Further flash: Lonesome Dove and the joys of McMurtry

A couple days ago, I mentioned my love for the book, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. It was turned into one of the best made-for-TV movies/mini-series ever (one of the best Westerns ever, IMO) starring Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones (amongst others). Except for Clint Eastwood, though, the Western as a genre in film and fiction seems to lack appeal for many folks. I think that is why I have often sought to champion the story to anyone who will sit still long enough.

Apart from being extremely well-written (it rightfully won the 1986 Pulitzer Prize for fiction), the book is a wonderful story of cowboys and the Old West - and, at the same time, those trappings of the story are irrelevant to enjoying the book as a tremendously rich and moving work of fiction. Or to put it more simply: you can love this book whether you like Westerns - or you hate them. All you need to enjoy Lonesome Dove is to love a good story (if you love a LONG story, that doesn't hurt either).

I'm telling you all that, so I can tell you this: While spending time thinking about and writing my "flash fiction" piece for The Raisin Chronicles*, I recalled that within the sprawling tale of Lonesome Dove**, there is a favorite passage of mine that almost qualifies as "flash fiction".

McMurtry has 600 pages to set the scene before this paragraph appears in the novel; I'll just tell you this: The following passage refers to a remembrance of July Johnson, a young sheriff from Fort Smith, Arkansas. One of the plot threads in Lonesome Dove involves July's search for his missing wife, which takes him from from Texas to Nebraska.

Listen to what Larry McMurtry can do with 216 words.***

All during the trip [July] had been haunted by the memory of something that had happened in Fort Smith several years before. One of the nicest men in town, a cotton merchant, had gone to Memphis on a business trip, only to have his wife take sick while he was gone. They tried to send a telegram to notify the man, but he was on his way back and the telegram never got delivered. The man's name was John Fisher. As he rode back into Fort Smith, John Fisher saw a burying party out behind the church. Being a neighborly man, he had ridden over to see who had died, and the people had all stopped, stricken, for they were burying his wife. July had been helping to cover the coffin. He never forgot the look on John Fisher's face when he realized he was a day late - his wife had died the afternoon before his return. Though a healthy man, John Fisher only lived another year himself. If he ran into someone on the street who had seen his wife on her sickbed he always asked, "Do you think Jane might have lived if I'd got back sooner?" Everyone told him no, you couldn't have done a thing, but John Fisher didn't believe them.

If you enjoyed that tidbit, I hope you'll pick up a copy of Lonesome Dove and give yourself a real treat.


Take care.


* If you haven't been to her site before, I highly recommend that you check out some of Jeanne's older posts. She is a wonderful writer - you'll find some gems. And new flash fiction pieces are still being submitted - some great stuff!
** 850 - 950 pages depending on whether you're reading hardcover or paperback. Of course, I have both.
*** Microsoft Word counted them for me.

A serious mistake*

"If you only come face to face with your own mistakes once or twice in your life it’s bound to be extra painful. I face mine every day – that way they ain’t usually much worse than a dry shave."
-- Capt. Augustus McCrae (in Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove)

I love that book. That's not the mistake part - I talk about that later in the post. But it seems appropriate to quote the character of Gus McCrae on the topic of mistakes because we share a common trait that seems to get us in trouble: sometimes we just refuse to take serious stuff seriously.Listen to how McMurtry phrases it:

"It was the kind of lapse [Gus] had been subject to all his life: things that were clearly dangerous didn't worry him enough."

My particular brand of this character flaw is highlighted by inappropriate attempts** at humor.

Mistake #1: I still remember vividly sitting in a meeting with the Assistant Division Chief during the later stages of my thirteen-and-a-half year stint with the Internal Revenue Service (that wasn't a mistake either - don't rush me). I didn't know the guy very well - but well enough to realize that he wasn't exactly a fun-loving sort in the office. I don't even remember the specifics of the incident that well - but I do remember one thing: I tried to make a joke in the meeting that was neither appropriate or funny. And I remember another thing even more clearly: As I returned to my office, kicking my own @$$ as a propulsion system, I promised myself I would - from that time forward - refrain from making jokes during meetings with superiors at work.

I've kept that promise pretty faithfully in the fifteen or so years that have passed. It's a pity I didn't expand the promise to cover situations outside the workplace -- until later.

Mistake #2: Once again, my memories of the incident I am now about to describe are not very distinct. (I'm sure that's my convenient defense mechanism against guilt. It's one of those experiences where I remember it now more based on the story being retold multiple times - rather than remembering the incident itself.) I think this occurred in the early Nineties (when the kids were quite small) - but I could be off by five years in either direction. Anyway - this story shares a lot in common with mistake #1 above - except this one's considerably more egregious.

The Middle-Aged Woman got robbed at gunpoint one night in a store parking lot several miles from our home. She was in a state of shock as a result of the incident and stopped in at her brother's home to get her head together before coming home. She contacted the local constabulary from her brother's place - and they treated her like the criminal. Apparently, for suggesting that armed bandits were operating unimpeded by their donut-chomping @$$es!

Suffice it to say: MAW had a rough night.

There's a lot of stuff about that night I don't remember. It may be that I was waiting for her to come home with some supplies I needed to complete work around the house; I can't remember whether I knew about what had happened before she arrived home or not. It doesn't make any difference. It also doesn't make any difference that I had my car broken into some months prior and had my Franklin Planner (and other stuff) stolen - but you'll understand why I mentioned it in a minute.

So, when Snoplum finally walked through the door and told me what had happened, I replied:

"Well - now we've both had our planners stolen."

Not: "Oh my God, Honey! Thank God you're safe."
Or: "Come and let me just hold you"
Or even: "Let's have sex - that will make you feel better"***

So, I have revealed to the world (again) that I am a sh*theel.
And I have (rightfully) never been forgiven for that night. Nor do I expect to be. But I have gotten better at avoiding inappropriate remarks.
I do this by keeping my mouth shut.
Except for that night when someone called the house claiming I'd been kidnapped...

Look - I'm done talking about my mistakes. For now.


Take care.




*Today is the one-month anniversary of "speaking in CAPS". I've been able to post every day for a month! Readers and listeners will have to decide for themeselves if that has been a mistake.
**"Attempts" is the key word here. The slightest hint of success would have been a welcome mitigating factor.
***You can see I still haven't lost the ability to make this sort of mistake, can't you?