Of Finns And Holes In The Head...

The Finns are below, but for a smattering of my pathetic social life as told through Baseball Cards see http://bowltilithurts.com/articles/carded-by-life--2 I'm like the CarrotTop of sports bloggers. Enjoy!!

Taking part in any war, let alone one of the trench variety, takes, as Mick Foley once put it, Testicular Fortitude. That’s why the ferocity and heroism of the combatants in the 1939-40 Winter War between Finland and Russia, as described in William R. Trotter’s tome A Frozen Hell, is so surprising.

Commencing on November 30^th and fought entirely on Scandinavian soil, much of it within a mortar round of the Arctic Circle, this prelude to WWII must have had the smallest testicles per man of any battle this side of the Grey Cup.

Of course the smaller the potatoes the bigger the steak looks and in this case size did matter. For while the Finns had the fight in the dog, the Russians had more dog(s) in the fight. So like a Mastiff on a Maltese it was just a matter of time.

The best thing Mr. Trotter does here is understand this was a small conflict that can be contained in a small book- 278 pages including notes and bibliography. But that doesn’t mean it fails to capture the atmosphere or the lessons of the war.

Thus we learn in detail the sacrifice and heroism of any number of men with Double-A’s and umlauts in their names. Plus get a vivid sketch of the “Father of Modern Finland” Marshal Mannerheim, an iron-willed, German trained autocrat who can only be conjured up as wearing one of those helmets with the point on top favored by 1960’s motorcycle gangs that terrorized the highways but could never seem to get the best of Billy Jack or Frankie Avalon.

Not the kind of helmet you want to forgetfully leave on, say, the front seat of your car…

As for lessons we learn never trust your neighbor no matter how friendly. Aid to the Finns was consistently blocked by both Norway and Sweden who professed their neutrality despite angry (though probably empty) threats from France and England leaving one to wonder how the Swiss do it. But most important Trotter points out the ineptitude of the recently Stalin-purged leadership of the Russian forces which leads to sweeping changes that ultimately and just barely kept Moscow and Stalingrad from being knee-deep in strudel.

Recommended for all with an interest in WWII the best part of A Frozen Hell is you can relive this bitter, sub-zero conflict with your feet propped up and your testes toasty! Just as God intended…I’m guessing…

I know this girl is Swedish, but now….I’m fin(n)ished…and suddenly sleepy…

 

I believe it was lead-throated crooner Tom Waits who said, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.” But after reading The Lobotomist by Jack El-Hai I can see the benefits of a little of both.

The Lobotomist is basically a biography of Dr. Walter Freeman the man who pioneered and promoted lobotomy in the U.S. from the 1930s to the 1970s. As legacies go even Edsel Ford chuckles at Freeman, but at the time there were extenuating circumstances surrounding and some benefits of this controversial surgery.

That’s because up until the arrival of Dr. Freeman on the scene the general therapies for the severely mentally handicapped included swinging beds, water treatments that could make the Freedom March through Selma, Alabama look like kids under a sprinkler, electro-shock and injecting patients with enough insulin to cause a hypoglycemic coma. Lobotomy wasn’t much better, but it did show promise among patients with Neuro-Syphilis, a disease so horrible its AMA proscribed cure at the time was to inject the patient with malaria.

Frontal Lobotomy…As Jerry Seinfeld once put it if the procedure they’re performing on you makes other doctors want to crowd around and watch…well, that can’t be good.

So in this light you could say at least Freeman gave it a shot. Problem was he kept giving it a shot long after safer more effective treatments were developed. In fact during the late 40s and 50s the not-so-good Doctor took off on a tour of rural Mental Health facilities that saw him performing a dozen or more “icepick jobs” a day.

So if as the Mathematician/Philosopher Pascal wrote, “All man’s problems stem from his inability to sit silently in a room alone” then Walter Freeman did his part to make the world a better place. Hey at least it made things a little quieter and as any parent can tell you sometimes that’s all you ask for.

And to think all this poor bastard wanted to do was wet his whistle and watch the ballgame…

Make me your own personal David Koresh and become a Follower so you’ll be updated on our newest posts. The link is at the top right. Or follow us on Twitter @sprtcom102 because that’s the keys my head hit when I passed out on my laptop. Back soon with something about Russians I’m thinking…

On Indians...And Not The Kind From India...Or Cleveland

Whenever I read a book about Native Americans (Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Empire of the Summer Moon) my first thought is “it’s gonna be hard to get happy after this one”…then I dose myself with some Fire Water and things get back to normal.

Now I’m no Indian scholar- in fact until a coupla years ago I thought Atlanta Braves mascot Chief Nocahoma was reference to some Pre-Columbian Chief and not a bad pun/play on words- but the problem is the story is always the same. A relatively peaceful, hardworking people are done in by money, technology and government lies…you know, like today’s middle class.

The twist in In the Spirit of Crazy Horse by Peter Matthiessen is that it covers the modern era in Indian Wars as led by the late 60’s/early 70’s American Indian Movement (AIM) with a small assist from a fat Marlon Brando.

The kinda Native American that could get me to build a little “teepee”…

The narrative revolves around the killing of two FBI agents in 1974 at a shootout on the Pine Ridge Reservation, S.D. and the subsequent trial of three members of AIM deemed responsible. That means in excess of 600 pages of conflicting accusations, bureaucratic inefficiencies, FBI snooping, witness tampering and perjured testimony that never really definitively gets to the truth because, after all, that’s not what our adversarial justice system is about.

Additionally there are several long sections pertaining to controversial prosecution witness Myrtle Poor Bear. Described as a roly-poly, dim, semi-literate with a taste for honey (though I could be wrong on this last one) I consistently read her name as Myrtle POOH Bear thereafter taking some of the gravitas out of the narrative. Plus in a more ironic turn I couldn’t help but wonder if the wives of members of the White American Movement (WHAM) asked their husbands to “wake them up before you go-go” on their nightly reservation Indian bashing raids.

If you’re into Native American history this is an interesting read. Much like tomes such as The Warmth of Other Suns detail the forgotten hard times of post-Civil War, pre-Civil Rights blacks, In the Spirit of Crazy Horse reminds us things weren’t all rosy for American Indians once they laid down their weapons and took up government-assisted living. Then again if you wanna cut to the chase and see how the whole sordid affair turned out you can just visit your local casino…

Chief Double Down welcomes you…

Like all John O’Hara novels Butterfield 8 features a flawed protagonist that drinks too much and dies in the end…and even though that hits a bit too close to home I like it.

The thing I like best about O’Hara, though, is his ability to conjure up a 1930’s America so vividly that you feel like you’re there. Yet at the same time leave in all the self-doubt and insecurities that people seem to forget when they reminisce about these supposed good ol’ days.

All in all a sad, but well-written tale which really is all one can ask for in or of life. As I tell the former student who always asks, “How’s that Dream Catcher I made for you in art class?”…it’s still empty. Maybe I’ll try O’Hara’s Rage to Live next. The NY Times Book Review says it’s filled with nymphomania, alcoholism, incest and more…That can’t end well and I like it already.

Elizabeth Taylor as she appeared in the film version…and but half the woman she later became…

More Stupid Book Reviews either below or to the right at the links “A Blunder Down Under” and “A Pair To Open”…

A Blunder Down Under...

BOOKS: This week we feature the definitive one volume history on the founding of Australia, The Fatal Shore by Richard Hughes. When read while sitting on a rickety futon in threadbare sweatpants while drinking a can of Milwaukee’s Best and eating off-brand Dollar Store chips packaged in Haiti this is the kinda book that makes you feel better about your life. Though I must admit after reading page after page of nakedness, rape, sodomy, flogging and penetration of virgin bush I’m beginning to think the British misinterpreted the phrase Penal Colony.

…not the virgin bush the first 300 convicts dropped at Botany Bay encountered…fortunately for these girls…

This book also features Sir John Franklin better known as an ill-fated Arctic explorer and the title character in the book The Man Who Ate His Boots by Anthony Brandt. While the previous title ended in the successful colonization and of course ultimate independence of Australia the latter has the added bonus for misanthropic cynics like me of detailing lives lost, money squandered and cannibalism resorted to all in the pursuit of a useless goal- The Northwest Passage. Even in our current age of global warming the Northwest Passage to the Pacific over Canada, while passable, is still economically worthless. So as I turn up the heat and crack another cold one it reminds me to always heed the words of that Bard of the Bowery Charles Bukowski…

…drunker words were never spoken…

Our first post in the new format is to the right featuring the latest from Hampton Sides and Cardboard Gods by Josh Wilker along with a picture of Sharon Stone for some reason I can't recall right now.

Be back with a story of Native Americans and, what the hell, John O'Hara to boot!