Hey Joe

R.I.P. Chuck Kinder, Outlaw Writer and Old Running Dog

I meant to write this a while ago but I didn’t.

So my buddy, Chuck Kinder, passed away on May 3, 2019 at a Miami hospital. He was 76.

Chuck had been a creative writing professor at the University of Pittsburgh prior to retiring to Key Largo in 2014. Kinder's claim to fame is that he was the inspiration for the central character of Grady Tripp in Michael Chabon’s 1995 novel, Wonder Boys. Apparently it was legend around the university that Kinder had been working for years on a novel which had grown to gargantuan proportions; thousands of pages stacked higher than a pint glass. The character of Grady was in a similar situation, and suffered from the opposite of writer’s block.

But Chuck was more than a character in someone else’s book. He was a teacher, mentor, and friend to his students, both past and present. The home he shared with his wife, Diane, in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh pretty much had an open door policy, and the two hosted innumerable parties for students, friends, and writers of all levels of success.

I discovered Kinder in 2001 when I read an interview in the San Francisco Chronicle prior to the publication of Kinder’s novel, Honeymooners: A Cautionary Tale. The book is fact wrapped in fiction, based on Kinder’s close friendship with short story master, Raymond Carver. Kinder and Carver became friends at Stanford in the early 70s. Those were the days that Carver still drank, heavily, and chronicles the crazy shit these two “outlaw writers” got themselves into, and the hapless woman who loved them. Diane Kinder appears in the book as does Carver’s first wife, Maryanne.

I loved the book and worked to locate his other two novels, Snakehunter and The Silver Ghost, the latter of which was out of print at the time. On a whim I sent an email to Kinder. I don’t even recall what I said but it began an email friendship that lasted up until his death, with Diane responding to tell me the news that Chuck was ill. She didn’t have to tell me when he passed because Chuck was famous in his circles and word got out followed by tributes from friends and students.

Shortly after our correspondence began, I asked Chuck if I were to mail him my (his?) books would he sign them for me (yes I included return postage envelopes). He not only signed them, but wrote a long inscription in each book, personalized to me. When some “lost chapters” of Honeymooners were published in a local Pittsburgh paper, Chuck sent me a copy. I hadn’t asked, I didn’t even know they existed or were published, but Chuck figured I’d enjoy them. That’s the kind of guy he was. 

So Chuck is gone and the world in minus one more crazy, outlaw writer. And the world is dimmer for it. If you want to read my other posts about Chuck they're available in the "Writers and Writing" section of this blog. 

God Rest Ye Merry Benjamin

 

God Rest Ye Merry Benjamin

 

Most seasons of the year typically found Ben Nutty short on cash and common sense, and the holiday season was no different. Working part-time as a contract writer for the Starboard Beef Company, where he pounded out the company organ proclaiming the latest births and deaths, along with the winner of the Best Tripe Recipe Contest, Ben normally approached the end of each month with trepidation; his bank account dwindling in direct proportion to his ballooning credit debt.  At Christmastime, despite his extremely short gift list (consisting only of his aging mother and her equally ripened schnauzer, Mortimer), trepidation gave way to dread. The truth of the matter was that Ben compulsively hoarded handles of Stoli whenever the local grocery store saw fit to put them on sale. What with the country’s jittery relationship with Russia, Ben lived in a constant state of panic that one morning he would wake to the news that Putin and Trump’s on again off again bromance was once again on the skids, and that each had retreated to separate corners of the playground. The result being that shiploads of Stoli would be anchored off the American coast and refused entrance to our harbors.

It was perhaps a result of this very concern that caused Ben to consume more than his fair share at the office Christmas party that afternoon. The way he figured it, why tap his own precious cache when he could get reasonably well lubricated drinking freely from the Starboard Beef teat?

“Well you certainly seem to be having a good time, Ben,” a rather attractive, or so Ben thought, co-worker said when the two met up at the bar.

“I bring the party with me,” Ben said, his enunciation just beginning to soften around the edges.  “In my day we used to give the Xerox machine and the coat closets quite a workout during the Christmas party.”

“Yes, well. Times have changed a little, Ben. And I don’t need to remind you that we in human resources tend to frown on comments of that nature.”

“Lighten up, baby. It’s Christmastime, a time for merriment and good cheer! Where did they hang the mistletoe anyway?”

And so the merriment progressed, until the CEO announced that, in the spirit of the season, everyone would be allowed to take the afternoon off “assuming you’ve finished your day’s work and you’ve received your manager’s blessing.” This last caveat fell on drunk ears, and before the last of the big man’s parting holiday wishes had scarcely left his lips – along with his annual reminder that nothing brightens up a holiday supper table like Starboard Beef® - and Ben’s coworkers broke into the first of 12 stanzas of the partridge song – an annual Starboard Beef ® Christmas party wrap-up tradition – Ben had crammed on his fedora, deserted his co-workers who were still facing a 5 PM publication deadline, and lurched toward the elevators and the lobby’s revolving doors.

The cold December afternoon, its wintry wind blowing the holly wreaths affixed to lamp posts; the store windows painted with scenes of snowmen and Santas, all worked their seasonal magic on Ben, and he allowed the wind to carry him forth, a rickety bounce in his step.

“Ah, Christmastime,” Ben said to no one in particular as he stepped into oncoming traffic and a cacophony of car horns. “They sound just like sleigh bells,” Ben opined, again to no one and everyone, before dropping a few coppers, a tube of Chapstik and a handful of pocket lint into the kettle of a bell-clanging Salvation Army Santa on the opposite corner.

Lift your Irish Wake and say Farewell

James "Whitey" Bulger

1929 - 2018

Former boss of the infamous Winter Hill Gang, part of South Boston’s Irish mafia, James “Whitey” Bulger, was killed today in a West Virginia federal prison.

Bulger was raised in the Mary Ellen McCormack Projects in South Boston, and began a life of crime at a young age, being arrested for larceny at the age of 14. Bulger was a member of a local street gang known as the Shamrocks. His early criminal exploits included arrests for forgery, assault, and armed robbery. Which resulted in Bulger spending time in juvie.

Like their Hell’s Kitchen counterparts, the Westies, the Winter Hill gang was known for its violent tendencies, particularly when Whitey took the reins in the 1970s. At his side were other prominent Winter Hill members John Martorano, Howie Winter, and Joseph McDonald. Under Bulger’s reign, the gang became skilled at whacking rivals and taking over their rackets.

Besides being a crazy SOB, Bulger will also be remembered for his relationship with childhood friend, fellow Mary Ellen McCormack project dweller, and future FBI agent, John Connolly. As Bulger’s “handler,” the two formed a bit of a partnership. In exchange for information on rival gangs, Connolly protected Bulger from FBI prosecution. Eventually Connolly was indicted and convicted on numerous violations, including second-degree murder for the 1981 murder of Roger Wheeler, World Jai Alai sporting corporation owner, and the 1982 slaying of one John B. Callahan, whose body was stuffed into the trunk of a caddie at the Miami International Airport. Getting that into the overhead bin might be a bit of a struggle, but that's neither here nor there. Prosecutors believed that Callahan was killed on the orders of Whitey Bulger after Connolly finked that the FBI was investigating Callahan's ties to the Winter Hill Gang in connection with Wheeler's death. Connolly spilled the beans and Bulger ordered the old bada bing! on Callahan.

Anyway, Connolly still sits in a jail cell and Bulger lays on a slab. His last request: Do not stand at my grave and weep.

Don’t worry. We won’t.

Goin' up to that brothel in the sky

Dennis Hof

1946 – 2018

Well-known pimp/brothel owner, Dennis Hof, died today at the age of 72.

Best remembered as the star of the 2005-2014 HBO series Cathouse, which chronicled daily life inside the Moonlite BunnyRanch, Hof was also the owner of seven legal brothels in Nevada, including the Love Ranch North, the Love Ranch Vegas, and the Alien Cathouse.

Regulars on Cathouse included porn star (and one-time Hof girlfriend) Sunset Thomas, Deanne Salinger, known professionally as Air Force Amy (she actually did serve in the Air Force), Isabella Soprano, and Brooke Taylor (who became Hof's girlfriend after Thomas departed), Mika Tan, and Bunny Love, among others. Hof was also briefly engaged to former Hollywood Madam, Heidi Fleiss.

Anyway he’s dead. In honor of the life and times of Dennis Hof, all poon is 50% off at all of his brothels. Enjoy.

R.I.P Scott Wilson

Scott Wilson

1942 – 2018

Legendary actor, Scott Wilson, died Saturday at the age of 76.

Today most people probably remember him as Hershel Greene from The Walking Dead, but for me he will always be Dick Wilson from 1967s In Cold Blood, the chilling account of the 1959 murders of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas, and based on the book by Truman Capote (of which I happen to own a first edition, so there. If you haven’t read it you are an illiterate slob, and should procure thyself a copy, toot sweet). Wilson starred opposite Robert Blake as Perry Smith, and the role was only Wilson’s second major outing as an actor. A damn fine start I’d say.

Another role for which I will always remember Scott was the very minor role of George Wilson, Myrtle’s hapless husband in The Great Gatsby, who takes down Jay before putting himself out of his misery. And no, I’m not talking about the Leonardo DiCaprio remake in which the role was played by Jason Clarke (who?), and also starred that putz Tobey Maguire as Nick Carraway. Tobey Maguire’s face bugs me in addition to his acting. But I digress.

Lest we limit his filmography to but three roles, let it be known that Scott had a buttload of acting credits under his belt.

God speed, Scott. You will be missed.

Bye Bye Bandit

 

Burt Reynolds
1936 - 2018

And so it is that we say goodbye to the Bandit. Actor Burt Reynolds passed away yesterday at the age of 82.

Best known for his roles in Smokey and the Bandit, Deliverance and the Longest Yard, Reynolds first came on the scene way back in 1962, playing as "half-breed" blacksmith Quint Asper. Just like in Westside Story, if you had black hair and the slightest hint of olive in your skin you were automatically a Shark, or in Burt’s case a “half-breed.” That’s not offensive in the least. But I digress.

My memories of Burt (besides the wild parties in the grotto at Playboy Mansion) revolve mostly around the movies Deliverance and of course Smokey & the Bandit (Sally Field was such a doll back in the day). But the eerie thriller about a rafting trip gone wrong (also known for adding the phrase “squeal like a pig” to America’s pop culture, and for the funny looking Cajun kid who played an ass-kicking banjo) Burt makes a rare career appearance as a serious hombre; a bow-packing, arrow-slinging, mountain man killer. But then Burt hurts his leg crashing through some rapids and spends the rest of the movie on his back, screaming or moaning, with a hunk of bone and/or disgusting looking meat sticking out of his leg. Gross, right? I know.  

In an interview with CNN, Reynolds said "I took the part that was the most fun. ... I didn't take the part that would be the most challenging." A decision he later regretted. Did you know that Reynolds supposedly turned down the role of Han Solo in Star Wars? I didn’t. But I’ll tell you what, I think Burt could have played the hell out of that role. He should have done Star Wars instead of Semi-Tough or Gator. Hindsight is a bitch.

Burt went through some very public relationships with the likes of Dinah Shore, the lovely Sally Field (I’m convinced that Burt’s downfall, both professionally and personally, can be traced to his breakup with Field), and his marriage and acrimonious public split with WKRP’s famed bombshell, Loni Anderson.

Burt appeared in a shitload of movies and teevee shows, most of which were utterly forgettable (remember Sharky’s Machine? I do. Saw it in the theater in fact. But then it was 1981 so what other choice did I have? We got our first VCR in 1983 and it cost $700 and the only place to rent movies was at a local TV repair shop). Regardless, I’ve always been a fan. Burt always seemed like he was having fun, which let’s face it, is a pretty good quality to possess.

Godspeed, Bandit. Keep the rubber side down and the bugs off your glass.

Brotherly love

We bid farewell to one Carey Dean Moore, who met his state-sanctioned demise on August 13, 2018 at the hands of the Nebraska State Penitentiary and the good folks at Fresenius Kabi, the German drug company that manufactures two of the drugs that make up Nebraska’s Cart You Away cocktail. Moore was convicted for the 1979 murders of two taxi drivers in Omaha, Nebraska.

Side note: Fresenius Kabi sued Nebraska and the Department of Correctional Services director, stating “We made no sales to the Department of Correctional Services, nor have any of our authorized distributors. So we can only conclude Nebraska may have acquired this product from an unauthorized seller.” Their motion was denied.

For you trivia buffs, Moore represented the State of Nebraska’s first execution in 21 years, and the first by lethal injection. The last execution, which took place in 1991, utilized “Old Sparky.”

The evening before his execution, Moore was allowed to sit down with his twin brother, David, to enjoy savor relish delight in consume Moore’s last meal, a fiesta of flavors consisting of slices of bacon, beef, cheese and mushroom pizza from Pizza Hut (really? Couldn’t have at least given the poor guy Round Table?), frosty glasses of Pepsi (or perhaps not frosty. I have no idea. Could have been served in Dixie cups). Desert was strawberry cheesecake.

Thank you and good night.

Koko the Gorilla has died

Koko

1971 – 2018

Koko and the kitten she named “Lipstick.”

Koko, the signing gorilla, has passed away at the age of 46, which totally blows. I would have loved the chance to hang out with Koko.

According to the Gorilla Foundation, Koko, a western lowland gorilla, died in her sleep at the foundation's preserve in Santa Cruz Mountains.

Born at the San Francisco Zoo in 1971, her life-long trainer, Francine Patterson began teaching her sign language as part of a Stanford University project in 1974.

Koko is said to have understood approximately 2,000 spoken words and more than 1,000 signs of what Patterson calls "Gorilla Sign Language,” including giving “The Finger.”

She received her first kitten companion for her birthday in 1984 and named it “All Ball.” Unfortunately All Ball was killed when he escaped from Koko’s cage and was hit by a car less than six months later. "Bad, sad, bad frown, cry, frown, sad,” Koko signed when she heard the news of All Ball’s death. She received and nurtured four more kittens in the ensuing years.

Godspeed, KoKo

Can you read my mind? I'm dead.

Margot Kidder

1948 – 2018

Margot is once again reunited, in the skies, with Christopher Reeves.

Kidder, best known for her role as Lois Lane opposite Reeves' Superman in the 1978 movie, passed away yesterday at the age of 69. This reporter has yet to unearth the cause of her demise, but then he hasn’t done much digging either. Grave humor. Shut up.

Born in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada, Kidder made her film debut in The Best Damn Fiddler from Calabogie to Kaladar. I haven’t seen it either. She appeared in a whole lot of stuff, but of course is best known for her work as Lois Lane in Superman, and the sequels Superman II and III (The Hollywood film title crackerjacks certainly put in some long hours coming up with those gems). And then there was The Amityville Horror (1979), in which she starred opposite a young, and apparently hypothermia-suffering James Brolin.

Though her name was not bandied about much in the past 20+ years, Kidder kept up a steady stream of acting gigs, appearing most recently in 2017’s The Neighborhood, in which “A brash group of hoodlums (who) have been doing minor crime jobs in their neighborhood since they were kids (suddenly) step on the wrong toes and get caught up in a war with an old-school mafia king pin and their lives soon become hell on earth.”

Watch for it at the 2018 Oscars. What, they’re over already? Never mind. Try Netflix.

Godsuperspeed, Ms. Kidder.

Butts Down

So any others out there with a warped sense of values and interests may have noticed that this has been dragging on longer than usual.

After a rare stay of execution delayed his death for about a day, convicted murderer Robert Earl Butts, Jr., is scheduled to be executed in...well about now, 4 p.m. PST, 7 p.m. EST.

On Wednesday, the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles imposes a stay as they considered his case. Considering done, they decied to move forward.

Before planting his butt on the gurney, Robert Butts consumed a last meal consisting of a hamburger both American and cheddar cheese and bacon; a rib-eye steak; six (they do have a budget to consider) chicken tenders; seasoned french fries; cheesecake, and strawberry lemonade.

According to reports, he ate it.