Though he founded one of the most influential avant-garde jazz labels of the 20th century, Bernard Stollman was a lawyer, not a musician. This may have accounted for the numerous complaints by the recording artists on his ESP label: He didn’t do a great job of it. In fact, the operating funds for the label ran out after ten years, and by 1974 Stollman went right back to being a lawyer full time. But the music he released over that decade, from Albert Ayler, to Pharoh Sanders, to Sun Ra, to Paul Bley, was the earliest explorations of experimental jazz. It was so out there, the music was released before there was an audience for it. Many ESP albums were pressed in small runs so original copies of some of the seminal works are rare and extremely valuable.
It’s a hunch, but I bet Avi’s answer to his own question would be: “I wrote.” Avi is the pen name for young adult author, Edward Irving Wortis. He’s written over 70 books for children, often with unique characters in novel settings. He is one of only a few writers to have won more than one Newbery Award, the most prestigious in children’s literature. He won the gold medal for Crispin, the Cross of Lead (2003), and runners-up for both The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle (1991), and Nothing but the Truth (1992).
There’s a scene that in Atom Egoyan’s 1997 Cannes Grand Prix winner The Sweet Hereafter where a camera soars into the sky to watch as a bus glides down a windy, remote highway in Canada filled with children. The bus is about to crash and kill many of them, an unimaginable tragedy. But in the moment, the viewer is transported; it’s a beautiful shot, one of many in the film, and one that in simple lyric imagery conveys the context for the rest of the film.
In the 80s I moved from Kalamazoo, MI to Santa Barbara, CA where I came across Ashleigh Brilliant Pot Shots, a daily humorous single-panel comic in the local paper. “I’m not perfect but parts of me are excellent” became my first favorite, followed by “All I want is a warm bed, a kind word, and unlimited power.” Mr. Brilliant was right there in the middle of the Haight Ashbury scene in the 60s and his kooky sense of humor is prevalent throughout. Since it’s beginning in 1975, there are now more than 10,000 of these copyrighted comedic epigrams, all clocking in at 17 words or less. I can’t do them justice, you’ve got to check them out for yourself: www.ashleighbrilliant.com
I was honored to hear back from Arnold Palmer. Considered by many to be one of the greatest to have ever played the game, it was surprising that he took the time to write me back. He typed, printed, cut out, and then taped his question to a postcard. Palmer’s response to his own question may, on its face, clearly be about golf, for which he was a tireless advocate. He was a, however, a well-traveled pilot, logging more than 20,000 hours in various aircraft. I wonder if a quieter Arnold Palmer might offer a different answer than sport.
Most people know Bob Saget from his role as Danny Tanner on the 80s sitcom Full House. He hosted America’s Funniest Home Videos for a number of years in the 90’s. But he cemented his legacy with his joke-telling in the documentary The Aristocrats. Bob Saget had a dirty, dirty mind and he loved it. Rest in Peace America’s Most Perverted Dad. And yes, it is best not to ask “Happy New Year?” as a question.
Aaron Cometbus started putting out his seminal ‘zine Cometbus back in 1981. He was there at the epicenter of the pop punk explosion in the Bay Area in the late 80s and early 90s. He was a roadie and fill-in drummer for Green Day at the beginning of their meteoric rise, helped start famed punk venue 924 Gilman, and self-published achingly beautiful stories of wanderlust, friendship and love while living on the edges of society in his hand-lettered ‘zine Cometbus.
“A central figure in the postwar American crafts movement,” according to the New York Times. Maloof was the first craftsman to be awarded the MacArthur “genius” grant, and it is easy to see why; the quality of the woodwork on his self-built house made it almost a museum to the craft (it’s now on the National Historic Register) and one of his elegant rocking chairs recently sold for $80,000. Of the dozens of rockers he produced, most are in museums, including the Smithsonian. Even with all the fame, throughout his life Maloof would respond with one word to his own question: “Woodworker.”
In 1994 I took a college course called Women in Literature. It was an upper-level course and in it we read The Woman Warrior. Like for many, Maxine Hong Kingston’s book opened my eyes to systemic racism, first through the lens of Chinese-Americans, then to American society in general. Kingston’s powerful prose forced me to ask:
How am I perpetuating these systems of oppression?
For years I thought this postcard said, “Check, OK,” but after a friend encouraged me to look up Manson’s signature, I found that it says, “Chuck,” with a strange symbol he used often, after. Does it say, “OK”? Or is that a creepy eyeball? The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I realized he had actually written me back. There was no other accompanying material, so there is no insight into his thoughts or question.
