bday eve before

bday eve before

Thursday, October 20, 2011

AN EVENING WITH HARRY BELAFONTE

I went to a talk at the glorious public library on 42nd St. last Wednesday night where Harry Belafonte was the interviewee.  His new book, My Song --- a Memoir, came out last week.  The room is beautiful and the Emcee, Paul Holdengraber is always good, though that night I saw him as superb and, besides for my artist friends, it’s a reasonably-priced ticket --- yey!   
When I arrived, wonderful music was pumping out across the room; I had forgotten the largeness of Harry Belafonte’s repertoire.  I think we tend to remember ‘Day O’ immediately but there’s a lot more.
When the music stopped and Mr. Belafonte was announced, I found myself jumping up immediately to applaud with most of the audience doing the same and when I did, I noticed I was shivering.  It was a profound moment. 
He wore a softly-colored pale yellow sweater, his voice was a bit raspy but the stories that came out were phenomenal --- tough, touching, very funny at times and he so depicted the life of an artist --- you have nothing one second, something the next. 
A few things stand out --- like Harry Belafonte had a 9th grade education and enlisted in the Navy and was in a segregated unit where he was surprised there were so many different types of black people --- their colors, languages, accents.  He hung around with a more formally educated core of men and picked up many reading ideas from them and read and read.  There is a touching library story, too long to include here --- you’ll have to buy the book!
I hadn’t known the extent of Harry Belafonte’s acting career, nor how he hung in the West Village evenings after classes at The New School and heard the great jazz people of his time.  He had long followed Count Basie, Ella, Miles, Thelonious Monk and Charlie Parker.  But, in the old “Royal Roost” near school, he heard many more jazz artists and, in time, they gave him a chance to sing (at first during intermission!).  He had to talk his way into college because he didn’t have a High School degree.  Many of his finest theater teachers there were German Jews, recently escaped. 
In the whole over-two-hour interview, Harry Belafonte came off as fully open to people, interested, and, as such, he received great riches from them.  Some of his colleagues in theater class were Marlon Brando whom he loved, Rod Steiger and Bernie Schwartz who would later become Tony Curtis.  They were just young students in school together and, of course, Marlon mumbled.
I left before the talk was over, I had to.  I was overwhelmed.  As an artist what I can tell you is that Harry managed a building and took out the trash (something I do!);  he had a lot of things go wrong, and he had a lot of people out of nowhere (sound familiar???) support him and, mostly, he heard what they said.  They proffered advice and he was open to it.  Once someone helped him totally change the order of songs for a raucous and unresponsive audience and he did it and it worked.
What a great night at the New York Public Library and there are many more nights to come in this delightful series. 
Mary Pat Kane, October 20, 2011

http://www.nypl.org/events/live-nypl



Monday, October 3, 2011

OF CLEANING --- what do the rich do when the demons attack?



I read this in a class last week and got a positive response, so I'm passing it on to you on this gloomy first day of the week, maybe it will make you smile.  I hope so.  Mary Pat 

I used to feel sorry for Jackie Onassis, no not for what you might think of --- like the tragic death of her husband or her brother- in- law, not that.  I used to feel sorry for her because I wondered what she did when she was upset if she didn't have to clean her house?

I mean there are days I would give anything for help, HELP, help of any kind and especially household help, so much of my time is spent on nitty gritty housey things that I don't have time for much else.  But, when I get down, when I get blue, when I find myself alone on New Year's Eve and about to feel sorry for myself, I go to the greatest therapy. 

One New Year's morning, I awoke with a clean oven, don't laugh, I really did.  The shower curtain was still soaking in its bath of various things and just had to be scrubbed a little more and rinsed.  Then it would be like new and to think I used to throw them out and buy new ones.  Of course, I hate to tell you how much I hate the color of this particular shower curtain and how many times I've wanted to throw it out but now it’s resplendent in its cleanliness, a little too resplendent for someone who doesn't favor an ‘orange crush’ color. But, I love knowing that once it was really really grody and now it’s wonderfully clean and beautiful.  Although, again, it clashes with the red of the geraniums blooming on the windowsill.  Ouii.

Hmm --- yet, another thing to attack --- the plants ---  prune them, water them, soak them from underneath, rid them of ‘toxins’ for the grand new year, oh, there is so much scrubbing to do, so much therapy to be had.  I know I only buy shower curtain liners at discount stores and they only cost a dollar or two but what a feeling of accomplishment on New Year's Eve to clean that baby up. 

New Year's Day will be the floors, a huge closet, more of the insides of the stove etc., etc.  How did Jackie do it???  How does anyone who doesn't clean get through those times when your stomach is sitting on top of your not very well-polished shoes?  How do women who have ‘help’ get through the blues?  I guess they go buy things or have time to jog around the Reservoir (that would help) or go to a really good play and eat at the 21 Club after. I guess there are other things that hold people together but cleaning is a tried and true one.

Many ethnic cultures have long known that when the demons come crying --- work, work, work and scour, scour, then scour some more.

I'm sure it's what happened on farms of yesteryear when people just fell into bed at the end of the day, too tired to be depressed.  Work, work, scrub, scrub, dust, dust, sweep, sweep --- oh, it will all come back again, that’s disappointing.  But, for the time being, the demons sit back down; they leave the pit of your stomach and stop burbling.  Until, of course, you get into bed and remember about them, until you have time to think.  But, while you move around swinging various implements, while you run the water and experiment with various forms of foams and sure-to-work cleansers, they’re quiet, quieted, quelled.


MPKane
Monday, October 3, 2011