This week’s Illustration Friday‘s challenge word is “carry”.
Hawkeye Pierce, Chief of Surgery at the 4077 M*A*S*H, offers his view on gun control.
“I’ll carry your books, I’ll carry a torch, I’ll carry a tune, I’ll carry on, carry over, carry forward, Cary Grant, cash and carry, carry me back to Old Virginia, I’ll even hari-kari if you show me how, but I will not carry a gun!”
The current challenge on the Monday Artday illustration website is “avengers”, with inspiration coming from the movie. That big-screen bomb with Ralph Fiennes and Uma Thurman that didn’t come close to capturing the quirky coolness of the classic 60s TV show?
They’re the only Avengers I know.
After her five-year contract expired, silent film sex symbol Theda Bara retired from the silver screen. Fox Studios scrambled for a suitable replacement. Stage actress Betty Blythe fit the bill. Betty was recruited to appear in a series of costume productions originally tagged for Bara, including the famously risqué The Queen of Sheba in 1921. Betty was one of the first actresses to appear nude in a mainstream Hollywood film. She described her Queen of Sheba wardrobe by noting “I had 28 costumes in that picture, and if I’d worn them all at once I couldn’t have kept warm”.
Betty was a major star in Hollywood in her time, starring in roles opposite top box-office draws like Lon Chaney. As silent movies gave way to talkies, she continued her career for the next four decades taking one uncredited character role after another.
Betty’s last film appearance was in a crowd scene in 1964’s My Fair Lady. Her ground-breaking impact on movie history long forgotten, Betty succumbed to a heart attack and died in near obscurity in 1972. She was 78.
This week’s Illustration Friday word is “lost.”
Let me tell you about Pudge.
In the summer of 1982, just after Mrs. Pincus and I met, we went on a day trip to Hershey Park. Just barely into our 20s, the appeal of an amusement park still held excitement for us. In between turns on the roller coasters, bumper cars and Mrs. P’s personal favorite, the Tilt-O-Whirl, we wandered into a few souvenir shops that dotted the park’s layout. Among the Hershey-emblazoned t-shirts, snow globes, mugs and giant pencils was a shelf displaying an array of plush animal characters. On the second shelf below eye-level sat a slightly over-stuffed brown bear looking very dapper in a blue and red striped shirt. That bear was Pudge. The expression on Pudge’s face made him look a bit forlorn and Mrs. Pincus was instantly smitten. I convinced Mrs. P that the last thing she needed was another stuffed animal. (At the time, I did not realize the gravity of the mistake I was in the process of making.) Pudge was placed back on the shelf and we left the store. The one-sided conversation on our ride home was me being berated for not allowing the purchase of Pudge. The next several months saw my beloved bride scouring every conceivable outlet within a fifty-mile radius that would have the remotest of possibilities of stocking the elusive Pudge. (This was in a time before a simple Google search would yield any number of global retail establishments and purchases could be made without putting on shoes, getting dressed, burning gasoline or contact with another human being.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternal exercise in futility, Pudge was tracked down and located at a mall a little under sixteen miles from our home. Mrs. Pincus purchased that little brown fellow, brought him home and soon his adventures began.
Pudge has accompanied my family on many trips to many places. From short jaunts around the corner to my in-law’s house to exciting, multi-day automobile treks down the eastern seaboard to elaborate, cross-country flights to the Pacific coast, Pudge has been there and he has the pictures to prove it.
L to R (top row): At the Statue of Liberty; On the Kiss production line at Hershey, PA; With the Monster.com mascot at eBay Live in Boston; Pudge receives the Emmy; In Graceland’s visitor parking lot; At the Haunted Mansion in Disneyland; With the 2008 World Series trophy.
L to R (bottom row): At the famous Randy’s Donuts in Inglewood, CA; On the front steps of Gianni Versace’s house in Miami; On Winnie the Pooh’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame; Waiting for the Strasburg Rail Road; Having fun on a Carnival cruise; Riding a Nittany Lion at State College, PA; Riding the bus with Rosa Parks at the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis.
Pudge has seen the roaring waters of Niagara Falls and the stirring majesty of The Statue of Liberty. He has paid his respects to the late King of Rock and Roll at Graceland and viewed memorabilia of Elvis’ contemporaries at The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. Pudge has witnessed tributes to legendary ballplayers at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown and the star-studded Walk of Fame in Hollywood. One trip, however, is the topic of limited discussion — the details of which are related in hushed tones and then quickly the subject is changed before emotions bubble over. Over twenty-five years after Pudge joined our family, he was nearly lost forever. (Sure, one time my wife absent-mindedly stuck Pudge in a drawer at her parent’s seashore apartment in Ventnor, New Jersey. But, once we retraced our moves, Mrs. P was again united with Pudge in a tearful reunion.)
As spring became summer in 2008, the planning stages began for a complicated, multi-legged, two-week drive to Florida — involving my in-laws, my brother-in-law and his family and other assorted and uncategorized extended family members — with a lengthy stop in Orlando before proceeding to the ultimate destination of Miami Beach to visit yet more relatives. My wife would be accompanying her parents alone, serving as travelling companion, as well as navigator and chauffeur of their vehicle for the lion’s share of the journey. I would not be joining them, as securing two consecutive weeks off from my full-time job would be difficult, plus, it was implied that my son and I were not invited on this trip. (I surmised this when my wife’s brother informed her rather bluntly, “Your miserable husband and your miserable son are not invited.” I was quite proud of my brilliant deduction skills.) My wife carefully packed all the necessities she would require for a fortnight in the Sunshine State including a travelling companion of her own — Pudge. Snug within the confines of her backpack, Pudge stayed secure between Mrs. P’s make-up bag and her wallet, occasionally popping out for a seat on the dashboard, providing company when Mrs. P’s Mom and Dad dozed off in their seats.
I kept in regular phone contact with my wife during her trip. She’d call to document the day’s activities, the sights they saw, the pictures Pudge posed for. I’d tell her about the concerts my son and I attended in her absence and reassured her that we were eating well and taking care of each other. As she began her week in Orlando, the phone conversations evolved into reports of the petty arguments and unusual behavior she witnessed among her family as an unattached observer. Mrs. Pincus was the first one up each morning and, subsequently, the first one out the door as my sister-in-law’s sister staggered about in a hangover-induced stupor and my two nieces bickered over which pair of Crocs they would wear and who picked all the green clovers out of the box of Lucky Charms. With a smile on her lips and Pudge in her backpack, Mrs. Pincus exited the mayhem in the claustrophobic time-share and drove her own rental car off to enjoy a Disney theme park. She’d spend several days experiencing all that Disney offered in EPCOT, the Disney Studios and, of course, The Magic Kingdom. (She skipped the Animal Kingdom because, no matter how persuasive Disney tries to be with the idea that it’s “Natazu” … it’s a zoo.) Her solo adventures were interrupted infrequently by the briefest interaction with her parents (based on their limited capacity of mobility) or her brother’s family (based on their limited capacity of getting their shit together). So, for the most part she was alone — except for Pudge.
On the final day before departure to their more southerly course, Mrs. Pincus wished to spend her remaining hours at the Magic Kingdom, her favorite of the Disney parks. Before she set out that morning, Mrs. P’s sister-in-law presented her with a heaping stack of special “line jumper” passes — allowing immediate access to the ride-boarding area — that they had received from a Disney “castmember” (The Walt Disney Company’s universal word for “employee”) in order to pacify a (possibly-imagined and most-likely exaggerated) “horrible situation.” It was explained that they couldn’t conceivably use all of the passes they were awarded in their allotted time, so Mrs. P took them with the instruction: “use as many as you can.” With the majority of her group awkwardly traipsing their way across EPCOT, Mrs. P languidly strolled down Main Street, meandered through the faux-exoticism of Adventureland, leisurely moseyed along the wooden-planked walkways of Frontierland and lazily sauntered the winding paths of Fantasyland. As dusk approached and the ambient lights came on, the once sun-brightened surroundings now sported an otherworldly glow and Mrs. P found herself in Tomorrowland. Choosing a ride on the fearsome Space Mountain as the capper to her visit, she entered the queue line and distributed fistfuls of the special passes to delighted strangers who happened to be in the right place at the right time. At the ride’s conclusion, she was breathless and parched. She reached into her backpack for a bottle of water. With her thirst sufficiently quenched, she headed towards the still-open shops on Main Street when her cellphone rang. It was her brother.
“Are you still at the Magic Kingdom?,” he inquired.
“Yes. Why?,” replied Mrs. Pincus.
“I forgot to get Mouse Ears for the girls. Can you get them?” he asked, hopefully. It was nearing closing time on the last day of a six-day vacation and it had just occurred to my brother-in-law that the single most popular Disney souvenir had not been purchased for his children.
“I’d be glad to.,” my wife answered cheerfully. She truly is the nicest person on this otherwise God-forsaken planet. She memorized the details of her brother’s request, dutifully noting the style of head wear and the desired inscriptions, and made a beeline towards the Main Street hat shop. Engulfed by the throng of exiting guests, she came upon a cheerful group of castmembers wearing Mickey Mouse-style gloves and waving “Good Night” to the tired and contented patrons. Mrs. P thought this would make for a great photo of Pudge. She opened her backpack to retrieve her camera and, to her horror, Pudge was gone. A cold sweat burst upon her forehead, her throat tightened and her heart thumped uncontrollably in her chest. She tossed the contents of her backpack from side to side. Pudge was indeed gone. Tears began to well in her eyes as she frantically scanned the ground in her immediate area. Panicked, she retraced her steps for several yards and replayed her recent activity in her mind. Space Mountain, water, phone call, castmembers. It all swelled into a big confusing blur. Suddenly, a lucid thought was triggered and she beat a determined path to the renowned Lost & Found at Main Street’s City Hall.
Taking her place at the end of a line populated by the optimistic owners of lost sunglasses and misplaced flip-flops, a tearful Mrs. P fidgeted until the woman in front of her said, “You look like you lost something very important. Please. Go ahead of me”. My wife thanked her and approached the castmember behind the desk. With tears streaming down her cheeks, my wife’s voice cracked as she spoke.
“I lost a small brown plush bear. He has a red and blue striped shirt and I am not leaving this place without him.”
The young lady behind the desk smiled reassuringly and said, “Just a minute. I’ll look.”
A few excruciatingly-long moments later, the young lady emerged from a hidden cache somewhere behind the reception area. Resting in the cupped hands of her outstretched arms was Pudge.
“Is this him?,” she asked. Before she had reached the word “him”, Mrs. Pincus had nearly leaped over the desk and snatched Pudge out of her hands. She hugged the little bear to her face, wetting his matted, plush fur with her tears. She thanked the City Hall staff profusely, still crying. Somewhere between Space Mountain and the end of Main Street, Pudge must have tumbled out of the backpack. Then, a thoughtful, concerned and compassionate guest picked him up and brought him to the Lost & Found, figuring that someone might be looking for this little, and obviously, well-loved bear.
And Mrs. Pincus still managed to get the Mouse Ears for her nieces.
* * * * * * *
Footnote: Pudge still travels with us, only now he uses this helpful accessory.
Follow Pudge on Twitter HERE.
This week’s Illustration Friday challenge word is “suspend”.
Suspended high above the city, Spiderman realized he should have topped off his web shooters before he left home.
Little Lizzie Borden invited a few friends for a sleepover.
Then, things got a little out of hand.
This week’s Illustration Friday challenge word is “refresh”.
There’s nothing more refreshing than lemonade.
Even if you drink it.
Brian Keith had show business in his blood. The son of stage actor Robert Keith and actress Helena Shipman, young Brian made his motion picture debut in the 1924 silent film Pied Piper Malone at the age of 3. After his parents’ divorce, Brian’s father briefly married actress Peg Entwistle, whose claim to fame was committing suicide by jumping off the “H” in the famous Hollywood sign.
Although he did not pursue an acting career in his youth, after four years in the Marines, Brian revisited performing in 1952. He appeared in many television anthologies. He continued with guest roles throughout the 50s and 60s. He branched out in to films, both comedy and drama. He costarred with Steve McQueen in Nevada Smith and starred opposite Maureen O’Hara and Hayley Mills in Disney’s original The Parent Trap in 1961. He continued to make films through the 60s when he was offered the role for which he is best known — engineer Bill Davis in the TV series Family Affair.
When Family Affair premiered in 1966, it was an instant hit. Brian played the gruff “Uncle Bill” to his brother’s three orphaned children — twins Buffy and Jody and big sister Cissy. Bill’s “gentleman’s gentleman,” Mr. French, who became reluctant nanny to the children, rounded out the cast. Over the course of five seasons, Brian earned three Emmy nominations and grew close with his costars, especially young Anissa Jones who played Buffy.
Brian stayed busy in films through the run of Family Affair, starring with Doris Day in With Six You Get Eggroll in 1968 (her last motion picture). A year after Family Affair was canceled, Brian was cast in a self-titled sitcom in which he played a pediatrician in Hawaii. He called Anissa Jones to offer her an audition-free role on the show, which she graciously turned down, expressing no interest in furthering her acting career. Four years later, 18 year-old Anissa died from a massive overdose of barbiturates.
Brian followed his sitcom with another popular series, Hardcastle and McCormick. Brian was cast for three seasons as a cranky retired judge. He also made several television mini-series, including World War III with Rock Hudson as the President of the United States opposite Brian’s portrayal of the Soviet Premier. Brian integrated his fluency in Russian into the role. During the filming, director Boris Sagal was killed in a tragic helicopter accident.
Despite quitting smoking in the 80s, Brian was diagnosed with emphysema and lung cancer in the early 1990s. He also experienced financial difficulty later in his life. His grown daughter Daisy, unable to cope with her father’s failing health, committed suicide in April 1997. Two months later, Brian took his own life with a self-inflicted gunshot.
The current Illustration Friday challenge word is “space”.
Blast off for adventure with Rex Afterburner, Defender of Spaaaaaaaaaaaace!
I was always a big fan of George Carlin, the original purveyor of counterculture, hippie humor. I remember watching him on The Tonight Show, always amused by the hearty laughs he coaxed out of host Johnny Carson. I remember hearing a George Carlin comedy album at a friend’s house and rolling on the floor in hysterics at his infamous “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine. I also recall being intrigued by the clean-shaven, crew-cut sporting version of George that I saw on clips from the old Ed Sullivan Show and reruns of That Girl.
After watching countless HBO specials and appearances on various variety shows, I finally got to see George perform live several years ago at the Stardust Hotel in Las Vegas. The Stardust is no longer there and, sadly, neither is George. He passed away on June 22, 2008 at the age of 71.
George Carlin gained millions of fans during the fifty years his career spanned. In addition to myself, Mark Feldstein can be counted among those fans. Mark, the son of Mad Magazine co-creator and long-time editor Al Feldstein, tells about a personal relationship with the comedian this way…
How I Was Stalked By George Carlin *
My father, Al Feldstein, was co-creator and editor of Mad Magazine for 29 years. When I was a teenager in the late 70’s, my dad took me to a George Carlin concert. He called ahead and set-up a “meet and greet” with George after the concert using his cache as editor. We waited expectedly until finally a crew member apologized to us that George couldn’t make it – he wasn’t feeling well. I survived. Three years later, I received a phone call at college from Dad, “Mark, George Carlin just called and left his number. Why don’t you call him back?”
I dialed the number and George himself answered! Before I could fully introduce myself, George blurted,”Mark! I wanted to apologize for not meeting you at my concert three years ago.”
I responded intelligently, “Uhhh.”
George went on, “I was so stoned – there was no way.”
That prodded me back to reality, “But, George, that was three years ago.” (I figured that this conversation couldn’t get any stranger, so why not call him “George?”)
“Flashbacks!” he announced, “These damn drugs!”
As you can imagine, I graciously forgave him. And thought that was the end of my George Carlin story. Little did I know.
Five years later – I had graduated and moved to Los Angeles (from New York) and Dad calls. Oh, yes,you can see it coming.
“Mark. George Carlin just called again. Here’s the number.”
I called. “Mark! I just wanted to apologize for not meeting you at my concert those years ago!”
Okay, this was just a little strange. “George, you already called five years ago to apologize.”
George: “I did? Damn these flashbacks!”
Mark: “George, tell you what. Take out a piece of paper and get a pen.”
George: “Okay.”
Mark: “Now write this down. ‘I have already apologized to Mark Feldstein.”
George: “Okay.”
Mark: “Now put the note in your wallet, George.”
George: “Okay.”
We hung up.
So, as it sometimes happens in life, strange things happen in threes.
Years later, I was working in a small special effects production house called Coast Productions. They are the ones who make the Pillsbury Doughboy giggle so adorably. Well, guess who walks in one day to discuss the special effects of his upcoming movie? Need I say it? I waited for the meeting to end and snuck into the conference room and held out my hand and said, “Hi George. My name is Mark Fel….”
He leaped to his feet and said, “Mark! I just wanted to…..”
As a footnote, Mark told me, “Every word of the story is true. Dad even told me that George sent him scribbled apologies on yellow pad paper, too, but I never saw those.”
* Permission to reprint graciously granted by Mark Feldstein.
