Two words that changed LBJ's life

Speech_balloonIn fables and myths, we find plenty of moments when magic words come into play. Not a magic spell -- just a simple statement that unlocks hidden possibilities for somebody who really needs help. Think of abracadabra, open sesame or valar morghulis ... to name a few.

In the case of Lyndon Johnson, 36th president of the United States, two heartbreaking words produced a transformation on the Texan Democrat that was nothing short of magical. That's what Robert Caro said last night.

I had the pleasure of listening to Caro deliver a talk at Claremont McKenna College about his research into The Passage of Power, the latest installment of his mammoth-sized, multi-volume biography "The Years of Lyndon Johnson."

There's nothing better than having a world-class historical biographer describe his research methods: how he studied secret memos and photographs, how he tracked down interviewees, how he dug deeply into historical moments that we all thought we knew.

Take, for example, the hours after the assassination of JFK in Dallas. We all know that the Kennedys scorned Johnson. They called him "Rufus Cornpone," Caro said, and they referred to Johnson and Lady Bird as "Uncle Cornpone and his little pork chop." Johnson stood off to the side, forgotten, while everyone waited news of Kennedy's condition.

Then, Caro said, someone approached Johnson and uttered two words to him that made the situation clear:

"Mr. President."

"In that instant, a change comes over him," Caro told the audience. "A moment of transformation" in which Johnson's stature immediately grows as he realizes what he has become.

I was struck by the magic quality of Caro's narration of that historic moment ... and I was heartened by the thought that words still possess magic.

It's easy to forget this in the constant barrage of twitter feeds, google alerts, etc. Words are cheapened, turned into fast food, discardable. But as Caro reminded me, and as I wish to remind you, my beloved friends, words still have the power to reach into the depths of myth.

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A Challenger memory

The explosion of the space shuttle Challenger on January 28, 1996. Photo credit: NASA I was a high school student when the space shuttle Challenger exploded after takeoff 27 years ago yesterday.

I still remember the shock and horror of that accident. I also remember the extraordinary, consoling beauty of Pres. Reagan's address to the nation, crafted by his speechwriter Peggy Noonan. His speech on the evening news was a brilliant consideration of grief and the risks of space exploration that built to this powerful climax:

The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for the journey and waved goodbye and "slipped the surly bonds of earth" to "touch the face of God."

At the time, I thought those final words belonged to Reagan himself (and his speechwriter). Surly bonds. I didn't know some of the words were in quotes. I didn't know that they belonged to an American aviator, John Gillespie Magee, Jr., a poet who died during World War II.

Here, in the wake of this sad anniversary, is the full text of Magee's poem, "High Flight," which supplied Reagan with the perfect words to reflect the sorrow and dignity of that terrible day:

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.

Where never lark, or even eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

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'I'm still looking for the answers': An interview with Ross King

Ross King, author of "Leonardo and 'The Last Supper' "; Credit: Judith Ghilks Why Italy? Why Leonardo? Why Michelangelo? Yes, these are simple questions, but they're the best ones to present to novelist and historical biographer Ross King, whose latest book is "Leonardo and 'The Last Supper' " (Walker & Company).

I borrowed a page (and some inspiration) from another book blog, The Arched Doorway -- and a nice interview of Karen Dales -- and decided to ask Ross  to discuss the motivations behind his writing (he's far too polite to ever refuse; note his friendly expression to the left).

Our discussion also moved in the direction of thriller writer Dan Brown, but this  conversation took place well before the announcement this week that Brown's forthcoming new Robert Langdon novel is situated in Italy, a country that Ross continually revisits in his nonfiction work.

You've written about Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, Machiavelli, now Leonardo --- Where does your fascination with the Italian past come from?

Ross King: I’m interested in those moments in history when there’s a very definite shift -- a revolution even -- in the way people design, paint and think. Fifteenth-century Florence was probably the best example we have of these intellectual and artistic tipping points.

I’m interested in how it was that a city of only 30,000 people managed to produce, in the space of a century, geniuses such as Brunelleschi, Donatello, Lorenzo Ghiberti, Leonardo, Michelangelo and Machiavelli. I’m still looking for the answers!

Your earlier books included novels, but your most recent books are works of nonfiction -- do you consider nonfiction to be your home, now, or would you consider a return to fiction if the right subject presented itself?

RK: I would definitely love to do another novel. Unbelievable as it seems to me, it’s been fifteen years since I wrote my last novel, “Ex-Libris.” I do have a few ideas, so it’s a matter of finding the time to develop them. I’ve learned a lot about writing in the last fifteen years, so I’m hopeful that I could do a reasonably good job!

How do you feel about books like "The Da Vinci Code" which suggest hidden conspiracies and messages in Leonardo's work? 

LeonardoRK: I don’t agree with many of the popular interpretations of Leonardo’s work. They say more about our own obsessions than those of Leonardo and his contemporaries. But on the other hand I don’t object to anything that makes people look more closely at works of art, or anything that brings artists to public consciousness. Funnily enough, “The Da Vinci Code” was in part responsible for my book on Leonardo.

It was? So Dan Brown deserves some credit for leading you to the subject of your newest book?

RK: Yes, in a way he does. Back in the heyday of Dan Brown, I used to get asked to give lectures on the “real” Leonardo and the truth, or otherwise, of “The Da Vinci Code.” The novel forced me to look very closely at the paintings and also to study the documentary evidence and historical record. It was while doing my research for these lectures that I realized how the full story of how Leonardo painted “The Last Supper” would be a fascinating subject for a book. So I suppose I ultimately do have Dan Brown to thank for that!

Your new book sheds so much light on the creation of a world masterpiece, and I wonder if thriller writers like Brown have actually helped you in another way: to reach an even wider audience. I'd bet that more people know about Leonardo now, thanks to Brown, and that must be helpful to writers with a more scholarly, serious interest.  What do you think?

RK: Yes, it may well be that “The Da Vinci Code” has helped writers tackling the historical Leonardo - such as Charles Nicholl or myself - reach a wider audience. So for that, too, I can make no complaint.

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The 'D' in 'Dan Brown' stands for 'Dante'

IS THIS WRITTEN IN CODE? Dan Brown's signature. In "The Lost Symbol," the most recent of Dan Brown's thrillers featuring symbologist Robert Langdon, there's a moment when Langdon compares the murky, distant secrets of Europe with those of colonial America.

This nation may not be too old in comparison to the world across the pond, but there's a rich tradition of secrecy in this country that is exciting and intriguing. That's what he thinks. Soon after these musings, Langdon sets off on another chase-and-race-against-the-clock that is rooted firmly in red-white-and-blue soil.

In his forthcoming novel, however, Brown -- and Langdon -- are heading back to Europe. The publisher Doubleday announced today that it will publish a new Dan Brown novel in May. The title, "Inferno," refers to the one and only Dante Alighieri and his epic poem of medieval Italy, The Divine Comedy.

Here's Brown, from the news release, on what drew him to the immortal Tuscan:

"Although I studied Dante's Inferno as a student, it wasn't until recently, while researching in Florence, that I came to appreciate the enduring influence of Dante's work on the modern world," Brown says.

What exactly does "enduring influence" mean?  In Brown's world, it also points to a familiar theme in his past books: conspiracy. "With this new novel," Brown adds, "I am excited to take readers on a journey deep into this mysterious realm.... a landscape of codes, symbols, and more than a few secret passageways."

An exec editor at Doubleday also mentions that "Inferno" includes "a mystery that has global ramifications..." (Hm, I wonder if the Priory of Sion ever traveled to Italy.)

I'm looking forward to May so that I can see what Brown makes of a figure whom I've adored for all of my reading life.

My interest in the book isn't entirely neutral -- I have a story of my own involving the poet in the works -- but regardless of that, any time that is spent with Dante is time well spent. There's nothing better than turning off the television and wandering for a few hours with Virgil in Hell or up the slopes of the mountain in Purgatory.

Ciao!

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No one knew Custer better than Connell

Before the battle of the Little Bighorn: Custer and a four-legged friend. "Why he was esteemed as an Indian fighter is puzzling. None of his frontier campaigns demonstrated particular skill or insight. Not that they were botched, just that his strategy could not be called brilliant.... He could be likened more to an actor than to a playwright. Invariably he gives the impression of a man on stage performing as he has been instructed to perform, delivering lines composed by somebody else.  Throughout the Civil War his smashing victories were plotted by other men."

So wrote Evan S. Connell in his 1984 book, "Son of the Morning Star: Custer and the Little Bighorn." A few days ago, Connell died, at the age of 88, in his New Mexico home, according to the Washington Post.

I don't have much to add to any obituary, except that "Son of the Morning Star" is a book that belongs on the shelf of any writer aspiring to write history. Connell breathed life and color into the world of George Armstrong Custer much like Shelby Foote did for the Civil War. He was a writer's writer.

No one lives forever, and 88 is a ripe old age, of course, but that doesn't mean he won't be missed.

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