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| Is it the man or the persona.... |
| 07.26.05 (11:04 am) [edit] |
Whilst reading Critter Lover I started to reflect upon how we idiolize performers and forget that they are men and women (sometimes little more than children dressed up in big folk clothing).
Leslie mentioned in her blog that Willie Nelson was a no show at a concert here, and I remembered attending a Living Legends (Conway Twitty, George Jones and Loretta Lynn) concert a few years back (er, when they were all still alive lol) and being surprised at the rather lukewarm, possibly even hostile reception that George received from the usually amicable crowd. They'd been quite receptive to both Conway's and Loretta's individual performances but went deadly silent when George began.
I was confused, since I'm not much of a concert goer. It was explained to me that George had been booked in Calgary a number of times and had seldom ever performed due to illness (which I'm told should be read in this instance as drunkeness) and had over his career (I'm so not informed) been labeled as NO SHOW Jones.
To his credit, both as a performer and frankly as a man, he stopped the show. Held up his hands to his band and turned his guitar to his back, stepping up to the mike; and maybe in my mind, to the plate. Mr. Jones told the audience that he understood their lack of interest in his performance, and while he wouldn't claim to remember not showing up he was aware that he hadn't in the past. He also said he wouldn't apologize for not showing up then, as then... he was drunk and didn't care about much but the next bottle. But... he wasn't drunk now, and was there to perform for them now, and he hoped that they'd enjoy his show. He simply stopped talking then, and turned his guitar back 'round, signalling to his band to begin. I do believe he was performer enough (if my memory serves) to do his “Ring on the Right Left Hand” song, with his new wife creeping up behind him and showing off her ring. Although it might have been staged, his look of surprise to see her when he turned around seemed genuine to me. Nothing like a good bit of theatrics to turn the rest of the crowd.
To their credit, the crowd wasn't totally mollified, but they did applaud his performance and were quite forgiving in the next section when the duets were performed. I thought it took a lot of gumption and dignity to do that and reevaluated my take on the man. I'd always enjoyed the performer and still do now. Now I also admire the man.
All that :P to get to the point.. (imagine)...
When we, the public, see performers/actors/celebs of note (and infamy as well) as idols and subjects of adoration that's really okay. But when we see them as authorities, in particular on subjects that are little more than PR soundbites, we do ourselves, and them, an injustice. Every little boy that looks up to a Kobe Bryant is deceived, it would appear by Kobe's appearance in court. That makes their adoration nul and void doesn't it? Buty let's examine.. Why was the adoration there? Because this fellow was such a great man? Or a great basketball player? How synonymous are the two? Does the fact that he was accused (and you know for the life of me I can't recall if he was found innocent or guilty nor do I give enough of a care to google and find out) of something nasty negate his skill as a ball player? Somehow I don't think so. OJ is another case in point. Wasn't some award removed from his honour as a result of his court case (again innocent/guilty not an issue for the discussion at hand). That makes absolutely no sense to me at all. Was he any less of a football player for having done (or not done) what he was accused of doing? Somehow the two don't add up to me.
When an actor such as Alec Baldwin has the balls to say that he and his then wife Kim would move to a smallish town near Calgary, if only they'd get rid of the Stampede with all its animal abuse I get a little tense. ;P I very nearly threw out 4 family favourite movies that Mr. (used here sarcastically just in case no one gets it) Baldwin was in but then I thought, hell no. We enjoy these movies, and paid our money for them. What he says in public or private as Alec Baldwin has no bearing on his ability to create a character on screen that my family and I enjoy watching. The two are so far apart on the scale of really mattering that I can't begin to explain it.
Ah, but you knew I'd try, didn't you? :P
Who's your hero? Do we have any any more? Are there any more Roy Rogers or Audie Murphys out there? There are, you know. (for me this man and a lot of others, are starting to look like the real thing) But we're looking for them in the wrong place. Audie Murphy was a war hero long before he was an actor. That he was able to make that leap is admirable and somewhat predictable given the substructures that abounded in Hollywood back then. It's all public relations, people; it's all in the spin. And if you doubt me watch a few months of professional wrestling, folks. The baby faces and bad boys change like you would your underwear and people buy it, week after week. Is it really such a stretch to think that Mr. (term used here with utmost respect) Murphy could be turned into a Hollywood star given his start as a hero?
But does the shoe walk as well the other direction? Is Arnie the best governor for California because or despite his acting ability and Hollywood connections? Only time will tell I guess. There were a lot of references to his 'heroic' action parts, but doesn't anyone remember that he was the 'bad' cyborg in The Terminator? :P
I do know however, that in my house at the very least and as far as my tentacles as a mom can reach, that heroes will be chosen on the walk they walk, not the talk they talk. And the difference between the Alecs of the real world and the characters they play on screen will be duly noted, and factored in.
We're such a fickle public. One's stock goes up and down by how well one hides one's reality of life it seems.
Have your heroes, by all means. Just don't bitch when they turn out to have feet of clay. Oh, and when they turn out to be human after all, with foilables, habits and bad parts don't be a coward and run the other direction lest you be tarred by the same brush. Be your own style of hero and stick up for the abilities you first chose to admire in this man or woman, emulate them and learn that their mistakes don't have to be your own.
It's easy to be perfect, if you never do anything wrong. It's heroic to keep heading towards perfect after you do everything wrong.
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| Is the Doc gone? |
| 07.12.05 (2:54 pm) [edit] |
Well I was going to start this off with a link to a really great article about Doyle (Doc) Mullaney but since the Calgary Herald is such an anal entity I can't do that.
There, now that I feel better for that little remark ;P let's get on with the topic at hand.
Doc Mullaney has been a fixture of the Chucks for 42 years, and for health reasons has had to leave the Rangeland Derby this year, in midstream. That seriously sucks. Now in that great article (the writing was good, the online department *comment removed in the interest of good taste) it was mentioned that it hadn't yet been decided whether Doc's wagon would be driven by other drivers (a not unprecedented occurance; the most well known incident perhaps when Richard Cosgrove's wagon was driven for the entire week following his death during a race in BC shortly before the Stampede), or whether the next ranked driver would come up the ranks.
None of that matters, although from a what's really right in my personal viewpoint, the former is the most appropriate solution.
The Doc is gone... maybe for good, from the chucks and that's the important part. While he might not be as famous as Micheal Jordan or various other *sports* figures, he's a local legend around here.
Being an afficiendo of all things Irish, I was quite enthralled by the shamrocks on his wagon, the leprechaun remarks and good natured jokes about his Irishness, when I first arrived in the big city (aka Calgary) in '79. Chuckwagon racing has to be experienced to be understood, and not just from the grandstand my friends. Not necessarily from the seat of the wagon either, but there's a certain *feel* that you either have for it or you don't. And by the way, if you don't get chucks and rodeo, please don't clutter up my comments with pita/peta remarks, 'kay? I couldn't freaking care less what those folks have to say.
*AHEM*.
Back to Doctor Doyle. He's never been a *star*, not going to hold the records, or post the times of the Bashaw Flash, and he doesn't have the 4 generation standpoint of the Glass family but he's been my favourite driver since '79 and since this is my blog that counts a lot. :P
His career thus far
In the early '90's not only was he my favourite driver, but he was also my favourite veterinarian. I doubt he recalls the hug I gave him following Richard Cosgrove's untimely death, when I arrived at his clinic that monday to pick up some meds for a pet. There he was, a giant of a man, with tears in his eyes, doing what he did because what else was he to do. His friend had died, that was the chance they all take.
But I can sure tell you I recall the one he gave me when he put down our cat (he'd been severely injured and we'd waited some time to see if the injury would heal); enfolding me in his large arms and holding me close as I sobbed like a 5 yo who'd lost her best friend. Telling me all the while how hard I'd worked to save him and how I'd given him more chances than most would have to get well and that yes, this had been the best solution and I was brave to have done it.
I'm also not likely to forget the tears in his eyes when I told him that the pug puppy he'd saved from parvo had been killed by smoke inhalation during a fire at the campground we were at. This vet who has been described to me as unfeeling, rough handed and abrupt (by some) held this tiny dehydrated puppy in his hands, putting in a line, swearing a blue streak I'll give you that, but the hands? The hands were as gentle as he held a newborn babe. He fed this pup baby food by finger tip and his assistant even told me he'd taken her home to give her extra TLC. The bill? It wasn't much, Tushi survived and loved to visit the Doc.
This is the fellow that I recall a few years ago, after a rather bad wreck at the Stampede, shouldering past the eager reporter who put a mike in his face to get a sound bite. Doc growled, something to the effect of: do you mind, a friend of mine is hurt. The friend he's referring to? His horses. Quite a sound bite if you ask me.
Doc has been graced with the following awards:
1980 Battle Of The North Champion
Meadow Lake Stampede Champion
1982 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1983 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1984 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1985 WPCA Most Improved Outfit Award
1986 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1993 WPCA Chuckwagon Person Of The Year
1995 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
1996 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
2002 WPCA Clean Drive Award
Not a bad record for 42 years by any one's standards.
Here's my hat, Doctor Doyle. Here's my cheer when you leave the barrels and here's my thanks for being my favourite driver for all these years.
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| Just another hero story... |
| 07.08.05 (5:41 pm) [edit] |
I've mentioned the BoxerBrats mailing list I belong to here before, when we were struggling to let BeBop and Keys make their way to the Rainbow Bridge. The Rainbow Bridge is a 'waiting'room for dogs and other pets who've preceded their humans to heaven. I believe that this originated as a poem, but there've been many stories written based on it; fanciful (perhaps to some) takes on how these animals await at this lovely place, where ills are forgotten, missing limbs restored and age washed away to leave them in their most glorious state. One of the ones that sticks with me, is the version that circulated via email after the World Trade Towers fell. It linked all the lost souls with all the lost pups and kittens euthanized each year as unwanted. Little bit too much of a *public service message* perhaps, but I understood the sentiment involved.
Anyway.. in my 'brats folder on email, a day or so ago, was this message...
Dear Brats, in February of this year, our mommy adopted a boxer named Odie to a very nice couple, The Tarters in Texarkana. Odie had been pulled from the Little Rock Animal Shelter several months previous. Everybody loved him; he had a sweet disposition and he was beautiful besides. He came through heartworm treatment with flying colors only about a month ago. He was just now enjoying his new life with the Tarters. There was a house fire yesterday and Odie saved the life of their son who was sleeping at the time. He woke the boy up to alert him about the fire. The son was burned (not severely) while trying to get Odie to leave the house with him, but Odie wouldn't leave without checking to make sure that the parents were not in the house. They weren't; they were at work. Odie died in that fire. Mommy talked with the mom a little while ago. Naturally, she is beside herself with grief. They are living in a motel having lost their whole house and everything in it. Please, would you guys send some howls to help Odie on his trip to the Bridge and keep this family in your prayers? Our mommy's eyes are leaky cuz she is so sad over this.
After much tears, as this sort of thing just tears at my heart, at most hearts I'm sure... but the 'brats list seems to be rife with emotion of late, with far too many old friends passing on at alarming rates. A few rants to my family about how I'm so going to stop reading this list (so not gonna happen) I sent my Howls and found myself reflecting on my own two that passed last year, which led me to a daydream about the Bridge that I'd like to recount here.
First however, a bit of background on Odie. He was rescued from the Little Rock Animal Shelter at the last moment. His time was up and the rescuer that wrote about him to the list was full up, however she was able to foster him with a friend. He'd been adopted by his forever family after only a couple of months partly because of how much he looked like their recently passed boxer. In this picture it's plain to see that he was quite content and much loved from February till now. And certainly forever more.
This isn't a new story to me. I've heard many awe inspiring versions of this sort of thing. A family or person adopts a rescue dog and sometime during that dog's life he does something to save a family member from lethal harm, sometimes paying the ultimate price himself, as in this case. Karma, good will, God's hand... whatever you feel comfortable calling it; has a way of balancing the scales. Could there be a better reason to rescue? Before this starts sounding like a (God forbid) PETA ad, let me just say that I simply find it comforting to see this type of balancing act going on all around me. Good deeds beget good deeds. Sadly bad beget bad as well. More on that another time however.
The sun shines softly, bathing everything with an etheral glow. The ever present rainbow shines through the newly washed air; a backdrop of jeweltones to the brilliant green of the grass. Many dogs and cats wander about the gentle grassy slopes, some playing, some settling down for a pleasant snooze in the sun. Every now and then a new resident arrives. A good dog (and all dogs at the Bridge are good dogs) that arrives at the Bridge to wait for their loved ones is welcomed with woofs of greeting, much nose touching, sniffing, rubbing, pawing, and in the case of boxers, hula heinies and fishwiggle dancing. The newcomer quickly feels physcially better, shedding any ills and with only the odd sensation of waiting for something goes about his days in pleasurable pursuits of rabbit chasing, bone chewing and snoozing.
I imagine that when a hero such as Odie arrives, however, there's a sudden stillness that runs through the throngs in a wave... a drawn in breath collectively held in honour of the blessed hero who did what every good dog would do without hesitation; lay down his life to save those that are his. This breath would be held till the dog in question made his stately way through the throng and then the whispers will start... "He saved his boy..." the whisperers would say. "From a fire..." other whispers would reply and sage heads would nod. "Gave his life being sure that all were safe," still others will say, a bit louder now. Some of the older dogs would stand tall and salute this newcomer, a tear in their eye at the thought of their own boy or girl and how they miss them. The others, younger perhaps and also older, as well as the the ones without this type of experience would also stand in awe, gratified to be in the presence of greatness, of trueness of heart, the epitome of loyalty and all things good and wonderful. Inspired to be a that most highest regarded type of dog, a good dog.
You're truly a good dog, Odie.
Rest in Peace.
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