Walking
a Wobbly Line With the Law
When
I read some weeks back about a 60ish gent who was hauled in for questioning
after he'd made some unflattering comments about the present administration
in what he thought was the privacy of a gym locker room, I wondered what was
happening to our civil liberties.
And I was grateful that I had a clean slate myself. At least I thought I did.
Oh, sure, I'd fudged a bit and got myself, my entire family and our dog ordained
ministers in "Modesto Messiah" Kirby J. Hensley's Universal Life
Church. And, yeah, by using mail drops in other states I'd managed to get
-- without charge, mind you! -- doctorates of divinity, metaphysics and humane
letters.
But no harm done, no crime committed, nothing there to bring any kind of suspicion
on me. Then I remembered that other thing.
With my incursion into the ULC behind me, I needed a new field to conquer.
Just about then I read a news story about the Industrial Workers of the World,
the "One Big Union," the "Wobblies" of old, and learned
they still existed.
Now the IWW had incurred hatred and suspicion. There had been lynchings of
members back in the earlier days of the 20th century. I thought they'd been
stamped out, and here was an address for them. In Chicago.
So I joined. Paid dues for five years or so, too, until the novelty wore off
and even the modest fees no longer seemed worthwhile. When a fellow identified
as a member was arrested for murder up in the northern part of the state,
that decided me. I became a former Wobbly. At once.
In five years I never met another member. I never attended a meeting. I never
recruited anyone. But somewhere in Chicago there's a ledger with my name in
it.
I suppose, if questioned, I can chalk it up to youthful indiscretion. After
all, I was past 50 at the time.
• • •
My spouse is one of those curious people with an innate need to know. Sometimes
her needs are difficult to satisfy.
Just recently it was while watching that funniest of war stories, "Mr.
Roberts," on TV. "Who," she wanted to know, "wrote the
book?"
"I'll look it up," I told her, envisioning maybe five minutes max
of research. But the encyclopedia was useless, as was the "World Almanac."
So were all the other volumes in what I like to think is a reasonably good
reference collection.
She'd already checked the credits at the end of the film to no avail, and
I was rapidly running out of print sources when I came across one I didn't
know I had -- "The Almanac of American Letters" -- and there I found
it.
And no wonder neither of us could recall that author. Do you perchance recall
the name Thomas Heggen? Hardly. I'm not sure he ever published another book,
and the only reason he was mentioned in this volume was because of an incident
on a book tour.
Sent out on a tour by his publisher, Heggen was petrified by crowds, especially
of women. It was just such a gathering he was supposed to address in New York,
and when called upon, he stood mute before his audience.
Finally one took pity and thought to put him at ease by asking how he'd come
to write his book. And Heggen, who had a four-letter vocabulary that would
have done credit to one of his characters, responded by blurting out:
"Well, ****, it was just that I was on this boat …"
You figure out the likely letters to replace those asterisks.
• • •
As I mentioned, "Mr. Roberts" is probably the funniest novel to
come out of WWII, but it encountered disapproval in some quarters, strangely
enough, very unlikely ones -- a few young veterans of that very war whom one
might have thought would laugh the hardest and longest.
One, now long deceased, found it absolutely abhorrent, unfit for human consumption,
and he was grievously offended that some nice, church-going young ladies of
his acquaintance were as convulsed by the bawdiness as were most of the males.
I do believe times have changed.
• • •
It's coming up time again for what has become the annual reunion of an
area which seems to know no boundaries, the Ed Smith Neighborhood.
Back in Depression days, Ed Smith had a Shell station at 23rd and F streets
which became a hangout for the youth of the area. Even when they grew
older, married and moved elsewhere, they tended to cling to their roots.
Thus, now it seems as though the Ed Smith Neighborhood includes anyplace
with a ZIP Code beginning with 958.
This year's gathering is set for Saturday, April 19, at the Dante Club,
with festivities getting under way at 11 a.m., lunch served at noon and
entertainment -- this year by a youthful jazz band -- and dancing to follow.
The committee members -- Bim Feinberg (967-6715), Tom Sarmento (944-1968),
Clay Worthley (489-0954) and Vera Crandall (454-3952) -- are proud they've
held the cost at the same $20 a person.
Those who've not received an invitation can avoid being shut out by calling
one of the committee members. They emphasize that with "and soon!"
After
retiring from a long and respected career with the Sacramento
Bee, Stan Gilliam found that he just couldn't stop writing. So
he brought his "Stan's Sacramento" column to the Spectrum,
where it has been a favorite of readers for 14 years ... and counting.
Senior Thoughts Affairs
of State Senior
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