The Demise of Cousin Oscar

Unlike Wednesday morning’s thunder but no rain, Thursday morning provided rain but no thunder. At least, none that I was awake for. Not a lot of rain, but enough to kick off a cool cloudy day.

Not long ago I watched an episode of All in the Family on a whim, as the series is available on one of the streaming services I pay for. I was curious to take a look at the program, so famed in its time, with my older eyes – older now than any of the characters.

I didn’t watch it every week back in its heyday, except maybe during the fall of ’73, when CBS had its remarkable Saturday line up: All in the Family, MASH, Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart and Carol Burnett.

As I was 12 that year, Saturdays weren’t yet for social occasions; that would come later, sometimes causing me to forego television I would have enjoyed, such as a number of episodes of the original-cast SNL. It was years before I saw the Killer Christmas Tree sketch, for instance.

The All in the Family episode I watched recently, “The Saga of Cousin Oscar,” originally aired on September 18, 1971, as the first episode of the second season. Even though the show had found its footing by then – All in the Family became No. 1 that season, probably as a result of word-of-mouth that summer — I’m fairly certain I’d never seen “Cousin Oscar” before. As a 10-year-old, I wasn’t paying attention to that kind of word-of-mouth.

As a start for a season, the episode was a good one. It was actually funny at times. The main reason, I believe, is that there was very little in the way of discussions, or arguments, about the issues of the day, except maybe a comment by Mike complaining about the funeral industry. That’s often the case with comedy, and especially this show: the lower the level of tendentiousness, the funnier it is.

The titular character Oscar, a ne’er-do-well cousin of Archie’s, was described in the first act, but not seen, as he was reportedly sleeping late upstairs. Why he had no other place to go at that moment wasn’t entirely clear, but it was clear that Archie considered him a moocher and planned to kick him out. Commercial break.

I was entirely sure I knew what would happen next. I’ve seen enough sitcoms in my life.

Sure enough, like the luckless guest in “The Kipper and the Corpse,” Oscar checked out sometime that morning. Now the Bunkers had to deal with that, including a series of long-distance calls to other relatives, trying the raise money for Oscar’s funeral, which Archie doesn’t want to pay for. I’m not giving much away when I note that in the end, he’s stuck with the bill, though it’s played as him reluctantly doing the right thing.

A lot of sitcoms could have done that story. I could imagine a cousin of Fred Sanford’s doing the same. Plautus could have done the story too. Maybe he did, and the scroll waiting to be discovered at some buried site in the Near East.

Some observations.

Archie was incredibly bossy, which I suppose fits, but more remarkably everyone else goes along with it, including Mike.

One forgets what an involved process long-distance calls used to be.

Edith, of course, had more sense than Archie, and more empathy too, a pattern that persisted throughout the series. Plautus could have done that as well.

No one even mentioned the possibility of cremating Oscar, a cheaper option. I know it wasn’t as common then, but it did happen. Or, for that matter, having Oscar buried in a potter’s field at county expense (Mike’s suggestion) and then holding an inexpensive memorial service. It was either all or nothing when it came to a funeral.

This was before residential sets were often depicted as more expensive than the characters could afford (viz., Friends). I marveled that there was supposed to be enough room upstairs for Oscar to have his own bed to die in.

In terms of sets, the show had a remarkable economy: the living room and the kitchen. I can only remember a handful of times the upstairs was seen, including one memorable moment when Archie got on Mike’s case – nonpolitically, mostly demented – about the right way to put on socks and shoes.

The show could have used more material like that.

Late Summer Tomatoes

Heard the rumble of thunder at some distance during the wee hours this morning, but upon looking outside after dawn, no rain came of it, at least here. We’ve had a few dry weeks now, with the local grass retreating to its brown state till water comes again.

From our back yard. We’ve been watering our small tomato crop through the dry days.

The quarter came from the Royal Canadian Mint facility in Winnipeg, and I picked it up somewhere near Lake Superior last month, and exported it to the United States.

There were more tomatoes in the dish until recently, today in fact, smaller in diameter than the quarter, but we ate those. Man, garden tomatoes are good. I’m hardly the first person to notice that, but it’s worth repeating.

Did some reading about the late singer and businessman Jimmy Buffet today. This paragraph made me smile.

“Mr. Buffett’s original idea for Margaritaville was ‘to expand the opportunity for as many people to experience the lifestyle immortalized in his iconic song as possible,’ according to the statement on the company’s website,” the New York Times reported. “The company had $2.2 billion in gross annual revenue last year.”

The lifestyle immortalized in his iconic song? That of a drunken layabout? You don’t need to visit a resort to do that.

Gary Wright also died recently. That makes two popular musicians who first had hits in the 1970s. You know what that means, according to unfalsifiable popular notions. Number three dead ahead, and I do mean dead.

The Wawa Goose

Whatever else you can say about the township of Wawa, Ontario, the goose comes first. I can’t call Wawa famous, but to the extent the town is known in the wider world, the goose puts it on the map.Wawa, Ontario

The current goose is only a few years old, the second steel-bodied bird to stand on the site, which originally sported a chicken-wire and plaster goose erected in 1960 that lasted only a few winters. The statue calls attention to Wawa, which was its sole original purpose, since the brand-new Trans-Canada highway had bypassed its main street.

It works. You only need to pull off the Trans-Canada to see it, and then you stand a chance of going further into town (pop. 2,700). Though I spent a couple of hours in Wawa, and saw and did other things, the goose persuaded me to stop about mid-day on August 3. Well, maybe. With a name like Wawa, I might have stopped anyway. But the experience wouldn’t have been nearly the same.

Wawa has taken to its goose wholeheartedly. Follow the road into town and you’ll see other, more volant unofficial geese.Wawa, Ontario Wawa, Ontario

Look a little closer, and there are even more geese. It’s geese all the way down. This can be found on the wall outside of the township’s offices. Based on the township seal, looks like.Wawa, Ontario

A small goose at a small historic cemetery in Wawa.Wawa, Ontario

Pretty much any fact about the Wawa Goose is a fun fact, but I’m only going to cite a few from the Northern Ontario Travel (NOT) web site and other sources. The most fun of the fun facts, in my opinion.

The goose is 28 feet tall, 22 feet long, and has a wingspan of 20 feet, according to NOT. [What, no metric measurements?]

One Dick Vanderclift, Dutch immigrant and ornamental wrought iron specialist from Sault Ste. Marie, created the second goose. I assume the third one hews pretty close to his original design.

One Al Turcott, owner of a Wawa dry goods and clothing store – back when that could make you a prominent local citizen – ponied up for most of the money to build the original.

“The Canada Goose is not an official symbol of Canada,” NOT says. “Only the beaver and the maple tree have this cultural status.”

[What committee decides – no, I’m not going down that rabbit hole.]

“Stompin’ Tom Connors sang the song ‘Little Wawa’ about a goose that stayed behind when her lover Gander Goo got shot down with an arrow!” NOT exclaims. “Bet you didn’t know that one!”

I sure didn’t know that one. Stompin’ Tom Connors (d. 2013) only now has come to my attention. Quite a thing in Canada, he was. This isn’t “Little Wawa,” but it is Stompin’ Tom.

Wait, Conan O’Brien is Canadian? No. No reason he couldn’t be, but he’s from Massachusetts. He clearly knew what his Canadian audience wanted.

Turtle Creek Parkway, Tanks and White Line Frankenstein

Tooling along one of southern Wisconsin’s two-lane highways a week ago Friday, the radio station I happened to be tuned into – I’m not giving up terrestrial radio on road trips – introduced a new song by Alice Cooper, with a few words from the artist himself. That got my attention. Alice Cooper, shock rocker of my adolescence, is still making records?

He is, at the fine old age of 75. I never was a big fan of his, except of course for “School’s Out,” but I was glad to hear that all the same. Keep on keeping on, old guy.

For my part, I kept on driving, passing the greens and golds of high corn and the utilitarian buildings that support farming, intersections with gravel roads, hand-painted signs and, now and then, another vehicle. It was an obscenely pleasant July day, clear and warm and not nearly as hot as much of the rest of the country.

The new song came on. Title, “White Line Frankenstein.” Remarkable how consistent Alice Cooper has been through the years. What does he sound like, now that he’s a senior shock rocker? Sounds a lot like young Alice Cooper. A good showman finds something that works and sticks with it, and there’s no arguing his showman abilities.

About half way through the song I was inspired to pull off to the side of the road near where a rail line crossed the road, and take pictures.rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin

Missed the last half of the song, but oh well.

Near Beloit, Wisconsin – close to the town of Shopiere, but not in any town, is a spot called Turtle Creek Parkway, a Rock County park. At four acres, it’s the rural equivalent of a pocket park, with its star attraction across a field next to Turtle Creek: the Tiffany Bridge, or the Tiffany Stone Bridge, vintage 1869, which as far as I know is still a working railroad bridge. (Tiffany is another nearby town.)Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

More than 20 years ago, I visited the bridge, accompanied by small child and pregnant wife. It wasn’t a park then, just a wide place in the road to stop. Enough people must have stopped there for the county to get a hint, I guess, and acquire and develop the land by adding a boat launch on Turtle Creek, a small rental event building, and a small parking lot.

Regardless, it’s hard to take a bad up-close picture of the structure.Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

Just a hunch: the arches are too sturdy to destroy in a cost-effective way, so it abides.

Rather than return to the Interstate right away, I headed out from Shopiere onto the small roads where I eventually heard about Alice Cooper. Not long before that encounter, I spotted a tank in the hamlet of Turtle, Wisconsin.Turtle, Wisconsin

Another former Wisconsin National Guard tank, an M60A3.Turtle, Wisconsin Turtle, Wisconsin

It’s part of a plaza honoring veterans of the area. Interesting to run into another tank in southern Wisconsin so soon after the last one. I decided to keep an eye out for tanks on the rest of the drive, and sure enough I spotted more as the drive progressed.

Rotary Botanical Gardens, Janesville

Time for another summer break. Good to take those when you can. Back to posting around August 6. Or maybe the 7th. Not good to structure summer too much.

Didn’t get around to seeing either Oppenheimer or Barbie lately, though I’m much more likely to watch the former in a theater. I actually read The Making of the Atomic Bomb (1987) back when it was fairly new, and before that (’83) took an undergraduate seminar on the Manhattan Project, which involved much interesting reading, of course, and watching an excellent documentary, The Day After Trinity (1981), all of which inspired awe and dread.

As for Barbie dolls, I share the indifference that most men feel – though I suppose if there are men who like My Little Pony, there must be secret Barbie admirers as well, and not just out of solidarity with Ken. Ann, on the other hand, has a sentimental attachment to the dolls, even nostalgic feelings, whatever that can mean at 20. So she went on the movie’s opening night, helping it set its high box office. She reported enjoying it.

I did get around, yesterday, to finishing The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Well worth watching, though uneven to the end. The arc of Midge and Susie and Joel formed the core sympathetic heart of the show, to good effect. The older characters – Abe and Rose and Moishe and Shirley – pretty much went off the rails in the later seasons, which was too bad. Old people are just a hoot, eh?

Still, Abe did have a few touching moments toward the end of the last season, especially at dinner in the company of other old men, with mortality as the unnamed character at the table. My favorite minor character was Lenny Bruce, and his appearance in the last episode was a heart breaker, with addiction the unnamed character joining him. The drug that killed the real Mr. Bruce in 1966 was reportedly morphine, which strikes me as a little old-fashioned for the 1960s, but the comedian always did things differently.

Last Sunday I stopped at the Kansasville Wisconsin Veterans Memorial Wayside Park again for a quick look at the adjacent cornfield.

Much higher than a month ago. It’s a little hard to tell from the Drought Monitor, but I think that part of Wisconsin is on the border of moderate and severe drought. The corn looks healthy enough to this non-farmer, however. Northern Illinois/southern Wisconsin’s gotten some rain lately, including a storm that blew through yesterday around noon.

The last place we went in Janesville early this month was the Rotary Botanical Gardens. Saw it on an electronic map, looked it up, decided to go. That’s the way to find places in our time.

We were well rewarded for the effort. How often do you see golden Hakone grass (Hakonechloa macra) pushing through a pile of small boulders?Rotary Botanical Gardens

That flow of grass was part of one of the Rotary Botanical Gardens’ centerpieces, its Japanese garden. Good to find those in the heart of North America.Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens

Complete with the styles of bridges that tend to be in Japanese gardens, across a large pond.Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens

I don’t believe for a minute that evil spirits are too cowardly or disoriented to cross a crooked bridge; or rather, I don’t believe that belief is the origin of the design. I believe it is aesthetics for the sake of aesthetics.

The Rotary is a large place. Besides the Japanese Garden, it includes (among other sections) an English Cottage Garden; an Italian Garden; French Formal Rose Garden; Scottish Garden; Alpine Garden; a Shade Garden; a Sunken Garden; Fern & Moss Garden; and seasonal displays.Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens

Bursting blossoms rise from the grounds. Or so it seems.Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens

Along with arrays of other glorious summer blooms.Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens Rotary Botanic Gardens

Curious name, Rotary. Do Rotarians have anything to do with the Rotary Botanic Gardens? Yes, they do.

The garden opened in 1991, occupying “the site of an abandoned sand and gravel quarry on Palmer Drive,” the garden’s web site says. “In 1988, the original site between Lions Beach and Kiwanis Pond was covered with debris and used as storage for the Parks Department and a BMX bicycle racetrack.

“The Gardens’ founder and original visionary, retired orthodontist Dr. Robert Yahr [d. 2021], approached the two Rotary Clubs in Janesville and inquired about their interest in developing a botanical garden for the community to enjoy.”

That they did. Nice work, Dr. Yahr.

Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

A total of four hours behind the wheel there and back from the northwest suburbs of Chicago to Normal, Illinois, could be considered a chore, but not if you have time to stop a handful of places along the way. That isn’t always possible – weather or scheduling might prevent it – but when it is, you might happen across things to see. Maybe even things you won’t see anywhere else.

Such as in Pontiac, Illinois, pop. 11,150. It’s been a surprisingly good source of stopover sights since I started driving to Normal on a regular basis, and so it was on Sunday, when I headed down to Normal to load up the car with some of Ann’s possessions. She’ll be done with school for the semester later this week, so the goal was to not be overloaded when she finally returns.

Plunge into the small streets of Pontiac – that might not be the right verb, since its grid is pretty small – and soon you’ll be at Chautauqua Park.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

Spring green and on Sunday at least, warm enough to inspire a little sweat.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

A good place to walk around, but also to read, with a good many signs like this.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

I read at least a half-dozen. Most of them told me about the history of the park as the setting for the Pontiac Chautauqua, as the park name suggests.

A few quotes from the various signs:

A.C. Folsom

“Under the leadership of A.C. Folsom, a group of civic-minded citizens organized to bring a Chautauqua to Pontiac. Between the years 1898 and 1929, the Pontiac Chautauqua Assembles developed into one of the Midwest’s most popular and successful summer festivals.”

“As the Pontiac Chautauqua grew, dramatic presentations became particular favorites of the crowd. Shakespeare, melodramas, domestic comedies, mysteries, and tragedies graced the stage of the pavilion. Troupes of actors from New York, Chicago and elsewhere traveled the Chautauqua circuit, playing a repertory of four or five plays.”

The Chautauqua pavilion as it appears now.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

Theatrical presentations still occur there. According to a non-historic sign, the next one will be the Broadway musical version of Beauty and the Beast, June 14-18, 2023, by the Vermillion Players.

More Chautauqua Park history-sign verbiage:

“Specialty acts from all over the world brought exotic sounds which floated over the park on warm summer evenings. Here are just a few of the individuals and groups which graced the Pontiac Chautauqua: Mme. Schumann-Heink, opera star; The Weber Male Quartette; Colangelos Band; The Honolulu Students; Mr. & Mrs. Tony Godetz, Alpine Singers & Yodelers.”

“Each year of the Pontiac Chautauqua Assembly, noted lecturers, politicians and educators came to edify the event’s patrons… some of the most notable speakers include: Booker T. Washington; William Jennings Bryan; Samuel Gompers; Rev. Dr. Thomas DeWitt Talmage; Carrie Nation.”

Yep, there’s Carrie Nation at the Pontiac Chautauqua.

No visible hatchet. It’s clear she didn’t wear a corset. She considered them harmful.

As fascinating as the park’s Chautauqua history is – and there’s the basis of another limited costume series on prestige streaming, namely the story of a plucky, slightly anachronistic woman entertainer on the Chautauqua circuit, ca. 1900 – that isn’t all the park has to offer.

Namely, it sports two of the town’s three swinging bridges. Dating roughly from the time of the Chautauqua. Original iron work, with wooden planks that have been replaced many times.

Naturally, I had to cross them. One of them:Chautauqua Park, Pontiac Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

And the other.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac Chautauqua Park, Pontiac Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

They don’t swing, exactly, at least when you walk normally, but they do wobble, and it takes a moment to get used to the motion. Nice views of the Vermilion River along with way.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

Bigger than I would have thought. At this point, the waters are on their way to the Illinois River, then of course Old Man River.

One more item in the park: a plaque-on-rock memorial.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

Not just any memorial, but a fairly unusual one.Chautauqua Park, Pontiac

But not unknown. Naturally, I had to look up Fred Bennitt. I’m cursed that way.

We’ve Stringbeans and Onions, Cabbages and Scallions, and All Kinds of Fruits and Say —

I’ve been lax, letting the 100th anniversary of “Yes, We Have No Bananas,” go unmentioned until now. The song was published on March 23, 1923. The only popular song about Greek grocers that I know, except maybe for “I’ve Got The Yes! We Have No Bananas Blues.”

I found an article that promises the story behind the song, and offers some detail about the fruit trade in New York, past and present.

“The story of New York produce goes far back beyond Hunts Point,” says an article on the web site of a company specializing in credit rating and market information for the produce industry, referring to the Hunts Point produce market in the Bronx, an enormous operation.

“The city’s colorful history includes the Banana Docks of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which were located at Old Slip in lower Manhattan,” it says.

Banana Docks, New York City

The article goes on to say that the songwriters took their inspiration from a Greek fruit stand owner who said the famous line to him, but the account published in Time magazine in the summer of 1923 is, I think, more believable. Especially since it quotes the songwriter himself only months after the monster hit song came out.

“I am an American, of Jewish ancestry, with a wife and a young son,” songwriter Frank Silver told Time. “About a year ago my little orchestra was playing at a Long Island hotel. To and from the hotel I was wont to stop at a fruit stand owned by a Greek, who began every sentence with ‘Yess.’ The jingle of his idiom haunted me and my friend Cohn. Finally I wrote this verse and Gohn [sic] fitted it with a tune.”

It was the first song Silver ever sold. For a most harmonious recording of it, listen to the Mellomen version. With Thurl Ravenscroft. (!) For a sing-along version that also happens to be an early product of the remarkable and mostly unsung Fleischer Studios, and thus has a surreal edge to it, watch this video.

Here’s an series idea for a prestige streaming service: Banana Dock Empire. Criminals vying for control of the Banana Docks in 1890s New York. Too bad Daniel Day-Lewis is too old now to play the part of a rising young thug who murders his way into control of the city’s banana supply.

Thursday Nodules

Did a little shopping at a local grocery store (part of a grocery conglomerate) and saw this display.

The Fourth of July? Really?

The Kingston Trio did a version of “Seasons in the Sun,” in 1964, a song recorded 10 years later to vast popularity by Terry Jacks, one remembered for being as saccharine as a Shirley Temple. One that was on the radio all the time.

The Kingston Trio version has a bitter twist to dilute the sentimentality, which I suspect is closer to the French-language source material. Just another thing I happened across in the YouTube treasure cave.

Not long ago, Yuriko bought an article of clothing at a local store (part of a retail conglomerate), and the clerk forgot to take off the bulky security tag. In trying to avoid a trip back to the store to have it removed, I looked up the matter on YouTube. Musical selections aren’t the only jewels in the cave. Of course, often enough you find cubic zirconia.

One video suggested a technique using two forks that didn’t look remotely easy; another assumed you had a workshop of tools; and a third – my favorite – suggested you simply smash it with a hammer. Never would have thought of that.

Lots of people post images of their meals, usually while there’s still food on the plate. But what about the debris of a good meal? Evidence that you completed the meal, with the hope that you might have enjoyed it.

Chicken bones, in this case. The last leftovers of the Korean chicken we bought about a week ago, and we did enjoy it.

Brand name: bb.q chicken. It is an enormous chain, with more than 3,500 locations in 57 countries. Not quite sure when the northwest suburban outlet we go to opened, but it hasn’t been that long. We drop by once a month or so.

Das Volkswagen

RIP, Marianne Savalli Vanness. I knew her at Vanderbilt during my senior year, when we both worked on the student newspaper, the Vanderbilt Hustler, and had a number of friends in common.

I hadn’t seen her or had any contact with her since 1983, except for a nominal link on Facebook, but her obituary isn’t exaggerating about “her warm and generous spirit and her love of laughter.” We weren’t close, but I knew her well enough to know that was true even then.

Not mentioned in the obit, because why would it be – she played a part in the movie Das Volkswagen. Forty years ago, on April 21, 1983, I attended the world premiere of Das Volkswagen, in fact its only screening in front of an audience that I know of. For the film class that I took at the time.

During my last semester at Vanderbilt, one of my easy classes was Film. We watched movies (Bonnie and Clyde, Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Meshes of the Afternoon, among a number of others) and wrote papers about them. Also, in groups of three, we were lent 8mm cameras and made three different movies throughout the semester, which were then shown to the class.

By definition, they were collegiate efforts, some better than others. Our first assignment was to make a silent movie with a certain number of shots, not very many. I partnered with my friends Dan and Steve, who were also in the class, to make The Going Away Party. In it, Dan’s character has taken a bath; he puts on a towel and emerges from the bathroom, only to find a party in progress that he clearly hadn’t known about. A girl in a frilly black blouse and black slacks, wearing the kind of fancy black mask you might see at a masque, immediately pays attention to Dan, including stroking his newly shaved face. Through emphatic gestures, Dan tells her to stay right there; he’ll get dressed in the bathroom, and be right back. So in the bathroom, door closed, Dan hastily dresses, opens the door and finds – nothing. The party is gone.

The inspiration had been, and more than one person noticed this, “Splish Splash,” the Bobby Darin song. It was a fun little movie. We had filmed the party sequences during an actual party one Saturday evening at our rented house, the fondly remembered 207 31st St. N. in Nashville, where we threw a half-dozen parties at least, including the Lonely Existential Blender Blues Party (it’s good, I think, to have a few named parties in one’s past).

The girl in black, who wasn’t in our film class, was a frequent attendee at our parties, and rumored to be a bondage enthusiast, something I did not confirm one way or the other. She hammed up her part just right, though.

I made another movie with a couple of underclassmen I didn’t know that well, and it was forgettable. For the third and final movie of the class, a sound movie – it might have even counted as the final exam – I partnered with Steve again, and a girl in the class who didn’t actually want to help much in making a movie. But Steve and I didn’t mind, since we knew what we wanted to make: a parody of Das Boot, which had been screened at the Vanderbilt Cinema not long before.

That was possible because Steve drove a Volkswagen. So we made Das Volkswagen, the story of a crowded small car out on a vaguely defined mission on the dangerous-for-some-reason streets of Nashville. To make it more submarine-like, I made a periscope from a empty paper towel roll and a couple of empty toilet paper rolls, taped together.

Like Das Boot, our movie kicked off with loading the crew into the car, including jamming (by simple trick photography) an impossible number of items (suitcases, skis, etc.) in the front trunk. We filmed that scene at our rundown driveway at 207 31st St. N.

Steve was the driver. I sat in the front passenger seat, operating the camera most of the time as we drove along. Crammed in the back were variously three or four people we’d recruited with the promise of lunch, one of whom was Marianne Savalli. I filmed their antics sometimes as well.

During post-production, we added the voice of another friend of ours, who did a decent comic German accent, as a narrator. I don’t remember exactly what he said during the scene loading the crew, but something like, “It vas a virgin crew, and exzitement vas high.” Periodically through the movie, he narratived further, and he added some actual German, including some obscenities, and told us (off microphone) that “Der Volkswagen,” not Das, was grammatically correct. Our answer to that: who cares?

We had the sound library of student radio station WRVU available for the production, and so added music and sound effects. We used part of “The Imperial March,” (Darth Vader’s Theme) for the movie’s opening, because it was ominous-sounding, and we also used the immortal song “Da Da Da” for one or two of the driving scenes. Because it was German rock ‘n’ roll whose lyricism transcends mere language, I guess.

After loading Das Volkswagen on the driveway, we filmed driving around a few streets and making odd faces with odd sound effects thrown in. Sometimes I’d pass the camera to the back seat, and one of them would film me pretending to look through the periscope. Then came my big moment: I turned from the periscope to the back seat, and announced to the camera with a demented face, “Das McDonald’s!” The crew responded enthusiastically.

I then filmed the car inside and outside as it went through a McDonald’s drive-through and got the lunch we’d promised for everyone. Which we ate as part of the movie.

Afterward, we returned to the streets, but soon Das Volkswagen crashed into another car and, presumably, all hands were lost. Of course, it was a simulated accident. When we approached cars stopped at a light, I zoomed the lens toward the car ahead of us, as quickly as I could; then cut to black. Later, we added the sound effect of a comic car crash, something you might hear in a cartoon, with tires screeching, breaking glass and the sound of one of the hubcaps rolling away. The End. Or rather, Das Ende.

It all sounds juvenile. And it was. But damned if it wasn’t funny. April 21 came around, and we showed it to the class, who laughed hardily at most of the gags. Among my in-class moments at college, it was a high point. Even the professor laughed. We got an A.

Springtime Thursday Musings

Warm again early in the day. Thunderstorms rolled through in the morning and again in the afternoon. Cool air came back late in the day.

Ahead of the rain, we walked the dog around a pond, where a good many red-winged blackbirds flitted around. Hardly our first encounter with them, though there don’t seem to be as many after spring is over.

Moths are back in the house. How did this happen? There’s no lasting victory over moths, looks like. So I put out fresh glue traps, and some dozens have been caught. I still see a few flitting around, and slap them when I can, but I hope they too will either die in the traps, or die mateless and without descendants.

Rabbits are back in numbers too, often in the back yard, but I leave them alone. The dog does too, seemingly not interested in chasing them any more. Such is old age.

Completely by accident, and speaking of rabbits, I learned that today is the 44th anniversary of a swamp rabbit attacking President Carter’s boat (which wasn’t known till later in 1979). Even better, I learned that the photo of the incident is in the public domain, being the work of a White House photographer. This copy is via the Carter Library, though I don’t remember it being on display there.

With the looming deadline for renting more Netflix DVDs in mind, I watched part of the disk I currently have at home, Judgment at Nuremberg. I don’t remember why I put it in the queue, except that I’d never gotten around to seeing it, and Spencer Tracy and Burt Lancaster are always worth a look.

I didn’t realize that William Shatner was in it until I saw his name in the opening credits. As it happens, he plays a captain. In the U.S. Army, but still a captain.

I also didn’t know that Werner Klemperer played a part, one of the defendants. Naturally, I had a silly thought when he entered the courtroom: Col. Klink was put on trial at Nuremberg? No! His incompetence consistently aided the Allied cause. Call Col. Hogan as a character witness.

I’m reminded of something I once heard about Klemperer on stage: “Kevin D. told me that, during a production of Cabaret at the Chicago Theatre in the late ’80s, Werner Klemperer played [a Jewish merchant not in the movie version], and got the biggest applause of the night. ‘Everyone knew it was because he played Col. Klink,’ Kevin said.”

In the staged revival of Cabaret I saw in 2002, Hal Linden played the same part, and likewise got a vigorous round of applause on his first appearance. For playing Barney Miller, I figure. Such is the power of TV.