The Road to Hell, &c.

On Michigan geography, a woman’s medal, P.J. O’Rourke’s America, Cagney’s Yiddish, and more

A road sign in Michigan (Jim West / Alamy)

On Friday, I opened my column with a language item. Usually, those babies are tucked at the end. Begin today with a geography item? Sort of?

The New York Times published a charming, offbeat article about air travel. It quotes Chris Young, “a 52-year-old comic from Helene, Mich.”

I was curious about where Helene was. (I’m a Michigander.) I did some diligent research—a minute or two of Googling.

You know, I don’t think there’s a Helene, Mich.

When I mentioned this on social media, someone said, “Maybe he meant Hell?”

Ah, yes: Hell, Mich. It’s in Putnam Township, Livingston County. I have a memory of my driver’s-ed teacher, Art Rogers, a wonderful guy (and a great wit). He said something like, “Yeah, he was driving like a bat out of …” He then paused and said, “That place near Pinckney.”

From Ann Arbor (my hometown), you can drive to Hell and back in about a half-hour.

***

You know Alysa Liu and Daniel Radcliffe. She is an American figure skater, who won the gold medal at the Olympics this year. He is a British actor, the one who played Harry Potter in all those movies.

I love something that Radcliffe did.

Alysa invited him to hang her gold medal around his neck, for a photo—a photo of the two of them together. He declined. He said he’d hold it instead.

“Wearing it feels like stolen valor,” he said.

(To watch a video of the moment, go here.)

I get Daniel Radcliffe.

I will not, here and now, rehash President Trump’s acceptance of María Corina Machado’s Nobel medal. I have written about it before, in various places. But again: what kind of man would do that? After everything that Machado has risked, suffered, and achieved?

He didn’t try it on. He took it.

***

On the subject of Venezuela: I have done a podcast with Pedro Urruchurtu Noselli, who is part of Machado’s team—a member of the democratic opposition. With colleagues, he was holed up in the Argentinian embassy for 412 days. He has very interesting things to say, as you would guess.

For our podcast, go here.

A mellifluous name, “Pedro Urruchurtu Noselli.” The “Noselli” part is Italian; the “Urruchurtu” part is Basque.

We are all mixed up, we Americans (including Latin Americans).

***

On this subject (broadly speaking): There was a time when lots of people in New York spoke Yiddish. Lots of people. Today, there are lots of people who speak Spanish.

We have patterns of immigration in America.

There are four Carloses in my life—four young men named Carlos. Two of them work in my building, two of them work at the golf range (the only one in Manhattan).

Do you know that Jimmy Cagney spoke Yiddish? That embodiment of the Irish American? Sure he did, having grown up on the Lower East Side.

Actually, Cagney was mixed up like the rest of us: one of his grandfathers was Norwegian.

Catch Cagney speaking a little Yiddish in the movie Taxi! (1932): here.

***

In a column last Wednesday, I spoke of my friend Roberto, who works at a diner. When he was young, he had a typically harrowing journey from Mexico. Once in America, he worked like a dog. Now he says he has it easy, working hard in a diner—indoors, with air conditioning and heat.

A friend of mine sent me an article that I surely read when it was published. It comes from The American Spectator in 1994. The author is P.J. O’Rourke, one of the most beloved and celebrated writers on the right (in those days).

P.J. recalls that he and Ed Crane, the president of the Cato Institute, were having a conversation over drinks. In the course of these drinks,

Ed made a perspicacious comment about the Cuban rafters and Haitian boat people currently being persecuted by our Coast Guard on orders from the commander in chief.

“Damn it, P.J.,” said Crane, “these people get onboard things made out of oil drums, orange crates, balsa wood, and cardboard boxes; they cross hundreds of miles of shark-infested ocean, suffer hunger, thirst, and exposure, and brave treacherous currents, high seas, and storms just to come to America. I say they’re citizens. Give them their passports right on the Florida beach—no oaths, no exams, no forms to fill out. These are the kind of people we want in America!”

P.J. goes on to say,

But these are not the kind of people our infinitely compassionate, sharing and caring, hug-mongering sop of a president wants in America. Bill Clinton has blocked the only exit from the totalitarian nation of Cuba, closing an escape route held open by every U.S. administration—Democratic and Republican—for thirty-four years.

What would we have thought of Konrad Adenauer if each person who came over the Berlin Wall had been shipped to a—give me another name for it—concentration camp? Then suppose that, once those East Germans were packed behind barbed wire, they were told they’d have to go back to East Germany to apply for West German visas?

As for Clinton’s attitude toward the Haitians, why he’s glad to invade their country. He’s perfectly willing to shoot Haitians. But let them drive cabs in New York City? Oh no.

Look, immigration is a complicated, multi-layered issue. Personally, I am for legal and orderly immigration. I think the amount of illegal immigration should be about zero. But I understand where O’Rourke and Crane are coming from, and I sympathize with that point of view.

Also, this 1994 article gives you a snapshot of how things have changed in our political world. Can you imagine a conservative magazine publishing such sentiments?

And wouldn’t almost every Republican sympathize with President Clinton?

One could go on (and I might, in a future article). (That’s a warning, not a promise.)

***

Maybe we could talk a little food. I’ve been having peanut butter lately—on a toasted English muffin. Along with soup. Bill Buckley put butter on, before putting his peanut butter on. I would never do that. (I would insert the winking emoji here, but I’m not sure how well it would show up.)

Anyway, as I was having some peanut butter the other day, I thought of Christa Ludwig. The immortal singer? The late, great German mezzo-soprano? One and the same.

I interviewed her in 2014. Let me excerpt my write-up:

I’ve read that she sang Gershwin songs for American officers, after the war. “Yes,” she says, “and I stole everything possible to eat. Because, you know, after the war, we had nothing to eat. We had nothing. One egg a year. Can you imagine, one egg a year? And we could have 68 grams of butter a month.” (About two and a half ounces.)

“I went into the officers clubs, and they had everything. They would make a big loaf of bread or something, and whatever was not eaten, they threw away. And we had not the right to take it. Ja. It was not fraternité, not at all. Whatever I could steal, I did.

“Once, there was a brown paste. It was something to eat, so I took it.” It turned out to be peanut butter. “We had never heard of it.” I ask, “Do you like peanut butter?” “I don’t eat it, but yes: I like peanut butter with crunches in it. Fattening, though.”

***

When family photos were being taken, my aunt would call out, “Like you love each other!” Well, last week, I was passing a group of youngsters, having their picture taken. The woman in charge said, “Act like family. Act like y’all know each other.”

I loved that.

***

In an article about the NBA, a player, Jabari Smith Jr., was quoted: “Ain’t nobody overly tripping.”

There came a time, not many years ago, when sports pages started rendering quotations in the vernacular—verbatim. In the old days, the above statement would have been rendered, “Nobody is overly tripping.” That doesn’t quite cut it.

Actually, for real accuracy, I think the quotation should have been rendered, “Ain’t nobody overly trippin’.” I’d bet your bottom dollar that Smith did not say “tripping.”

***

Johann Sebastian Bach has two birthdays, in a sense: yesterday (March 21) and March 31. The first birthday is in accordance with the Julian calendar, in use in Germany when Bach was born in 1685. The second birthday is in accordance with the Gregorian calendar.

It requires at least two days to celebrate Bach. Plus another 363. Thank you for everything, JSB.

Let me leave you with Alicia de Larrocha, playing “Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier,” in the arrangement by Harriet Cohen: here. This piece means a lot to me.

Later on.