WWW.WEDNESDAY

 

 

WWW. WEDNESDAY asks three questions to prompt you to speak bookishly. To participate, and to see how other book lovers responded, click here. 

PS I no longer participate in WWW.WEDNESDAY via that link because her blog won't accept Blogger comments. I mention this only to save you the frustration I experienced trying to link up.

1. What are you currently reading? One Perfect Couple by Ruth Ware. Five couples are thrown into competition to win fame and a certain amount of money (but mostly fame) as the winners of a new reality show: One Perfect Couple. They are whisked away to a remote island resort, where their phones, smartwatches and laptops are confiscated. They accept this because they know how reality shows work and understand that they can't be leaking the ending or plot twists before the series airs. Before long though, nature (both Mother and human) conspires against them and they are in real danger.

 

If this sounds like And Then There Were None updated for the new millennium, that's no accident. This book is an intended homage and so far it's a nice, tense slow burn.

2. What did you recently finish reading? Pete Rose: An American Dilemma by Kostya Kennedy. This is a 5-star biography of a 2-star man.

On the field, Pete Rose was unassailable. He wasn't naturally gifted, like Aaron Judge or Shohei Ohtani. But he was dedicated and dogged. He did whatever it took to help his team win. He didn't complain when he was moved from the outfield to the infield. He hit from both sides of the plate. Though not especially fast, he ran it out every time. As a kid, I loved watching him play because a game could turn on his every at bat. His stats are impressive, and he remains baseball's hit king.

But that's not why you probably know him. He's the guy who bet on baseball and is banned from The Hall of Fame. That's what makes his story complicated.

Off the field, Pete Rose was a whore. He got off on cash. Not wealth. Not even stuff (except cars). Just benjamins. He would do anything for a buck, so it's not surprising that he got involved with unsavory characters. When he got caught, his attitude was (as recalled by investigators), "Fuck you, I'm Pete Rose." 

There are no stories of Pete using his position to give back. There are plenty of stories of him showing up in Cooperstown during Induction Weekend to sign autographs (for a fee) and steal the thunder of the game's greats who were being enshrined. He luxuriated in being more famous for being banned from the Hall than these players were for being inducted. What an ass.

I picked up this book with an eye to learn more about compulsive gambling. That is not Pete's story. He never owned up to an addiction, nor does anyone make an argument that he had one. Instead, exasperated Cincinnati Reds executives who knew him well explain his plight away with the fable of The Scorpion and The Frog. A scorpion wants to cross the pond but can't swim, so he asks a frog to carry him. The frog is skeptical because he knows the scorpion has a fatal sting. The scorpion insists that he will do no such stinging because it wouldn't make sense. If the scorpion stings the frog, they will both drown. They will both die. Why would the scorpion do it? This seems reasonable to frog, who lets the scorpion hop aboard. The scorpion stings him. "Why?" asks the frog, as they both begin to sink. "It's my nature," responds the scorpion.

Pete Rose was an ass because it was his nature. As serious and committed as he was on the field, that's how weak and self-centered he was away from it. 

I came to this conclusion on my own. Kostya Kennedy is a good writer and a good reporter who doesn't moralize. He shares Rose's story in an "it is what it is" manner. He trusts his readers. This is a very good book for anyone even remotely interested in the Rose saga/tragedy and why it still matters today.

 

3. What will you read next? I don't know.

 

 

In celebration of the girls we were

I have been thinking a great deal about Judy. Not the woman she became. She was self-involved and took no responsibility for the impact her actions had on others. While I am sorry that her final years were full of hospitalizations and pain, I don't regret that I rejected her overtures to reconnect. She hurt me too badly and gave no indication that she understood it or even felt remorse.

But the Judy I met in high school was special. She was important to me. No, she was vital to me. She made me feel less alienated and more understood.

Photo by Sydney Moore on Unsplash 

Judy was smarter than I was. I loved that about her. She was committed to being an artist. She was always working on something – I remember watching her long, slender fingers as strung beads into bracelets or painted. Wait! While I saw her paintings, I don't recall actually seeing her paint. But I did see her lovingly clean and care for her brushes. She also taught me to play canasta. In my mind's eye I see those long fingers again, wearing rings made from spoons, as she dealt the cards. 

After school, we watched old movies together. She introduced me to the Marx Brothers. During last month's Turner Classic Film Festival, I saw Animal Crackers on the big screen for the first time, I enjoyed it thoroughly and had to stop myself from reciting dialog. That was Judy's influence/tutelage.

She gave me an even greater gift in those days. She encouraged me to write and read what I wrote. Mind you, I was a horny 15-year-old virgin expounding on topics I knew nothing about. I'm sure that everything I put on paper was wretched. 

Photo by Diogo Cardoso on Unsplash 

But Judy encouraged me. She made notes in the margins. We talked short stories vs. long format. Fiction vs. non-fiction. Reportage vs. editorial. When her mother* affectionately called me "Louisa Mae Alcott," Judy rolled her eyes as only a teenage girl can roll her eyes at her mother.  "The Gal is going to be a real writer, Mom."

And here's the thing: I did become a writer. Since I didn't go to college, I took a circuitous route, but I got there. I earned a good living, won some awards, and got a great deal of satisfaction from using my imagination and my words.

Looking at her obituary, I see Judy did, indeed, have a career as an artist. Her work was displayed in local galleries and she sold some pieces. No small feat.

Those two awkward misfits who sat on Judy's bed, playing canasta by the hour, fantasizing about being an artist and a writer, actually made it.

Good for us.

Rest in peace, Judy. 

*A gentle, lovely woman. She threw a joint 16th birthday for us (Judy's birthday was two days before mine).