
Calvin and Hobbes
), and even
Shoe
’s Jeff MacNelly, graphic artists bow down before the brilliance of Walt Kelly.

In 1953, Kelly took his political humor even farther. That year, he introduced a bobcat, Simple J. Malarkey, who was based on right-wing Senator Joseph R. McCarthy. The stand was brave—McCarthy never shied away from accusing creative types of being communists and hauling them before Congress to defend themselves. When media lashed out against Kelly, the cartoonist had Malarkey wear a paper-bag mask. Kelly survived the backlash and was emboldened by it. Over the years, he went on to skewer J. Edgar Hoover, Spiro Agnew, Nikita Khruschev, Fidel Castro, and Richard Nixon. And he didn’t quit there.

Kelly the satirist was matched by Kelly the professional. He knew some newspapers would hate his political strips, so he drew comics for those publications that featured white bunnies taking
part in harmless, apolitical antics. He told readers that if they saw the bunnies they should try to find the “real” strip in a different paper.

In 1952, Kelly decided that having Pogo “run” for president made as much sense as some of the real candidates did. According to the Web site
IGoPogo.com
, most of Kelly’s pretend “Pogo for President” press releases “make more sense than the current presidential candidate statements.” And although Kelly remained a liberal who voiced his views through the mouths, maws, and beaks of his creations, with “Pogo for President,” he tried to show readers how comical all the human frontrunners were, regardless of party affiliation.

Today, Walt Kelly’s daughter, Carolyn Kelly, administers his estate. Not only is there a 2008 “I Go Pogo” campaign, but there’s an annual “Pogofest” in Waycross, Georgia, where Pogo was named the state’s “ofishul” possum.

Joining Pogo in the realm of unlikely candidates for public office is Richard S. “Kinky” Friedman, whose unsuccessful but lively 2006 Texas gubernatorial run resulted in lots of extra publicity for the singer, songwriter, novelist, humorist, and former
Texas Monthly
columnist. His original platform was “The Dewussification of Texas,” with slogans that included the says-it-all “Why the hell not?”

But Friedman’s laissez-faire campaign strategy has some hardcore beliefs behind it. He supports higher pay for teachers, alternative fuel development, and gay marriage. (“I believe they have a right to be as miserable as the rest of us,” he told an AP reporter.) He’s against illegal immigration, capital punishment, and smoking bans. (He likes to quote Mark Twain: “If smoking is not allowed in heaven, I shall not go.”)

Until the next campaign, Friedman remains happily ensconced on his family farm outside Kerrville, Texas, where he writes quirky mystery novels (with a suspiciously Kinky-esque protagonist named Kinky Friedman) and keeps an eye on his animal rescue ranch.

Buzkashi

In the organized chaos of this spirited Middle Eastern game, bones will be broken, teams will be mixed up, and sometimes a carcass-bearing team leader will gallop off the field and into the path of oncoming traffic. The players and their mounts keep going, though, in spite of honking horns and swerving cars. Welcome to Afghanistan’s national sport . . . buzkashi!

Buzkashi began in the days of Genghis Khan (using a skull as a ball), and not in Afghanistan but on Central Asia’s steppes. These wide-open prairies provided the perfect playing fields for the freewheeling game. It probably started as a hunting method, since chasing goats on horseback was more efficient than trying to run after them on foot, but it certainly derived some of its violent aspects from the mounted warfare of ancient times.

Buzkashi came to Afghanistan in the 1950s as a favorite of King Zahir Shah, the country’s last king, who loved the game. His government-hosted tournaments made it the “national game,” and when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979, Shah’s buzkashi riders were among the warriors who defended the country. When the communists seized power in 1979, the game’s leaders went underground, and it became part of the rebel mujahideen culture. When the Taliban took over in 1996, its leaders banned buzkashi.
But after that regime’s 2001 fall, the game returned and spread nationwide again.

Buzkashi is played on horseback, like polo, but that’s where the similarities end.
Buzkashi
means “goat grabbing” in Afghanistan’s Dari language, and the
boz
or goat carcass (often a calf) acts as the ball. The playing field ranges from dry, cracked mud flats to rocky promontories.

The original game was more free-ranging and could last for days or even weeks. Today’s version has (roughly) a one-hour limit. Around 60 players are divided into six or more teams. Each player wears a short, padded leather tunic or coat (chapan, hence the riders’ name of chapandaz), which makes it almost impossible for spectators and players to figure out who is on what side, adding to the chaotic fun.

A buzkashi match takes some advance preparation. Someone needs to butcher a goat, remove its head and hooves, and soak it overnight in cold water to toughen the carcass. The innards are also removed, and if necessary, the carcass is filled with sand so that it weighs at least 80 pounds. Then, voila—a boz . . . er, ball!

To begin, the “ball” is placed in a shallow, specially dug pit centered in the starting area, called the “Circle of Justice.” From there, the rules and game play of buzkashi range from violent to more violent. Although the rules state that no foul play is allowed, lashing competitors doesn’t seem to count. Once a player has snatched up the boz, he will be surrounded by other players on horseback, each clenching a short rawhide whip. The whips are used continuously against the other riders, and few players leave a match without facial slashes and burns. The more scars on a player’s face and body, the more respected he is. And it’s not just the whips that do damage: if the game is played near a river, riders have sometimes conspired to drown their opponents. But the whips aren’t the biggest danger in buzkashi—the horses are. Most horses stop at obstructions by instinct, but a buzkashi horse is trained to keep going and trample
over any obstacle, including humans. It’s common for players to suffer broken limbs, and sometimes people even die. The horses belong to tribal commanders who organize and sponsor the competitions. The more people who attend a game, the more powerful the commander is, and a buzkashi match is mostly an opportunity to flaunt his authority.

Chapandaz (or riders) compete only four months per year, but they earn enough prize money to live until the next season. The winner of the match also receives the boz. After all of the hits, the meat is very tender. And winners get prizes like new tunics and turbans. The ultimate prize, though, is having a long enough career to be awarded a fox-trimmed turban (the fox symbolizes cunning). The game-toughened riders who sport this distinctive headgear are revered figures in Afghan society. Eat your heart out, Beckham!

The Cubs weren’t always unlucky. In 1908, they received one of the luckiest breaks in baseball history. On September 23 of that year, the Cubs were playing the New York Giants. In the bottom of the 9th inning, the score was tied 1–1. Infielder Fred Merkle came up to bat with two outs and one man on base. Merkle hit a single. The next batter went up and hit another single. The runner on second made it to home to score the winning run, and Merkle, thinking the game was over, went to celebrate with his team—without ever touching second base. The Cubs’ second baseman grabbed the ball and stepped on second base to force out Merkle, which disqualified the winning run. There was so much confusion (fans had stormed onto the field to celebrate) that the game was ruled a tie. The Cubs ended up winning the National League pennant that year by one game . . . over the second-place Giants. The mistake earned Merkle the nickname “Bonehead.”

Civil War Surgeon Mary Walker

The Congressional Medal of Honor is the highest award the U.S. government can give to a soldier. It’s meant for a member of the military who distinguishes himself “conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States.”

The award was supposed to go just to military personnel for war service, but historically, presidents have given the medals to civilians (Buffalo Bill Cody got one) or to soldiers who distinguished themselves, but not necessarily in war (29 men got Medals of Honor for acting as guards at President Lincoln’s funeral).

In 1917, the government reviewed the medals they’d awarded and decided to revoke 911 of them as ineligible because they did-n’t meet the requirements. (Buffalo Bill and the Lincoln soldiers lost theirs.) And the government didn’t just strike the names from its list either; members of the Army went door to door and took the medals back.

One woman, Civil War Assistant Surgeon Mary Walker, refused to give hers up. Despite her valiant service as an Army surgeon, Walker did not technically qualify because she hadn’t “engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States.” However, when federal marshals arrived at Walker’s door to take her Medal of Honor, she met them wearing it around her neck and brandishing
a 12-gauge shotgun. Evidently the weapon spoke volumes, because Walker kept her medal and wore it every day until she died two years later.

Walker had always been feisty. Born into a family of freethinkers in rural New York, she often wore “bloomers” (a scandalous skirt-and-pants outfit designed by feminist Amelia Bloomer) and once declared, “Corsets are coffins!” She also prided herself on being arrested many times for wearing men’s clothes in public.

Walker went to college and then medical school, and in 1855, she became the second woman (after Elizabeth Blackwell) to graduate from Syracuse Medical College. Afterward, she married fellow student Albert Miller (and wore pants and a dress coat to the ceremony) but kept her own name (naturally). Mary and Albert set up a medical practice in Rome, New York, but the locals weren’t ready to accept a woman physician, so the practice eventually failed. So did the marriage—Mary and Albert divorced in the late 1860s.