America lost one its last unique personalities Wednesday--author Kurt Vonnegut. To say that he was only an author, I think, would belittle just what sizable impact he had on literature and ideas in the past 40-some-odd years. He was a brilliant thinker, teacher, political mind, and war-hater. He was a World War II veteran. He was the last "great" American writer in the class of Twain, Hemingway, and Faulkner. And he is, by far, my favorite writer of all time.
Only a year ago I piled into a car on a Thursday night with four other Vonnegutites and drove three hours to Columbus to see him speak at Ohio State. I blame Mapquest and Muncie, Indiana for missing seeing him: the first lead us to the latter, we showed up an hour later than we had planned, and arrived in line after some three or four thousand other students. When we finally got to the door of the small conference room picked to house the event, they shut it in our face claiming fire codes prevented any addition to the already packed venue. After cursing Mapquest, Muncie, and fire codes, the five of us snuck around the outer side of the conference room and peeked into the window. We could barley see the tufts of his mangy, brown afro through the vertical window blinds. And for a few of us, me included, that was enough to justify a six-hour road trip on a school night.
This summer I learned that he was speaking again in my area, this time at Butler University in Indianapolis. Tickets were required, but were free. They distributed all of them in 25 minutes, without saving any for me or anyone I knew that wanted to go. How dare them.
But he didn't make it to April 27, the date he was scheduled for the Butler engagement. He suffered a fall a few weeks ago at his home in Manhatten which caused brain damage, and ultimately his death. In his memoir, A Man Without a Country, he threatened to sue the makers of Pall Mall cigarettes. He explained that theirs were the only cigarettes he'd chain-smoked since he was a young man and that, right there on the box, a warning declared his imminent death if he continued to smoke them. He was still alive, at the time of the writing, so he demanded justice for a promise unkept. Well, Kurt, you got what you wanted. Peace and quiet. Escape from a world gone mad for oil and money and war for both.
Since I didn't make it to that speech in Columbus, I thought I'd close this post with the reflections of someone who did. Enjoy.
(From Harvey Wasserman's, "May Peace Be with You, Kurt Vonnegut" )
Anyone expecting a safe, whimsical opener from this grand old man of sixties rebellion was in for a shock. "Can I speak frankly?" he asked Professor Manuel Luis Martinez, the poet and writing teacher who would "interview" him. "The only difference between George W. Bush and Adolph Hitler is that Hitler was actually elected."
Holding up a book about Ohio 2004, he said: "You all know, of course, that the election was stolen. Right here."
Explaining that this would he his "last speech for money," Vonnegut said he couldn't remember his first one. But it was "long long ago.
"I'm lucky enough to have known a great president, one who really cared about ALL the people, rich and poor. That was Franklin D. Roosevelt. He was rich himself, and his class considered him a traitor.
"We have people in this country who are richer than whole countries," he says. "They run everything.
"We have no Democratic Party. It's financed by the same millionaires and billionaires as the Republicans.
"So we have no representatives in Washington. Working people have no leverage whatsoever.
"I'm trying to write a novel about the end of the world. But the world is really ending! It's becoming more and more uninhabitable because of our addiction to oil. Bush used that line recently," Vonnegut added. "I should sue him for plagiarism."
Things have gotten so bad, he said, "people are in revolt against life itself."
Our economy has been making money, but "all the money that should have gone into research and development has gone into executive compensation. If people insist on living as if there's no tomorrow, there really won't be one.
"As the world is ending, I'm always glad to be entertained for a few moments. The best way to do that is with music. You should practice once a night.
"If you want really want to hurt your parents, go into the arts." He then broke into song, with a passable, tender rendition of "Stardust Memories."
By this time, the packed hall was reverential. The sound system, appropriately tenuous, forced us all to strain to hear every word.
"To hell with the advances in computers," he said after he finished singing. "YOU are supposed to advance and become, not the computers. Find out what's inside you. And don't kill anybody.
"There are no factories any more. Where are the jobs supposed to come from? There's nothing for people to do anymore. We need to ask the Seminoles: 'what the hell did you do?'' after the tribe's traditional livelihood was taken away.
Answering questions written in by students, he explained the meaning of life. "We should be kind to each other. Be civil. And appreciate the good moments by saying 'If this isn't nice, what is?'
"You're awful cute" he said to someone in the front row. He grinned and looked around. "If this isn't nice, what is?
"You're all perfectly safe, by the way. I took off my shoes at the airport. The terrorists hate the smell of feet.
"We are here on Earth to fart around," he explained, and then embarked on a soliloquy about the joys of going to the store to buy an envelope. One talks to the people there, comments on the "silly-looking dog," finds all sorts of adventures along the way.
As for being a Midwesterner, he recalled his roots in nearby Indianapolis, a heartland town, the next one west of here. "I'm a fresh water person. When I swim in the ocean, I feel like I'm swimming in chicken soup. Who wants to swim in flavored water?"
A key to great writing, he added, is to "never use semi-colons. What are they good for? What are you supposed to do with them? You're reading along, and then suddenly, there it is. What does it mean? All semi-colons do is suggest you've been to college."
Make sure, he added, "that your reader is having a good time. Get to the who, when, where, what right away, so the reader knows what is going on."
"As for making money, "war is a very profitable thing for a few people. Jesus used to be so merciful and loving of the poor. But now he's a Republican.
"Our economy today is not capitalism. It's casino-ism. That's all the stock market is about. Gambling.
"Live one day at a time. Say 'if this isn't nice, I don't know what is!'
"You meet saints everywhere. They can be anywhere. They are people behaving decently in an indecent society."
The greatest peace, Vonnegut wraps up, "comes from the knowledge that I have enough. Joe Heller told me that.
Kurt Vonnegut: 1922-2007: "The only proof he need for the existence of God, was music."
So it goes.
