obituary

Uncle Joe died. Friends, Relatives, Strangers came to mourn. Hundreds.
I served as pallbearer with Father, Brother-in-Law, “Relatives” barely known (Strangers?). Metallic blue coffin. Like a shiny new car. Shame to bury such sleek merchandise. God-man Rep in vestments hoarsed his bland, generic eulogy:  Joe this, Joe that, Joe fill-in-the-blanks.
Harped successes of Uncle Joe: Detective Novel, The Missing Pomegranate; twenty years “thought provoking” columnist for defunct radical weekly, En Garde.  No mention of moments spent and lost.  Nothing missing known.

Two distinctly different Americans with distinctly similar, independent thinking and progressive values passed away last week. The great accounting professor Abraham Briloff (age 96) who relentlessly and brilliantly took apart the failures of his profession to insist on honest and ethical corporate accounting, and Tom Laughlin (age 82), the jolting producer and star of the Billy Jack films who broke the Hollywood industry’s rules with sagas of fighting for justice.

Peter O’Toole has died and I’d like to draw a little attention to three of his movies: The Ruling Class, The Stunt Man and My Favorite Year.

What does it mean when a notoriously profit-driven, warmongering, climate-killing media system mourns, with one impassioned voice, the death of a principled freedom fighter like Nelson Mandela?
Does it mean that the corporate system has a heart, that it cares? Or does it mean that Mandela’s politics, and the mythology surrounding them, are somehow serviceable to power?
Consider, first, that this is what is supposed to be true of professional journalism:

The press has echoed for days with admiration for Nelson Mandela and his genuinely heroic fight against the apartheid government of South Africa. There have been many recollections of the brutal quality of that government, all perhaps carrying an unstated sense of how could people live that way?

Novelty Manufacturer’s son dead in The War.
I bore condolense: a spider plant, courtesy Topiary Techniques.
The Novelty Manufacturer sold jokes, baubles, erotic novelties to The Citizens of The City.
Office receptionist in black mourning.
“The Plant guy’s here. He brought a gift,” she said to the machine.
“Plantman! Yes. Of course. Please, send him in,” voice of The Manufacturer.

Nelson Mandela died peacefully at 8:50pm last Thursday, December 5, 2013, in his Johannesburg home. The South African President called him a son of Africa and father to the new nation of South Africa. Tributes are pouring in particularly from the western world so it is easy to forget what it thought of him even thirty years ago. He was the first Commander-in-Chief of ANC’s military wing, forced into this role by the South African government’s savage attacks on unarmed demonstrators engaged in peaceful acts of civil disobedience.

Offering a dissenting opinion at this moment of a general outpouring of grief at Nelson Mandela’s death is not likely to court popularity. It is also likely to be misunderstood.
So let me start by recognising Mandela’s huge achievement in helping to bring down South African apartheid, and make clear my enormous respect for the great personal sacrifices he made, including spending so many years caged up for his part in the struggle to liberate his people. These are things impossible to forget or ignore when assessing someone’s life.

Nelson Mandela will be eulogized as a great man and a hero. He led the resistance to apartheid and White South African rule, and he was jailed for many years. Upon his release he became president and sought reconciliation rather than vengeance. He served only one term as president before stepping aside. All this is laudable.

Gold Teeth
My grandfather had gold teeth. Two, at least, maybe more.