Historical Fiction

I open the two doors in the morning to catch the breeze, and watch the sun rise a little later each day. I peer through the two doors in the late afternoon, and catch sunset just a tad earlier each evening. Augustus has once more followed Julius on our sturdy rock's yearly revolution around the sun, and I find myself knee deep watching The Tudors these  late midsummer evenings. The fictional license blend of historical people, places and events all set within a great story snares my pea brain every time. I loved HBO's Rome and Deadwood, and this Showtime offering certainly captivates my imagination.  

Since I'm just through season two of The Tudors, I'll reserve final judgment when I finish the series. Both Rome and Deadwood suffered the fate of having too high quality, and thus too costly, productions that were forced to finish their runs before the creators really wanted them to end. Rome's ending was far too abbreviated, while Deadwood just closed like a brilliant play in mid-act because too few asses found the seats and channel each week. Art be damned if ratings points be too small.

The sets and costumes of this current history-as-fiction series I'm engrossed in are the stuff of eye candy. The many intricate plots to advance one group and punish other alliances blends a stew of ancient, modern, barbaric and sublime elements that makes a person ponder if certain animosities can ever be overcome. And really, this makes historical fiction a keen recipe for exploration of our current inescapable dilemmas.

As the news of our every day unfolds with the same unending conflicts between the same unending rivalries it becomes a real struggle for any idealist to imagine peace and harmony for even the briefest consecutive periods of moments. As I watch Henry VIII decide Catherine has lost her value, then remove Anne for failure to deliver, and cozy up with Jane, I visualize these real women of yesterday as the representations of corporate entities, and maybe Microsoft plays the King in our world today. The King's ladies are cast as the various necessary acquisitions to maintain balance, power and deliver a specific type of  product advantage by giving birth to a technological successor of the original. Anyone can conjure from the corporate giants of our digital media communications age the various major nation state leaders to assume the dominion roles of our 16th Century drama. A  collection of the privileged who cajole, bicker, battle and vie for virtual control over the lives and destinies of the common folk.       

The consequence of failure in the corporate world today has been transformed since Henry's time. No one tied to a stake and set ablaze, or submerged in a boiling vat of water if caught working on behalf of the wrong allegiance happens today for those on top. In this era we have the golden parachute for thieves and scoundrels of the court who betray the public and private trusts.  For common people in many places today you simply are not allowed the device, the access, or the ownership of content without major compromises.
 
Change is all around us, even though so many things seem to remain fixed. Sunset arrives and the two doors close.

Thanks for the visit.

Reunion Reflections

Three weeks ago today I was sitting in Sacramento at a Mel's Diner table with my good friend, Mike Farrace. I had the keys to the highway ready for my four hour drive home, but at that moment was chowing down a tasty omelet with big splashes of Mel's java reliving thrilling days of yesteryear while we were both coming to terms with the mundane realities of this year. Getting old is not golden, and rust never stops.

Mike's a really bright guy who created Pulse! Magazine for Tower Records, and oversaw our Internet business model for many years. Never mind that as a home grown Sacramento lad he had just spent the last half-an-hour cruising through midtown completely lost trying to find a little breakfast restaurant on C Street, which after a stop or two for directions from bemused locals sweeping walkways and pruning hedges in the McKinley Park area of Midtown, we discovered so full that a wait of the entire morning was going to be our ultimate reward. Hence, Mel's flavorful cups of boiled coffee with grilled broken eggs amid conversations of technology, music and the man we both revered.    

I made the trip that mid-July weekend to Sacramento to see my friend, mentor and  former boss, Russ Solomon, get a small commemoration at the location where he started his once immense recorded entertainment empire. The Mayor of Sacramento, Kevin Johnson, delivered some warm and heartfelt words of thanks to the man of the hour. A band comprised of several old Tower Records employees serenaded the hundred or so music-business-refugees who gathered in the blistering heat of the mid-day sun paying their respects to a true visionary of the 20th Century. 

It felt like home again with all the familiar faces and voices. Heads now etched with a few more lines under a little less hair bobbed and weaved in the afternoon glare shaking more salt than pepper trying to find the shade. All the eyes danced as youthful as ever, those bright ocular organs suspended in the marvel of life's design, which thankfully masks the wear of time to all but the most keen observers.  The sounds of patchwork dialogs the gathered fans engaged in waiting for the main event soothed my ears like a cool lotion rubbed into parched skin.

The morning of the event I spoke with Russ in the kitchen of  his lovely home, a conversation just like the hundreds of talks we used to have in his office, which was always open. Nearing 85, and with his beautiful wife, Patti, Russ still looks like Russ, loose around the edges but as sharp and keen as the finest blade of cutlery you could find in any kitchen nook when you peer into his eyes and listen to him speak.

We took turns pointing out the obvious business failures of industries over the last age, and the whys. We updated each other on some figures of note we had news of, talked of schisms and current passions while sharing some funny lines along the way. In every conversation  I have ever had with Russ I have always  come out of the discussion with a better understanding of the world around me.  Our two hour chat that Saturday July 17 morning ended too soon, but as was usually the case when the king held court during his long reign as the record guy, he had an appointment to see a host of friends who also hung on his every word.

As I walked out through the big double door entrance of his "two bedroom pad" and looked at the many pieces of sculpted art in the front of the home, memories seemed to escort me to my car. I remember bringing my two now-grown sons to this place many years ago as very young boys to the Stanley and Wendy Goman wedding reception. I still see Wendy putting some cake on Stan's face with laughter and oohs simultaneously erupting from the crowd.  A host of dinners and parties cascaded behind those broad and sturdy doors over the years when any, and almost every, idea seemed conceivable and doable when taken with the right amount of Opus One, or with some other lovely Meritage.

Many of the sculptures, now staring at me in this quiet setting, lived as anti-corporate signposts during a previous existence and adorned the halls of the offices on Del Monte Street for many years. In that past life they gave off an irreverent charm, much like Russ himself, to the people doing business with MTS. The art displayed at 2500 in many ways was the public persona of the  man- complex, intelligent, modern in all respects, and filled with humor. The culture of the company for so many years reflected this amalgam of motive and charm. Be very serious about your work, but don't take yourself too seriously.

Russ appeared that very hot July afternoon on the corner of 16th and Broadway in casual attire, and spoke with such utter humbleness about himself and his accomplishments. He thanked all the people who ever worked for him, and said it was those people who deserved any and all accolades for any lasting achievements the company merited. He handed over the keys to the new owners, Johnny and Dilyn Radakovitz of Dimple Records at the Tower corner.

The heat in the shade was obviously causing my corneas to sweat a little as Russ handed over microphone and keys. Having caught up with Chris at the ceremony, I recreated his Hopson Fade by my lonesome, and walked quietly to my car parked behind the Tower Theater phoning my sons to arrange a dinner meeting that evening, and so avoided  any appearance of being emotionally hammered by people who knew me to be so stoic at public events.

The evening found me in the company of my youngest son (my oldest could not make it due to illness) at Taylor's Kitchen, being served some fine food and some delightful Northern California micro brewed beer by my pal and former cohort in crime, Steve Nikkel. For many years Steve and I teamed up on the video side of the Tower entertainment battlefront waging the good fight for video commerce supremacy. He looked good in black behind the bar carrying on a multitude of conversations with the several dining patrons. We had a blast chatting, listening, munching and drinking.

Back in my hotel room with time to think and very little on the cable, I tried to put the day, and the weekend, into some sort of context. I thought the work choices for the younger set appear to have narrowed considerably over the past thirty plus years. Irreverent and fun are words that no longer fit in the current workplace. So many occupations, professional and otherwise, have taken on an almost militaristic quality today with blind devotion through strict chain of command models operating from centralized decision making locations. The job world has become the antithesis of everything Tower, and Russ Solomon, embraced and nurtured.

I packed my bags.

Now back in Bakersfield, CA three weeks removed from the reunion weekend, I note the progress of the new Target store being erected at the site of a former Robinson-May location at the Valley Plaza mall.  Bakersfield, like so many cities, has become a retail outpost for only the few big-box retail giants who remain, and who slug it out in a commercial war that most closely resembles a Highlander script. The mall is owned by General Growth Properties, a company $27 billion in debt and trying to re-emerge from a year long bankruptcy. The once vital shopping destination now seems in a death spiral and desperately needs traffic Target usually provides. The stores and the offerings at the Target and Valley Plaza border on dreary with an emphasis on boring. 

I also read that Barnes & Noble is now up for sale, as though any other company would want to buy the elephant in the swimming pool with the drain plug wide open. The company that may have suffered the worst blow when this announcement cropped up was Borders, which makes this year probably the last one for that once very cool book seller. It looks like the Mr. Riggio probably wants a private equity partner to take B&N off the public shares roll. The future for print-on-paper with all that devoted shelf space won't be necessary with e-readers and cellular devices. Chock up another victory for consolidation and another big loss for human beings who enjoyed getting together for cultural purposes while crossing all economic lines.

The reunion weekend with Russ and the old gang was a good way to mark the end of the social arts shopping era. The keys are in new hands, and offer a glimmer of proof that small enough and local enough can survive the toughest of times. It will be up to a new constituency to bring back real choices in the various marketplaces and the wages to support those choices.

Thanks for coming by the site for a read.



Photo by Borenstein. Pictured: J. Thrasher, Michael Moore, Russ Solomon and Mike Friedman in an office where cut ties became art.