Touch and Go (33 page)
Authors: Studs Terkel
I thought to myself: “Oh, my God. What crazy thing have I suggested? If professors have a tough time understanding him, how will it be with working people who've gone no further than fifth grade?” Nonetheless, he insisted.
This moment, this event, was a key one in my life in underscoring a belief. It is a simple one: that people
can
understand what is necessary for their well-being if it's explained to them. Honestly.
can
understand what is necessary for their well-being if it's explained to them. Honestly.
Consider this most incongruous of occasions. The cold church, filled with men, women, and children bundled up in coats and blankets. There on the stage paces this old man with his crew-cut white hair, no hat, an old overcoat with two buttons missing, a tiny lapel mike pinned against the warm wool. Imagine Bucky Fuller's arcane speech and the chilled, downcast assemblage of Puerto Rican working people and their families. My head was spinning at the burlesque aspect of the situation.
What was the reaction? I closed my eyes fearing the worst. I opened my eyes and I saw something wondrous. These people, of such limited academic training, listened intently to Bucky take off on the nature of housing. He spoke of gentrification and urban renewal and of the devastation it caused the have-nots and have-somewhats. He spoke of a world in which, thanks to technology, or as he called it, “technology-
for
-life” (rather than
against
it), there would be enough to go around.
for
-life” (rather than
against
it), there would be enough to go around.
I speak about an utterly new world, a world in which it is assumed there's plenty for all; a world in which you don't have to have a job to prove your right to live. Where the first thing you're going to think of is not âHow am I going to earn a living?” but “What needs to be done? What am I interested in? Where might I make a contribution?” What an extraordinary new preoccupation of man! Work will be the most privileged word we have. The right to work will be not with the muscle, but the right to work with your brain, with your
mind
. You are born with that, but just getting accredited by the other man to be allowed to use that tool, and getting credit enough so he helps you, and cooperates with you, and you make a breakthrough on behalf of your fellow men, is the next thing. That's the work. Work will be the most beautiful thing we can do.
mind
. You are born with that, but just getting accredited by the other man to be allowed to use that tool, and getting credit enough so he helps you, and cooperates with you, and you make a breakthrough on behalf of your fellow men, is the next thing. That's the work. Work will be the most beautiful thing we can do.
The funny thing is, after he spoke, they asked him all the right questions. They had understood everything he said and exactly what he meant.
Bucky Fuller has been dismissed in some quarters as a hopeless utopian. But others have found out that his ideas are a
thinking
man's ideas, and that some of his notions are right on the button. This revelatory afternoon proved for me that the intellectual and the Hand (an old-fashioned term for a workingman)
can
understand one another, provided there are mutual self-esteem and mutual respect. As Tom Paine put it, we must be not just men but
thinking
men.
thinking
man's ideas, and that some of his notions are right on the button. This revelatory afternoon proved for me that the intellectual and the Hand (an old-fashioned term for a workingman)
can
understand one another, provided there are mutual self-esteem and mutual respect. As Tom Paine put it, we must be not just men but
thinking
men.
Remembering that afternoon reminds me also that Bucky Fuller, Bertrand Russell, and Albert Einstein were and are on the same wavelengthâyours and mine. That's the big one. Are we ready for what the man of the future has requested of us?
Again, the journalist Nick von Hoffman's observation on what being part of a movement, no matter how local, can mean: “You, who thought of yourself up to that moment as simply a member, suddenly spring to life. You have that intoxicating feeling that you can make history, that you count.”
“You count.” What the little boy in Flannery O'Connor's “The River” had in mind.
It was Mary Lou Wolff who sounded a more personal note. She was the wife of a telephone lineman, a mother of eight, and fighting to save her neighborhood from destruction during the sixties. The cement lobby and the mayor had plans for a new expressway, so that cars could go faster, of course. The neighborhood would be wiped out, but no matter, the cars would fly by the nothing left in their wake.
As Mary Lou spoke to a tumultuous and terrified gathering, things all fell into place for her. Something of a revelation, she called it. The Big Boys who had planned this local wreckage were one and the same as those who had planned the Vietnam War (which she had earlier favored). “I realized I was saying things I never even dreamt about.” Her short speech was a classic. “I began to realize rules are made by some people and the purpose of these rules is to
keep you in your place. It is at times your duty to break some of these rules. This is such a time.” The crowd roared its approval, and the expressway project was abandoned.
keep you in your place. It is at times your duty to break some of these rules. This is such a time.” The crowd roared its approval, and the expressway project was abandoned.
From that moment on, Mary Lou became the spokesperson for much of Chicago's blue-collar discontent. She said it all when she observed: “If it could happen to me, it could happen to anyone. I now believe in human possibility: in things all of us can do publicly and politically. That's where the excitement is. You become aware and alive. It's not a dream. It is possible every-day stuff.”
She
counted. As I think of Mary Lou, of Peggy Terry, of Nancy Jefferson, of Rose Rigsby, of Florence Scala, of James Cameron, of Saul Alinsky, of Dave Dellinger, and so many othersâwe may be ready for Einstein's hopes and dreams. After all, he is a man of the present. There is no alternative. Are we ready for it?
counted. As I think of Mary Lou, of Peggy Terry, of Nancy Jefferson, of Rose Rigsby, of Florence Scala, of James Cameron, of Saul Alinsky, of Dave Dellinger, and so many othersâwe may be ready for Einstein's hopes and dreams. After all, he is a man of the present. There is no alternative. Are we ready for it?
Yes. No. Some of the less celebrated of Einstein's perceptions deal not with the sciences, but with human behavior; especially here in the United States. Though it is embarrassing to mention Ayn Rand in the same sequence with Albert Einstein, I do so to make a point. After all, there may be more readers of
The Fountainhead
than there are of
The Grapes of Wrath
. In Rand's world, we equate the individual and independence. The Lone Ranger, John Wayne, who on his own wins and sits on top of the hill. The former Federal Reserve chief, Alan Greenspan, was a fan of Ayn Rand. They appear to share an allergy to collective action. This, they maintain, causes a loss of individuality. Barbara Branden, Ayn Rand's biographer, puts it this way: a Rand hero is “the man who lives for his own sake against the collectivist, who places self above others.”
The Fountainhead
than there are of
The Grapes of Wrath
. In Rand's world, we equate the individual and independence. The Lone Ranger, John Wayne, who on his own wins and sits on top of the hill. The former Federal Reserve chief, Alan Greenspan, was a fan of Ayn Rand. They appear to share an allergy to collective action. This, they maintain, causes a loss of individuality. Barbara Branden, Ayn Rand's biographer, puts it this way: a Rand hero is “the man who lives for his own sake against the collectivist, who places self above others.”
Einstein, on the contrary, believed that an individual working with others in assemblage strengthens his individuality. In recognizing that there are others who dream, hope, and work as he doesâfor a better worldâhe is not alone.
Haven't we learned anything from the Great Depression of the thirties? Haven't we learned that the Free Market (read: individual) fell on its face and begged a benign federal government (a gathering of minds) to help?
It is time for a reprise from Jimmy Baldwin: “History does not refer merely to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do.” It is time for us to overcome the malaise from which our society had been suffering: a national Alzheimer's disease.
During all my commencement addresses, I have “borrowed” from William Sloane Coffin Jr. His invocation during a commencement exercise at Yale University serves as a touchstone. At the time, in the early sixties, he was chaplain at the university and a passionate, eloquent resister to the Vietnam War. This prayer was addressed to the students of the graduating class.
O Lord, grant us grace to have a lovers' quarrel with the world we love. Come out and have your lovers' quarrel with the world, not for what it is, but for what it still can be, so that there will be a little more love, a little more beauty than would have been there had you not had your lovers' quarrel. Number us, we beseech Thee, in the ranks of those who went forth from this university longing only for those things for which Thou makes us long. Men [today, read “men and women”] for whom the complexity of issues only serve to renew their zeal to deal with them. Men and women who alleviated pain by sharing it.
And men and women who will risk something Big for something Good, who will recognize others for what they are rather than from what they are told these others are, who will regard that which ties us together rather than that which trivializes and separates us, who are willing to have a lovers' quarrel with the world not for what it is, but for what it still can be.
Let Bill Coffin's closing words to his invocation be my benediction:
O Lord, take our minds and think through them, take our lips and speak through them, take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen.
Postscript
A
fter I became known, a local celebrity, a woman said to me, “Aren't you Ben Terkel's brother?” I said I was.
fter I became known, a local celebrity, a woman said to me, “Aren't you Ben Terkel's brother?” I said I was.
She said, “He was wonderful. My little child had a clubfoot and he was so good to her. He treated her as though she were a princess.” When Ben worked for DeWitt Shoes, he handled kids with clubfeet and other problems. A number of women spoke about him with a great deal of affection, about how good he made the kids feel.
When he died, I got a phone call from a woman, weeping. “I never worked with your brother Ben but I loved him very much. My little girl with deformed feet felt like Miss America.” Suddenly it occurred to me, I should be proud of him, because he had a generous nature. He had such a gentle, easy way with people.
Not too many years ago, another old survivor spoke of my brother Meyer as having been his best and most favorite teacher. Was I related, too? Again I had that feeling of uplift and pride. These two brothers of mine were without my self-centeredness, and were doing their work and making no bones about it. My brothers were better persons than I in their thoughtfulness toward others.
In a way, my son Dan reminds me of my brothers in their generosity of spirit. And of course, he reminds me of Ida, with his kindness and concern for others.
I'm the guy who's supposed to be full of concern for people. But there is a lot for which I feel regret. Letters I've not replied to, people I've not followed up with, favors I've not granted, book blurbs I've not written. I was going to get to it and didn't. “Rueful” is the word. Knowing you've caused hurt by things you've not done can haunt as deeply as the reverse. And you remember it. There's a lot of that for me. Which, of course, involves neglect of family at times, too.
It's ironic that an irreparable loss, with the death of Ida, whom my son and I both loved, has also resulted in some gain. What happened is that I became dependent on him as I hadn't been before, and that's brought us much closer. Through all my various ailments, he's become a caregiver. He has his own work, but he makes time to take care of all manner of things for me. My appreciation is boundless.
When asked what the secret to my interviewing is, I always say, “to make people feel needed.” Learning from those I interviewed that I needed
them
helped me when the time came, when Ida died, when I needed my son, and in many ways, when we needed each
other
. To feel needed. It's the most important thing. Dan has played a tremendous role, being there, like a fireman with a net. In
Will the Circle Be Unbroken
, the book I finished after Ida died, I talk about a
lied
Lotte Lehmann sang, of a mountainside against which you lean when weary or bereft. He continues to be that source of strength and comfort.
them
helped me when the time came, when Ida died, when I needed my son, and in many ways, when we needed each
other
. To feel needed. It's the most important thing. Dan has played a tremendous role, being there, like a fireman with a net. In
Will the Circle Be Unbroken
, the book I finished after Ida died, I talk about a
lied
Lotte Lehmann sang, of a mountainside against which you lean when weary or bereft. He continues to be that source of strength and comfort.
My mother hung up her gloves at eighty-seven.
As for me, curiosity is the one attribute that, for better or worse, has kept me going. My consciousness of this may have begun at that New York café, eighty-six years before, with my father and “Natacha Rambova.” Curiosity. So my epitaph has already been formed: Curiosity did not kill this cat.
Index
NOTE: ST refers to Studs Terkel.
Abbott, Edith
Abbott, Grace
ABC
Academy of Arts and Letters
An Actor Prepares
(Stanislavski)
(Stanislavski)
Addams, Jane
Agriculture Department, U.S.
Air Force, U.S.
Air France
Alexander Nevsky
(film)
(film)
Algren, Amanda
Algren, Betty
Algren, Nelson
Alinsky, Helene
Alinsky, Saul
All Quiet on the Western Front
(film)
(film)
Allen, Gracie
Allen, Steve
Allison, Fran
Altgeld, John Peter
Altrock, Nick
Amarcord
(film)
(film)
Amazing Grace
(ST play)
(ST play)
Ambassador Hotel (Chicago)
Ameche, Jim
America First Party
American Federation of Radio Artists (AFRA)
American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA)
American Nazi Party
Anaconda Copper
Anders, Glenn
Anderson, Judith
Andrews, Amy
Andrews, Charlie
Annan, Kofi
Anti-Fascist Refugee Committee
Appeal to Reason
(journal)
(journal)
Arbenz, Jacobo
Arendt, Hannah
Aristotle
Arlen, Michael
Armas, Castillo
Arms and the Man
(play)
(play)
Armstrong, Louis
Army Intelligence, U.S.
Arnold, Edward
Asch, Mo
Atlanta, Georgia, airport in
The Atlantic Monthly
The Atlas Prager Sports Reel
(radio show)
(radio show)
Atlee, Clement
Audy Home (Chicago)
Ayres, Lew
Bacall, Lauren
Baer, George
The Baker's Wife
(film)
(film)
Balbo, Italo
Baldwin, C. B. “Beanie,”
Baldwin, James
Bancroft, Davey
Bane, Horace
Banks, Russell
Banty's Laughter
(ST adaptation of Algren)
(ST adaptation of Algren)
Bara, Theda (aka Theodosia Goodman)
Barkie, John
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James Gandolfini: The Real Life of the Man Who Made Tony Soprano by Bischoff, Dan
Rolling Stone by Patricia Wentworth
House Odds by Mike Lawson
Colonist's Wife by Kylie Scott
Shatter by Joan Swan
Must Love Dogs by Claire Cook, Carrington Macduffie
