The Hamlet Project: The Play's the Thing

In coming posts, I'll be watching nine different film versions of "Hamlet." But before beginning, I went back to read the play.

My first exposure to “Hamlet” came when I was a senior in high school, listening to Richard Burton’s performance on a phonograph record that was probably thirty years old. It wasn’t my first Shakespeare – I believe by that time I had been exposed to “Romeo and Juliet,” “Julius Caesar” and “Macbeth.” Of the three, “Caesar” was and is my favorite. I also revisited “Hamlet” when I got to college. But about 10 years ago, I began collecting film versions of “Hamlet.” More on that later. 

My aim here is to read “Hamlet” again, just for the surface details, and see if anything new pops up for me. I’m obviously not a scholar, nor an actor. I’m just an interested reader with a slight familiarity around the play. I don’t make any claims that any of these observations are new, unique, or for that matter, interesting…

If I remember correctly, the first few times I read “Hamlet,” I wondered just how much Gertrude was in on the murder of King Hamlet. Shakespeare doesn’t say – he only allows the ghost to tell his son not to harm her in his drive for revenge. The answer to this seems to be revealed later when Hamlet confronts Gertrude in the closet scene and, at the mention of murder, she seems surprised. From this point in the play on, Gertrude follows Hamlet’s direction in maintaining the fiction of his insanity. But it’s also telling that she doesn’t abandon Claudius immediately after; in fact, she seems protective of him when Laertes returns to exact revenge for his father’s death. This gives her a rich, marvelously complicated character – consider, Gertrude is a newlywed and a new widow at the same time, with unresolved feelings perhaps in both directions, and concern that her son, now a murderer in her own sight, might be insane despite any protestations to the contrary. Then again, does she suspect that what he tells her about the king might be true? 

The death of Hamlet’s father is obviously a breaking point for the prince. We can assume from the play’s words and action that it changes every relationship in his life. For starters, Hamlet does not become king. One wonders how much of his melancholy stems from this. But we learn from others that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were his friends from childhood, and yet he sends them to their deaths for perhaps no other reason than their association with Claudius. We might suppose he was somewhat close to Polonius, given that he loves the man’s daughter. Yet Polonius’ proximity to Claudius makes him untrustworthy in Hamlet’s sight. We sense by his behavior later, raving at Gertrude, that it is only the ghost’s injunction to leave her unharmed that saved this relationship. I also find myself wondering what Hamlet's feelings in the past might have been for his uncle. We believe at the play's beginning that he is not at all happy with the marriage. Is his anger later because of what the ghost tells him, or might he have been unusually close to Claudius and feel betrayed? The largest break comes with Ophelia, for he turns on her for reasons that are unclear. We accept, for the sake of the play, that Hamlet wants to appear mad. Yet one would think he might take her into his confidence, given their relationship. Instead, he casts her out of his planning and leaves her to think whatever she will about his behavior. 

Instead, we get the nunnery speech, where Hamlet speaks of honesty, beauty, chastity and fidelity on at least three different levels, all at the same time. He is raving, we presume, because he knows Claudius and Polonius are watching. But his anger – and it is anger – seems directed not so much at them but at her. Or is it simply because she is a woman, and she is before him, that she gets a rant that might otherwise be directed at his mother? In the end, Ophelia and the two voyeurs come away convinced that he is insane, which was his whole purpose. But it also leaves us questioning just how much Hamlet can care about anyone.

Is it just me, or does Ophelia get over Hamlet’s “nunnery” speech a little too easily? The two of them have an irregular relationship (to put it mildly) throughout the play – Polonius tells her to keep him at bay, then Hamlet has his moment of wordless distraction, which she reports to her father.  Hamlet leaves her a note, after which she returns all of his notes, provoking the nunnery speech. Their next encounter, though, is when he flirts with her at the performance of “The Mousetrap,” and she seems to return this, or at least allow it. (There is no direction to spell anything out - so here I may be assuming things depending on how I've seen it depicted in the past.) One scene earlier, she was devastated. Now, is she just playing along, thinking this is yet another turn in his turbulent attitude? Immediately after, Polonius is killed, and her descent into madness is sealed. By the way – is she crazy because Polonius is dead, or because of Hamlet’s actions, or both? Hamlet seems devastated by her death, but with the kind of emotion that makes his earlier actions seem capricious. There are two ways to look at this – in real life, people seldom have plausible reasons for the way they treat the people closest to them, especially in moments of extreme anger or grief. Then again, how is one supposed to react when he learns, by way of a ghost, that his father has been murdered by the man who is now married to his mother?

Perhaps the only relationship that does not change for Hamlet is his friendship with Horatio. Why is this? Because it is Horatio who first breaks the news that the ghost of his father has been seen on the watch. We might also believe it is because, unlike Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio has no connection to Claudius. But this also brings up a set of interesting questions. We assume that Hamlet knows Horatio, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern from Wittenburg, and as stated earlier, his association with his doomed friends has been longer. Horatio, in telling Hamlet about his sighting of the ghost, says he saw the old King once. This would tend to indicate Hamlet and Horatio have not been friends for very long. Horatio strikes me as someone Hamlet met at the university. Yet Horatio is recognized by the men on watch at the very beginning of the play. Why? We do not know. (Interesting thought then: Would there be jealousy for the two other friends now that Hamlet seems closer to Horatio? After all, Hamlet doesn't trust Rosencrantz and Guildenstern anymore. )

As a villain, Claudius more than does the job. His moment of confession, when Hamlet comes so near to killing him, is compelling on several levels. We see that Claudius has some regrets for killing his brother, and that he blames his lust for power. (Left unstated, at least by him, is whether lust for Gertrude entered into the picture – for the ghost, there is little question that this was his brother’s motivation.) He wants forgiveness, but immediately after, he contrives a way to kill Hamlet without having to do the dirty business himself. When this fails, he hatches another plot. Why? Because he knows Hamlet is on to him. What could Claudius have thought when he sat down to enjoy a play, staged for his nephew’s benefit, and saw an exact representation of the dark deed he has so far gotten away with? “He knows! But how could he know? Who else could know…”

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard throughout my life that Hamlet is so endlessly compelling because he is a complete portrait of a man in thought, the classical Renaissance man. Some go so far as to say a completely rational man, or as Ophelia terms him: courtier, soldier, scholar, “expectancy and rose of the fair state, the glass of fashion, and the mold of form.” His manner and words testify in our time to Enlightenment. (Incidentally, I don’t think Hamlet would have made a very good king. People often speak of wanting intellectual leaders, forgetting that at the end of “Hamlet,” practically everyone is dead as a result of both his vacillation and action.) One of the reasons we sympathize with Hamlet is because he has some of the melancholy about him that we associate with modern life.

But how is he spurred to action? By a completely “irrational” moment – the appearance of the ghost of his father. Lost in the discussions of Hamlet’s rationalism is the fact that “Hamlet” the play is a supernatural work. Hamlet’s later action, his inability “to make up his mind,” is caused because he doubts the truth of what he has seen and heard. (By the way, I’ve often felt there is very little set-up in the play itself for Hamlet’s question as to whether he has seen his father or “the devil.”) But he never doubts that what he has seen was real. He as much as says so when he chides Horatio that “there are more things in heaven and earth” than can be rationally understood.

We know that Hamlet hesitates in killing Claudius later because he does not wish to enact revenge on his uncle while the villain is in the act of prayer. That would seemingly forgive him of all sin and “send him to heaven.” Heaven figures greatly in the play. The ghost tells Hamlet to leave his mother to either its accusations or its mercy. The sensibilities of the characters are all calibrated to a pseudo-Catholic-Christian context. As Stephen Greenblatt wrote in “Hamlet in Purgatory,” the appearance of the ghost wailing at his imperfections means that he is in Purgatory, waiting for his sins to be “burned and purged away.”

But Hamlet being a rational man, we suppose, he forgets one of the most vivid Old Testament commands of Jehovah Himself: “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.” The Biblical reason for this injunction is that mankind is not righteous as God is, does not know all the facts of any given situation, and can easily overreach into unrighteous judgment or willful violence for ends other than retribution. God corrects, while man inflicts. Of course, Hamlet’s call to revenge came from his earthly father, not his heavenly one, which might in fact explain Hamlet’s skepticism later about whether this truly is his father’s shade moving him to murder. But one might assume, from a theological standpoint, that Hamlet cannot trust God to judge Claudius. God offers mercy and grace, and there is little room for that in the heart of a son robbed of his father. Monarchs cannot go unmourned. Hamlet is also caught up in the exuberance of the events around him, which is why he is able to say unashamed that a divinity shapes his ends - indeed, shapes everyone’s. 

 But why do I care so much about the play? Because it was some years later when Hamlet spoke to me personally. I began collecting films of “Hamlet” more than a decade ago, for various reasons – actor’s performances, cinematic history, curiosity. It was while watching Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” that I came across this familiar passage:

“I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air—look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me.”

It came to my mind that I was feeling the same way, and for the same reasons. I had recently lost my father. He wasn’t murdered, and his ghost had not visited – in fact, I was disappointed when I could no longer feel his presence in the world. I frankly expected more of him. It was only some time later that I did feel something – the part of him that he left with me every day he was alive. My father died of the lingering effects of a stroke, and by the time he was gone he no longer had the power of speech. By the way, he had no patience for Shakespeare.

But I didn’t need a ghost come back from the grave to tell me the world, beautiful though it may be, is a cruel place. And so, I felt a sudden brotherhood with the black prince of Denmark; both of us mourning our departed fathers, appalled that the world could dare to go on without them, groping our way forward with frustrated ambition dogging us the whole way.

Also:

The Play's the Thing
Laurence Olivier (1948)
Toshiro Mifune (1960) 
Richard Burton (1964) 
Kenneth Branagh (1996)

Set Your Fields on Fire

The award-winning novel by William Thornton

Available now

Read the first chapter here

Some of the coverage of "Set Your Fields on Fire"

 You can order "Set Your Fields on Fire"for $14.99 through Amazon here.

It's also available on Kindle at $3.99 through Amazon here.
Read an interview I did with AL.com on the book here.   
Here's my appearance on the Charisma Network's CPOP Podcast. 
Here's an interview I did with The Anniston Star on the book. 
Shattered Magazine wrote a story about the book here. 
The Alabama Baptist wrote about the book here.
This piece appeared in the Marietta (Ga.) Daily Journal.
Here's the write-up from The Birmingham Times.
Read a story for Village Living here.
This story appeared in The Trussville Tribune and this video.

Here's my appearance on East Alabama Today.
Story and video from WBRC Fox6 here. 
Here's the write-up in The Gadsden Times on the book.
Read a piece I wrote for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
A piece about some inspiring works for me.

This is another interview with the fleegan book blog here. 

Read a piece I did for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
Read another interview with the fleegan book blog here. 

The Dickens Project: Oliver Twist

Chapter the first: Wherein our hero attempts by divers means to make his way precariously through the collected fiction of Mr. Charles Dickens, if so God should will it. 

True confession – I am only marginally acquainted with the work of Dickens. In high school, I read  - let’s say more accurately scanned – “Great Expectations” and, though I know the plot and have had many occasions to enjoy the story through the movies, I can’t say I appreciated it fully at the age of 17. I have read “A Christmas Carol” several times over the years, and have written about it previously here. But the bulk of Dickens is unknown to me, which is why this year my project is to read as much of his work as I can. If I’m successful, you can follow my progress here. 

Like most people, I came to “Oliver Twist” with the kind of basic knowledge that happens through cultural osmosis for anyone who has seen movies or had any passing interest in literature. I knew that Oliver Twist was a poor boy, and that he lifted his bowl in a workhouse, pleading for more food. I knew he eventually fell in with a fanciful, roguish boy named the Artful Dodger and that he would eventually find his way into the orbit of a Jewish criminal named Fagin. Beyond that, I was fuzzy on the details. 

Perhaps the first surprise in navigating the novel was in learning how little Oliver Twist has to do in the novel that bears his name. Dickens moves the boy around like a precious chess piece, occasionally allowing him to speak heartbreaking words that will either provoke his criminal tormentors into retribution or prick the consciences of those who eventually help him. There are long passages of the novel where Oliver is absent and only briefly mentioned. He serves more as a symbol for the possibility of good in the midst of thriving, busy evil. 

One thing that was totally expected was the occasionally sentimentality of voice. Dickens is a 19^th century entertainer spinning out his message of dignity and responsibility in society, but he feels the need – as did his contemporaries – to tug at the heartstrings. (There is much here to remind a reader of Oliver’s American twins, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.) Because this is only Dickens’ second novel, we feel the strength of a young man when the tugs come. Oliver and the hapless Nancy speak with a voice that is meant to spur the reader into some kind of action:

“Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady,” cried the girl, “that you had friends to care for and keep you in your childhood, and that you were never in the midst of cold and hunger, and riot and drunkenness, and – and- something worse than all – as I have been from my cradle.”

But Dickens’ conscience-poking scenes are also leavened with his comedy. Dickens’ voice is at times gentle, but also sarcastic, caustic, and boiling over with ridicule when necessary for his ends. He is a master of dialect and, by simply modifying one character to speak through his nose, he renders him unforgettable. His tone is occasionally playful with characters who are his favorites, like the Dodger. (it’s a tossup whether the modern reader will be more put off by his continually referring to Fagin as “the Jew” or his referring to the Dodger’s associate as “Master Bates.”) He gives us low men and low places, but doesn’t forget to let us enjoy a little skullduggery, as with this dialogue between Fagin and his stooge Claypole:

“Every man’s his own friend, my dear,” replied Fagin, with his most insinuating grin. “He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere…Some conjurers say that number three is the magic number, and some say number seven. It’s neither, my friend, neither. It’s number one.” 

The novel succeeds, as I expected, when it reanimates for us the dead stones of old London – “that great, large place!” Dickens had already rendered the city in detail in his “Sketches by Boz,” a few of which I’ve read. What Dickens gives us in heaping doses in “Oliver Twist” is a picture of a decrepit, dirty, ruined city within a city. The London of Fagin, Sykes, the Dodger, “flash” Toby Crackit, Charley Bates and the gang is one of filth and decay, with ruined, abandoned buildings and broken windows, where the most cultured civilization of the most powerful nation of his time has fled the scene, taking its money and its ever-present Christianity with it. The indifference of the workhouse and the church are an indictment of the paucity of the society’s notions of charity. In the absence of care has grown up crime, learned through the indifference of the masses to the welfare of its lowest levels. In darkened corners of public houses, we see the true nature of how such neglect can twist the soul, as Nancy reminds us later, in actions extending from birth. 

Dickens uses this scene to its full effect in prosecutorial mode, when he has one of his characters state that he would rather be at the mercy of a Muslim than a Christian, since the Muslim faces the east in prayer, while Christendom, “after giving their faces such a rub against the world as to take the smiles off, turn with no less regularity, to the darkest side of Heaven…”

“Your haughty religious people would have held their hands up to see me as I am to-night, and preached of flames and vengeance…why ar’n’t those who claim to be God’s own folks as gentle and as kind to us poor wretches…?”

The structure of the novel changes abruptly at the midway point, when Oliver is lost to the gang during a burglary and at last taken in by Mrs. Maylie. From this point, the terrors Oliver has been subjected to subside and we begin to learn his origin. Dickens comes very close here to losing the main thread of the action, as he suddenly introduces a new set of characters and Oliver fades into the background for an extended period. We also learn, with a good dose of Dickensian happenstance, how fate has contrived to at last rescue Oliver from poverty. He has a little of the golden child about him, as we had long suspected.

We were allowed, at the book’s beginning and seemingly for no reason at first, to witness the birth of Oliver Twist, much like another golden child. In the second chapter of Luke, Mary and Joseph take the baby Jesus to the Temple for his blessing. There, they encounter Simeon, who has been waiting for the Messiah, and speaks these words:

"Behold, this Child is appointed for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and for a sign to be opposed--  and a sword will pierce even your own soul-- to the end that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed."

Simeon predicts that Jesus, through his holiness, sinlessness and connection to the Father, will provoke those around Him – both for good and for ill, so that thoughts and hearts will be unequivocally revealed in full. After the coming of Jesus, no one may merely pay lip service to God. If you are not for Him, you are against Him. He will not be ignored.

Something similar happens through “Oliver Twist.” The sight of Oliver, his manner, his journey through the heart of disaster, provokes those who come into contact with him. Mr. Bumble the Beadle is revealed as a petty tyrant at the beginning of the story, and faces a suitable end. Fagin knows a boy so seemingly virtuous, so visually affecting, could make a fortune as a thief if taught properly. Sykes’ interest, as that of Monks, becomes clearer as the story goes on, with each inspired to levels of deepening malevolence.

But Oliver’s manner also inspires good from souls who might be considered by society beyond reclamation. Nancy forsakes her criminal career in hopes of helping the boy, to disastrous results for her. And Mr. Brownlow, Mrs. Maylie, and Mrs. Bedwin are moved continually to believe the best of the boy, despite how fate contrives to muddy his personal history. It is these moments of inspired rescue that form the consciousness running through the book – that of Providence looking out for the boy, even as it seemingly does not look out for the teeming masses that Oliver Twist moves about in the streets – the same masses he rises above by the novel’s end. 

Just as evil wishes to twist the boy for its own amusement, the boy’s bright indestructible heart stirs the souls of common and uncommon people to rescue him, in the same way the character’s creator wishes for his legions of readers to act. 

Set Your Fields on Fire

The award-winning novel by William Thornton

Available now

Read the first chapter here

Some of the coverage of "Set Your Fields on Fire"

 You can order "Set Your Fields on Fire"for $14.99 through Amazon here.

It's also available on Kindle at $3.99 through Amazon here.
Read an interview I did with AL.com on the book here.   
Here's my appearance on the Charisma Network's CPOP Podcast. 
Here's an interview I did with The Anniston Star on the book. 
Shattered Magazine wrote a story about the book here. 
The Alabama Baptist wrote about the book here.
This piece appeared in the Marietta (Ga.) Daily Journal.
Here's the write-up from The Birmingham Times.
Read a story for Village Living here.
This story appeared in The Trussville Tribune and this video.

Here's my appearance on East Alabama Today.
Story and video from WBRC Fox6 here. 
Here's the write-up in The Gadsden Times on the book.
Read a piece I wrote for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
A piece about some inspiring works for me.

This is another interview with the fleegan book blog here. 

Read a piece I did for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
Read another interview with the fleegan book blog here. 

Shadows of a Distant, Dark Weekend, Viewed Through a Box

I’ve spent this past weekend in a time machine. 

To mark the 50^th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, CBS News made the decision to stream all four days of its 1963 live coverage over the Internet, from the moment the network broke into its normal programming Friday afternoon, to the conclusion of the day of the funeral. I managed to catch moments over each of the last four days, breaking in occasionally to watch as the day would allow. I carried with me the memory of hearing my parents talk about watching it over that long weekend. 

It was said almost immediately that no single event in human history was ever experienced by mankind quite like the assassination of President Kennedy. When the television drama “Mad Men” depicted the Kennedy Assassination in its episode, “The Grown Ups,” the characters spent much of the weekend glued to their televisions, even as their own lives unravel. 

One of the (many) reasons that weekend is endlessly replayed on television is that it is the first truly major event that television was able to cover adequately as it was happening. Prior to the shooting in Dallas, Americans relied on print media – newspapers and magazines – to inform them. Television was less than 20 years old as a cultural institution when the first reports came from Dealey Plaza, but the way the event unfolded on the medium was the first indication that television news “had arrived.” Reporters had acquired enough seasoning, technology had learned how to employ satellite linkups, and the event itself was tailor-made for what television was able to capture. After Dallas, events would never again be allowed to slowly percolate and mature long enough for someone behind a typewriter to craft the words. Now pictures would largely tell the story, and at the moment they unfolded.  

The network that did the most to distinguish itself that day was CBS News. Its coverage did not begin auspiciously. The newsroom cameras were not turned on when news broke shortly after 12:30 p.m. from Dallas. It took about 20 minutes, once the cameras were turned on, for them to begin transmitting a picture. And so Walter Cronkite was forced to read the news from a radio booth over a title card reading “CBS News Bulletin.” The network broke into the popular soap opera “As The World Turns” to begin its coverage. 

At first, all Cronkite had to rely on were the initial Associated Press and United Press International bulletins from the scene. In Dallas, UPI’s Merriman Smith dictated an item to the wire service over a press pool car phone – “Three shots were fired today at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas.” – just as the press car was pulling into Parkland Memorial Hospital.  It moved at 12:34 p.m., and within five minutes, Smith dictated a flash from the hospital – “Kennedy seriously wounded perhaps seriously perhaps fatally by assassins bullet.” His source was Clint Hill, the Secret Service agent who climbed onto the back of the president’s car following the shots. “He’s dead,” Hill said, but Smith hedged his words, waiting for official confirmation. 

Cronkite’s first bulletin went on the air at 12:40 p.m. For the next 20 minutes, CBS waited for the cameras to become ready while Cronkite continued to gather details from the wires.  Only a few seconds into his broadcast, Cronkite relayed the news that Kennedy’s wounds “could be fatal.”

Journalism at its best is the transmission of objective truth about a particular event, person or time. At its worst, it is the spreading of unverified speculation or invention for notoriety’s sake. It is now possible, 50 years after the fact, to see that some of the theories that came about regarding the death of President Kennedy began in the first white hot moments after. Television made the assassination a communal event, uniting the nation in consuming the facts of the moment, raw and unnerving as it was. Not everyone grieved, but a great majority did, and all were spellbound by what a character in Oliver Stone’s JFK would call “the epic splendor” of an event that was “thought-numbing.” 

In those first few moments, Cronkite – as well as his colleagues and rivals at NBC and ABC – struggled to make sense of a story when news crews still relied largely on motion picture film shot live and then developed to be shown later. Live television broadcasts were possible, but the technology was still in its infancy. The funeral of JFK, as well as the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald two days later, would be broadcast as they happened, but the hardware necessary to do so was not yet in place in Dallas that afternoon, except when the networks, using local affiliates, went to the Dallas Trade Mart to show the banquet hall where the president had been expected to speak. 

And since most of those voices were in New York or Washington, they occasionally would repeat information that was speculative based on fragments from the scene. For example, early reports were that, as the shots rang out in Dealey Plaza, policeman began running up the hill that Cronkite first referred to as “the Grassy Knoll.” A man and a woman crouched on the hill when they heard gunfire and police ran past them. These facts were reported, but they were later construed to mean that the police believed a man and a woman on the knoll had shot Kennedy, and had subsequently been arrested. Eddie Barker, a Dallas newsman, later reported this as a man and a woman on the ledge of a building near the triple underpass at the plaza as being responsible. Cronkite, to his credit, simply said it was not known at the time positively if the shots came from that area. 

There were also early reports that a Secret Service agent had been killed at the scene as well. This was later reported as being confirmed by the Dallas Police. The record was corrected several hours later, but by that time, it was reported that Oswald had shot and killed a policeman in the Texas Theatre as he was being arrested. These jumbled bulletins gave the impression of a much larger, more chaotic story unfolding in the wake of the president’s death. And as is true today, a segment of the population will always believe the first news they hear from any event, accepting it as somehow more authentic than later, more clarifying information, that they assume is somehow an official, dishonestly arrived-at version invented to obscure or create an artificial narrative. 

In the first few minutes, it was also reported that Vice President Lyndon Johnson was perhaps wounded, based on eyewitness accounts that he came into the hospital walking and holding his arm. This, though, turned out to be Johnson’s reaction once he was let out of the car after one of his Secret Service detail had used his own body to shield the Vice President’s. 

There were also various reports on other networks of the shooter being, perhaps, a 25-year-old man, a 30-year-old, “a Negro,” or two men. Later reports, as the days unfolded, had speculation that Oswald had perhaps shot Texas Gov. John Connally because of frustration over his discharge from the Marine Corps, as Connally had formerly been Secretary of the Navy. There were many other instances of this. 

As an observer, it took a little while to get used to the cadences of television from that era. As I mentioned earlier, in 1963 news footage that wasn’t live was largely being shot on motion picture film without sound. When edited and shown later, it was common for studio personalities to either comment over the pictures, describing what the audience was seeing, or to read some kind of description or essay. There were also long stretches during the televised coverage when there was no commentary at all. This was more in evidence during the funeral portions of the coverage. Being used to modern television, where dead air is anathema, I was occasionally heartened not to have a voice superimposed over the action, telling me how I should feel about it. There were other times when I couldn’t help but long for such a voice. 

But I find myself a little disappointed now that the four days are over. At times, I would see the television news personalities and reporters that would have been familiar to viewers in 1963 and I wondered about their individual stories – not just in relation to the Kennedy assassination but beyond television and their careers. I wondered about the faces of people who watched the caisson roll down Pennsylvania Avenue to the sound of those relentless muffled drums, old and young, male and female. What unfolded in their lives beyond that weekend?  Of course, I know what happened to the nation, but how did they individually go on with their lives. Was this just a momentary brush with history, or did it have some kind of lasting effect on them individually? In the chilly air outside the Capitol, the masses that shuffled in spellbound lines to catch a glimpse of the flag-drapped coffin lived in an America that did not know yet that the Beatles existed, where Richard Nixon’s political career was considered over, and the idea of a black man ever being elected President seemed as distant as a phone you could carry in your pocket. 

L.P. Hartley’s famous observation – “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there…”  - came home to me several times watching television from 50 years ago. A studio full of newsmen discussing the biggest story of their lives and interviewing the leading newsmakers of the day, with all of them puffing away on cigarettes, sometimes gave me the feeling of watching a newscast given in a bar. The faces reading the news – and interviewed in gathering the news – were almost always white and male. One of the most poignant images was a black worker weeping at the Dallas luncheon Kennedy never arrived at. When a camera recorded the reaction of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., there was  a sense from the report that all of black America had been heard from and no further interview was necessary from that segment of the population.  

It was a different, more informal time, as well. There was a telling moment when Oswald was shot by Jack Ruby in the basement of the Dallas Police headquarters. The room is full of newsmen from all over the world, and television cameras carrying the action live. CBS relied on the local affiliate for coverage, and switched to Dallas at the moment just after Oswald was shot. Police begin scuffling with Ruby while Oswald is shuffled to another part of the building and an ambulance is called. Reporters begin interviewing each other and any policeman they can find who will confirm what happened or describe the action. The press of humanity becomes so great that several times, reporters have to shoved out of the way of the television camera so they don’t obscure the action. But then, police come back into the basement to cordon off the area and allow the ambulance through. A policeman stands right in front of the camera, his gun visible in its holster hanging at his side. One sees a hand not belonging to the cop precariously close to his gun. (Remember, just five minutes before, the suspect in the town’s biggest murder had just been gunned down in a room full of policemen.) From another side, comes another hand, belonging to a reporter, brushing up against the gun and asking the policeman to squat down so the camera can record the action. The policeman, in deference to the reporter, and in an act which would never be repeated by any policeman today, obliges. 

Probably most distressing was the level of discourse. The pictures may have been in black and white, but the word choices were kaleidoscopic. There was a much higher level of nuance in conversation, and a sense in the reporting that great events were passing before the eyes of those describing them, and therefore, great words should be given. This wasn’t always the case, but there was serious, visible effort. Where now there would be allusions to movies and a familiar bank of well-worn pop culture catchphrases, half a century ago newsmen drew on great literature, which was both familiar to them and their audience. For at least two nights, CBS closed with concerts of classical music conducted by Leonard Bernstein, something that would be unthinkable on any network today save public television. There was a sense of civic responsibility in the reporting, the coverage, and the tone of the weekend, a sensibility that today would be ridiculed or questioned for either being too partisan or not partisan enough. The air wasn’t thick with the unmistakable aroma of snark that seems to infect every crevice of our conversation. 

I do not for a moment mean to suggest that when John F. Kennedy was killed half a century ago that our nation forgot how to talk to itself, or that something passed from the world that will never again fill the air. I don’t believe that to be the truth at all, and in any case, it would take more than one singular event to do so. The history of the sixties and after can provide enough clues. But I would suggest that if we stayed with that broadcast beyond the four days, we might see in the years that followed what the pictures coming from that box had to do in shaping the world we inherited, and we might mourn the passing of something larger than one human life, no matter how great.  

Set Your Fields on Fire

The award-winning novel by William Thornton

Available now

Read the first chapter here

Some of the coverage of "Set Your Fields on Fire"

 You can order "Set Your Fields on Fire"for $14.99 through Amazon here.

It's also available on Kindle at $3.99 through Amazon here.
Read an interview I did with AL.com on the book here.   
Here's my appearance on the Charisma Network's CPOP Podcast. 
Here's an interview I did with The Anniston Star on the book. 
Shattered Magazine wrote a story about the book here. 
The Alabama Baptist wrote about the book here.
This piece appeared in the Marietta (Ga.) Daily Journal.
Here's the write-up from The Birmingham Times.
Read a story for Village Living here.
This story appeared in The Trussville Tribune and this video.

Here's my appearance on East Alabama Today.
Story and video from WBRC Fox6 here. 
Here's the write-up in The Gadsden Times on the book.
Read a piece I wrote for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
A piece about some inspiring works for me.

This is another interview with the fleegan book blog here. 

Read a piece I did for WestBow Press about writing the book here.
Read another interview with the fleegan book blog here.