Mart Twain and the N-word

When I was in high school, I had a history teacher named Salvatore Occhipinti who would announce at the beginning of every school year that any student who wrote what he considered an "intelligent" book report on "Huckleberry Finn" would get an automatic A in the class and be exempted from all exams and papers for the rest of the year.
But, he added, nobody had ever done so.
I was too chicken to take Mr. Occhipinti up on his challenge, and a good thing, too. I probably would have said that the book is a picaresque novel about the adventures of Huck and a runaway slave named Jim as they travel on a raft down the Mississippi.
All of which is true, of course, but it completely misses the point. There's a reason why every great American writer since Twain's time - including Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and T.S. Eliot - has called "Huckleberry Finn" the best American novel ever.
"All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called 'Huckleberry Finn,'" said Hemingway. "There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since."
But now comes word that a publishing company called NewSouth Books is coming out with an expurgated version of the novel, and it's hired Alan Gribben, chairman of the English department at Auburn University, to do the censoring.
At issue: Twain's liberal use of the N-word, which offends a lot of people.
But not in Professor Gribben's version. The N-word has been replaced by "slave."
Only one problem with this approach: It completely negates what the novel is all about.
"Huckleberry Finn" is about racism. It's the story of how somebody who has been a racist all his life - namely, Huck - unlearns his racism, told by the racist himself.
OF COURSE he's going to use the N-word! That's how racists talk! (Or, at least, think.)
Huck is a racist because he's been taught since childhood that slavery is a good thing, that God approves of it, and that if he helps a runaway slave like Jim, he'll go straight to hell.
As he gets to know Jim, he realizes that Jim is a human being just like him, and a very good human being at that.
But his conscience keeps gnawing at him, and finally he resists the sinful temptation to help Jim and writes a letter to Miss Watson, Jim's owner, telling her where her "property" can be recovered.
Then comes the most sublime moment in American literature:
"I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: 'All right, then, I'll go to hell' - and tore it up."
I still can't read that paragraph without weeping for joy. If there's hope for Huck, there's hope for all of us.
But the magic doesn't work if you mess with Twain's words. He knew what he was doing. Despite the use of this disgusting word - or maybe because of it - "Huckleberry Finn" is a profoundly anti-racist work.
I'm sure Professor Gribben is well intentioned. But I'll tell you one thing: He would have gotten an F from Mr. Occhipinti.

Pilgrims' Progress

(Above: Cardinal Newman)

On September 19, John Henry Cardinal Newman, one of the most prominent churchmen of the 19th Century, was beatified by Pope Benedict XVI in a ceremony in Newman's home town, Birmingham, England, that was attended by more than 60,000 pilgrims.
Two of those pilgrims were John Cummins, Bishop emeritus of the Diocese of Oakland, and Rev. George Crespin, pastor emeritus of St. Joseph the Worker parish in Berkeley.
The two have been friends since the early '60s, when Crespin was the very first priest ordained in the newly-formed Diocese of Oakland, which was split off from the Archdiocese of San Francisco in 1962. Cummins was the diocese's first chancellor and Crespin's mentor.
Cummins has been a Newman fan since his seminary days, when he read Newman's famous Advent sermon, "Unreal Words."
"His point was that when you talk about God you're talking about mystery, no matter what you say," says Cummins. "I never forgot it. It made a heck of an impression on me."
As Bishop, Cummins used to quote Newman so much, people would tease him about it. Naturally, he wanted to attend the beatification.
"But I knew how much he hates to travel alone," says Crespin. "So I said, 'OK, I'll go with you.'"
Before traveling to England, they stopped in Rome for a few days to visit some old friends who work at the Vatican.
"That was our only mistake - going to Rome before we went to England," says Crespin. "We should have gone to England first because after Rome, the food in England was a big comedown."
But food aside, Birmingham turned out to be everything they hoped for - and more.
"We had been worried that people might think the Pope was trying to poach followers from the Church of England because Newman left the Anglican Church to become a Roman Catholic," says Crespin. "But there was no resentment at all. In fact, I noticed a number of Anglican bishops at the beatification."
Cummins adds, "The streets were lined with people. They still have a very positive memory of him, even after all these years. They're very proud that he was one of them, and they were very flattered that the Pope came. It was a big deal."
It was a four-day love-fest of welcoming speeches by the Lord Mayor, prayers, scholarly seminars, receptions, and a performance of Edward Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius" (inspired by a famous Newman poem of the same name), performed in the same concert hall where it had its first performance 100 years ago.
But, ironically, they never made it to the beatification ceremony itself. On the morning of the ceremony it started raining cats and dogs, and Crespin suddenly suffered an excruciating flare-up of gout. So, rather than facing the prospect of standing for four hours or more in the rain, Cummins sensibly suggested they watch on TV in their hotel room, instead.
"It turned out to be the right decision," he says. "The Pope speaks with a heavy German accent; and with outdoor speakers and the rain, we would have missed most of what he had to say. This way, we got to hear every word."
Besides, as even non-Catholics like me know, the point of any pilgrimage isn't the destination, it's the journey. And the real journey is the journey inward.

All Things Must Pass

I'll never forget the day Donald Crisp died.
More precisely, I'll never forget the look on my mother's face when I said, "Who's Donald Crisp?"
He was an English character actor who specialized in kindly grandfather roles. (He won an Oscar in 1942 in "How Green Was My Valley.")
But I didn't know that then. So when he died in 1974, my blank stare hit my mother like a sledgehammer.
She was 63 - two years younger than I am now - and at that age you're beginning to feel your own mortality.
For a while, you try to console yourself with the thought that even if you won't last forever, at least the world you've known and loved will.
But then something comes along to remind you that your entire world, too, will pass and be forgotten.
That's what happened to my mother. Donald Crisp someone she grew up watching. He was part of the cultural air she breathed. So my ignorance felt like a death knell for everything she loved.
And that's how I felt a couple of weeks ago when a young friend said, "Who's Don Meredith?"
There's no reason why she would have heard of him. He broadcast his last game on "Monday Night Football" in 1984, long before she was born.
But to me, it was a sign that my world, too, is rapidly fading.
Part of me wants to grab every young person I meet by the lapels and shout, "No! No! Don't forget Dandy Don and Humble Howard! Don't forget Don Sherwood, Tommy Saunders and Russ the Moose!"
But, of course, they will be forgotten. And that's the way it should be.
The younger generations need to make space for their own cultural icons. They don't have room for all the leftovers from my era, any more than my generation had room for Rudy Vallee, Emil Coue or the Clicquot Club Eskimos.
And there's no way we can predict what posterity will judge important. Bach was forgotten for almost a hundred years after his death until he was rediscovered in the 19th century. Ditto for Vermeer.
Then there's that Christmas classic I watched on TV last week, "It's A Wonderful Life."
Believe it or not, it was a huge flop on its first release. When the director, Frank Capra, wrote his autobiography in 1971, he lamented that he would be remembered for "Lost Horizon," "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington" and "It Happened One Night," but not for his favorite film, "It's A Wonderful Life."
"Lost Horizon" was a movie that resonated powerfully for my father and every other man of his generation. But today it's almost forgotten, while "It's A Wonderful Life" is regarded as a masterpiece.
What happened? Simple: The copyright on "It's A Wonderful Life" expired, which freed TV stations all over the country to broadcast it every Christmas. And a new generation of viewers saw it with new eyes.
Incidentally, remember the scene where Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed are dancing on the high school basketball floor, and it opens up and the fall into a swimming pool underneath?
That was my high school. We used to open it up 20 feet and have tug-of-wars, with the losers falling in.
I hope that's one tradition that won't fade.

No Room At The Inn

Remember those ads for Levy's Rye Bread that read, "You don't have to be Jewish to love Levy's?"
Well, you don't have to be Christian to love Christmas, either.
I'm evidence of that. I'm not a Christian, but I love everything about the holiday - the carols, the food, the decorations, the excitement of little children, strangers wishing each other "Merry Christmas" on the street.
Most of all, I love the Christmas story. And I've felt that way since I was a kid.
How can you not? It has everything a kid could want.
Adventure: An innocent young couple on the run, desperately trying to stay one step ahead of the evil king's soldiers.
Suspense: Will the soldiers catch them and kill the baby before they can escape to Egypt?
Intrigue: Who is this baby's father, anyhow?
Irony: If only those innkeepers knew whom they were turning away!
Best of all, the hero of the story is a child.
And not just any child, either. He's a true hero - wise, strong, loving and self-sacrificing.
Over the years, we've done our best to ruin Christmas. We've commercialized it, politicized it and smothered it with kitsch, including a talking snowman, a mutant reindeer and an overweight elf.
But try as we might, the true message of the still manages to shine through, despite everything.
You can see it in the families who spend part of their Christmas day working in a soup kitchen.
And the volunteers who build homes for the homeless.
And the kind souls who take time out of their Christmas celebrations to feed feral cats who otherwise would go hungry.
And the Meals on Wheels volunteers who bring food - and some human contact - to people who are imprisoned in their own homes by illness or infirmity.
And the cops, firefighters, PG&E linemen, doctors, nurses and paramedics who give up their Christmases to work that day to protect the rest of us.
Christians would call this generosity proof of the power of the Holy Spirit, and who am I to say differently?
This hasn't been the easiest of Christmas seasons. The recession keeps dragging on, and people are still hurting.
At the same time, donations to local charities and food banks are down. Many organizations that help the most vulnerable among us are in serious danger of going under.
It's not that people are ungenerous. It's just that we're all so hard-pressed, we feel obligated to look after our own families before we can think about helping anyone else.
And yet we must help them, because there's no one else. There's something worse than not having the latest flat-screen TV; namely, knowing that your neighbor is suffering when you could have prevented it.
And make no mistake: The poor ARE our neighbors. There's a mean spirit abroad in the land, with some people blaming the poor for their own plight.
But I'd rather listen to the man whose birthday we're celebrating this weekend. He said, "Whatever you did for one of the least of my brothers and sisters, you did for me."
So even though we're all feeling the pinch, let's remember that there's always someone out there who is hurting even worse. We truly are our brothers' and sisters' keepers.

Eat At Larry's

Yes, Virginia, there really was a Larry Blake.
The legendary restaurant owner died in 1992, but his fun-loving spirit still rules the eponymous Berkeley eatery that bears his name.
Larry sold it to one of his old waiters, Harry Kealey, in 1978. And although the name was changed in 2002 from Larry Blake's to Blakes On Telegraph, Larry would have no trouble recognizing it.
He founded the place in 1940, financed by $700 he won in a high-stakes poker game from a gambler named Porterhouse Pete - so called because he could devour two 2-lb. porterhouse steaks in a sitting.
Porterhouse Pete became one of Larry's best customers, always ordering the same thing: the 20-oz. "He-Man Steak" ("It takes a man to carry it in, and it takes a man to carry it out," read the menu); two baked potatoes with bacon, sour cream and chives; a double order of salad; a loaf of bread with plenty of butter; three slices of apple pie a la mode; and a pitcher of iced tea sweetened with saccharine because, as he explained, "I'm trying to lose weight."
But Larry's most loyal customers were the generations of Cal students who made his joint their home away from home.
Many were jocks, from Jackie Jensen to Joe Kapp, who held their training tables at Larry Blake's for decades until the cafeteria at Haas Pavilion opened in 1999.
Others were counter-cultural icons such as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin - both lousy tippers, by the way - and Timothy Leary, who spent the entire meal asking for antacids.
Larry was a character, even by Berkeley standards. As a publicity stunt during the 1949 Big Game, he hired a real-life Arab sheik - who was a grad student at Cal at the time - to ride a circus elephant across the Bay Bridge holding a huge sign reading, "I'm going to Larry Blake's for a good steak!"
Back then, a Blakeburger cost $1.25. Today, it'll set you back $5.49. It's called a Blakes Burger now; and, as a concession to changing tastes, it's made from hormone-free Niman Ranch beef.
But the famous Blake's salad dressing is unchanged from the secret recipe Larry invented during World War II, when he was a cook in the U.S. Army.
That secret has been divulged only once: back in the 1950s, when the wife of a local Mafia boss requested the recipe.
"I said no as nicely as I could," Larry told me years later. "Then her husband came to see me and said, 'Suppose I give you this for the recipe?' and handed me a C-note.
"That was a lot of dough in those days, but I refused. So he said, 'Suppose I gave you this?' and offered me two C-notes.
"But I still refused, so he pulled open his jacket to reveal a huge pistol stuck in his waistband and said, 'How about if I give you THIS?' I gave him the recipe."
A few things have changed over the years. For instance, the sawdust on the Rathskeller floor was removed in the 1980s when they installed new sound equipment for the live music acts.
But in every important way, it's still the same old Larry Blake's. Happy 70th anniversary, and may it prosper for another 70 years!

The Spirit of Christmas Past

Ten years ago, the people of El Cerrito confronted a crisis. Sundar Shadi, the man who created the city's most beloved Holiday tradition, was forced by age and failing eyesight to call it quits.
The tradition started in 1949, when Mr. Shadi's neighbors awoke one morning to find a single star in his front yard. It was his way of wishing them a merry Christmas, even though he wasn't a Christian himself.
Every year after that he kept adding shepherds, wise men, angels, camels goats, sheep, doves, spires stars, minarets and domes - all lovingly handmade by Mr. Shadi from papier-mâché and chicken wire and painted by hand.
The display kept growing until it finally numbered more than 150 figures, depicting the town of Bethlehem.
But there were no statues of Jesus, Mary or Joseph. Mr. Shadi was a Sikh, and he came to this country from India to escape religious persecution from both Hindus and Muslims. So he purposely kept the display non-denominational.
The people of El Cerrito quickly took Mr. Shadi and his creation to their hearts.
"To many people around here, Mr. Shadi WAS Christmas," says former Mayor Jane Bartke.
And his fame spread far beyond the city limits. Tour busses used to line up, bringing visitors from as far away as Sacramento and San Jose - more than 70,000 every Christamas time.
Mr. Shadi died in 2002 at age 101. But despite the sadness, something wonderful happened that showed why El Cerrito is such a special place.
From its beginning, El Cerrito has struggled uphill. I mean, how you like to have a busy thoroughfare like San Pablo Avenue as your main street, effectively slicing your town in half?
But despite this, I know no other city that can match El Cerrito's down-home, small-town flavor. It may be in the shadow of bigger cities like Berkeley and Oakland, but its people love it dearly.
So it was no surprise that when Mr. Shadi died, they refused to let his legacy die with him
Under Bartke's leadership, the El Cerrito Soroptomist Club took over the sculptures - with the blessing of the Shadi family - and restored them to their former glory.
In 2003 the Shadi sculptures made a triumphant return, and they've been brightening our Holidays ever since. This year they'll be on display at the corner of Moeser and Seaview every day until 10 p.m. from Dec. 18 to 27.
It's been a true community effort, with individual volunteers joining forces with local businesses; PG&E, which provides the land; and Professional Firefighters of Contra Costa County Local 1230, who, working on their own time, haul the sculptures up the hill every year and return them to storage when Christmas is over.
But now the Shadi sculptures face a new crisis.
"We're getting too old to do this much longer," says Bartke, who is 72. "We need to start training the next generation to take over from us. If we don't get someone to step up, this tradition is going to die."
It's up to you, El Cerritans. The Shadi sculptures have been an important part of our Christmases since we were little kids. Are we going to deny our own children and grandchildren the same experience?
E-mail shadidisplay@aol.com if you want to volunteer.
Merry Christmas.

Dear Santa

"Dear Santa,
"Last year I asked for a pony. I did not get a pony. Do you know what I got? Do you? Guess! Guess!
"I GOT A STUFFED ANIMAL PONY!
"When I say pony, I mean REAL! Do you know the meaning of this word?
"Well, just letting you know that I am a very upset individual. I hope you do better this year!
"With hope and dreams, Emily."

"Dear Santa, Thank you for all the stuff you gave me last year! How did you find the American Girl Chrisa swimsuit? I love it! You rock! Love, Camille."

"My name is Octavio and I am 10 years old. My brother Emilio is 9 years old and Danny is 3. My mom is very sick, so we won't be able to celebrate Christmas this year. My brother Emilio and I are disabled. Danny is OK. I like Transformer toys, and Emilio and Danny like remote control cars. Please Santa come to visit us. And make my mommy well."

Once again, thousands of letters like these are pouring into the downtown Oakland Post Office from children all over Northern California. Some are heartwarming, some are heartrending, and some are simply hilarious.
And once again, the post office is inviting the public to become Santa's helpers for a day and answer some of these missives.
"You don't necessarily have to send a present," says Consumer Affairs Director Elma Ramirez, who founded the Santa's Mailbag project 24 years ago. "Sometimes they're happy just hearing from someone who cares."
On the other hand, if you are moved to send a present, nobody's going to stop you.
To become a Santa's helper, call the Santa hotline at 510-622-7420 and leave your number. They'll call you back and sign you up.
In the meantime, here are this year's batch of letters. As always, the kids never fail to surprise:

"Dear Santa, What do you do after Christmas? My mom thinks you go to Hawaii. How is Mrs. Claus? I was surprised when I saw the golf clubs. I wanted them, but I didn't tell anyone. How do you know that stuff? Love, Caroline. P.S. Tell Comet I said hi. He's my favorite."

"Dear Santa, How are you? How is Mrs. Claus? Did you have a good summer? I did, and now I'm in the 6th grade. I just got my first report card, and you know what I did? My GPA was 3.75, and my report card showed my rad skills. I got 6 As and 2 Bs, so I did awesome! Your friend, Silas. P.S. I will never stop believing in you."

"Dear Santa, I was good because I didn't use bad words. Love, Ritwick."

"Dear Mr. Santa Claus, I have been nice sometimes. I was nice after school today, and I was nice last Thursday. Love, Jennifer."

"Dear Santa, I think I've been a good girl. But I can be rude or mean, so please forgive me. For Christmas I want my family to be happy. Sincerely, Madi-Moo (Madison)."

"Dear Santa, My grandma says I've been good, but my auntie says I've been bad. You be the judge. Signed, Richard."

"Dear Santa, I hope all is well at the North Pole. How are the reindeer doing? I'd really like a horse trailer with a red truck and tons of horses for Christmas. I'd also like to say happy birthday to Jesus. Love, Luke."

"Dear Santa, I have some good news and bad news. I'm sure you already know, but it would be nice to tell you. My mom and brother and I have to move, and we have no idea where we are going. All the money Mom made waitressing she spent on socks and toothbrushes and stuff for us. She is really doing bad this year, so I am asking you for stuff for her. Anything will do. I know she will be so happy. Thank you, Santa. I know you know everything because you are Santa. I know God will help us as well. Love, Jaida."

"Dear Santa, I really like your Macy's store. It's big and full of good stuff. Thanks, Anna."

"Dear Santa, I need supplies for school because I am constantly running out of pencils and paper because my dog, Choco, keeps chewing them. Sincerely, Jose."

"Dear Santa, My name is Choco, and I am a Chihuahua. I really need a chew toy that squeaks because all the toys I have are ripped because I keep chewing them. My owner, Jose, gives me his socks to chew but I really don't like them. Sincerely, Choco."

"Dear Santa Claus, My name is Ashley and my twin brother's name is Chris. We are both 9 years old. My mom is disabled due to spine surgery in 2002, and my dad is 80% disabled due to an injury at work in 2009. We are barely making it with only my dad's disability check two times a month. One check is always for the rent and the other is for food and bills. So maybe you can bring me and my brother some gifts this year. I would like some books to read, and my brother would like a Nintendo game. Thank you very much, Ashley."

"Dear Santa, I know this is a little silly, but may I have a gift card from Abercrombie or Hollister? I've been trying hard to be an extra good girl, but sometimes I am naughty, I have to admit. But I will be fantastic next year! Love, Juliette. P.S. Thanks for the card last year."

"Dear Santa, Hello, my name is Neylan. I wish there were peace in the world. I don't like violence."

"Dear Santa, What kind of cookies do you like? I like chocolate chip, don't you? Hey, why don't you send me back a letter? Then you can put questions and answers on it! Isn't that a great idea? See? See? See what I mean? Man, please? Oh, never mind. My wish list is on the back. Sincerely, Nicole."

"Dear Santa, This year I would like a last generation iPod Nano and a $50 gift certificate to iTunes. If you can't get it I'll understand; but could you, like, try hard? Sincerely, Connor."

"Dear Santa Claus, All I want for Christmas is a Meyer lemon and a plasma screen TV. Love, Brynli."

"Dear Santa, Can you please bring me some warm clothes? You know how much it has been raining and how cold it gets here. Santa, I will be waiting for you and your helpers. Please don't forget about me. Sincerely, Zaira."

"Dear Santa, The North Pole is very cold. If you need help with any toys, come get me. Love, Olivia."

"Dear Santa, My family is a family of six. This year has been a rough year, and we might lose our house. So I don't want something for me this Christmas, I want something, even if it's a small thing, for my whole family. Merry Christmas, Priscilla."

"Dear Santa, I am in the 2nd grade. I do my homework, I help my mom, I'm nice to my family. Thank you for reading my letter. Love, Carlos."

"Dear Santa, I am eleven years old. Some people I meet say you aren't real, but I still believe in you. Please write back Santa. Sincerely, Alysia."

"Dear Santa Claws, I would like my two front teeth and other gifts. Sincerely, Lydia."

"Dear Santa, Thank you for being there watching over us all year. My sister and I are trying to get along as best as possible. I will try to be a better boy until you come see us on Christmas, I will leave you some cookies and milk. Love you, John."

"Hello Santa. I have a question for you. Do you celebrate any other holiday besides Christmas? Please write back. From Christopher."

"Dear Santa Claus, I've done good things. I helped my friends from mean kids. I also got As and Bs. You are the greatest man in the worrrrrrrrrrrld! Love, Geronimo."

"Dear Santa, For Christmas I would like an i-Carly video set, a big ring for my mom, and some money for the Humane Society." (Unsigned.)

"Dear Santa, what would YOU like for a present? Love, Maggie."

"Dear Santa, This year I don't really want anything. I feel so lucky that I have a roof over my head, food and water, and so many great family and friends to talk to.
"I lied - there is one thing I would love. It would be so nice if you could give something extra to families less fortunate than others. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Hattie."