Killing Kennedy: The Immortalization of Figures Through The Pulling of Triggers

Hello, and welcome to my blog! If you haven't visited yet, now's as good of a time as ever. Because well, this'll likely be my last post on it. So feel free to read everything I've written on postmodernist historical fiction and leave some comments. I'll try to get back to you if you do! You too, Alek Hidell and C.E. Lathrop.

Just a warning: I'm a bit jumpy/excited as I write this. Two 44 oz. Polar Pops of Mountain Dew and a 5 Hour Energy will do that to you...

Anyways, here's what I'm listening to today as I write. Stumbled across it on Pandora the other day...quite the coincidence, or perhaps a conspiracy? Not to mention the fact that my sister just finished writing an 8th grade paper on JFK, and his assassination. FYI, telling your sister a bunch of conspiracy theories regarding the assassination isn't the best way to help them out, as I've learned. Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, song I'm listening to as I write this: Gostan, by Klanga. Literally a song MADE from a JFK speech. How much more postmodern can you get than that? There's great saxophone accompaniment too...worth the listen. Also check out the De Hofnar Remix if you got time. Good stuff.

Now anyways, you're probably wondering to yourself, "Jacob, what does some song made from a JFK speech mean to a blog post?" Let me tell you...I wouldn't be writing this post if it wasn't for this song. Well, also if it wasn't for Lee Harvey Oswald...or Raymo, or Ferrie...or whoever was actually involved in the JFK assassination. Because without the JFK assassination, I wouldn't be able to write a blog post about "Killing Kennedy". Neither would Bill O'Reilly have been able to have written a book with the same title (he even brings up de Mohrenschildt! Apparently he may be more relevant to the whole thing than I had thought...).

Simply put, the song made me realize the impact of Oswald's actions, or in the case of Libra, the actions of killing the president. JFK was an iconic president, with a knack for speaking diplomatically and handling situations as he saw fit. And his role in American history and culture was cemented by his assassination, a traumatic end to what could've been, what people now refer to as "Camelot". His assassination was undoubtedly a big deal, but I didn't realize how good (or how seemingly good) Kennedy was as a president or as a diplomat until his "Ich Bin Ein Berliner" speech, as I heard it in the song. I've heard the cliched line, "Ask not what your country..." so many times, but it's never stuck with me. It exists today as a cliche of patriotism, hiding the fact that it was part of a great speech, one of many that Kennedy would give. The assassination immortalized Kennedy, moreso than any other president's death, with perhaps the exception of Lincoln. Nobody talks about Eisenhower much these days, despite his construction of the interstate highway system, a huge part of American life today. Few people discuss the impacts that William Howard Taft had on America, besides getting stuck in a bath tub. Why is that? They weren't killed, they just died and faded away. Kennedy was with us and all around us in our lives, and then all of a sudden, he was gone. Whenever I talk to older family members (grandparents and that generation and above) about the Kennedy assassination, they can tell me exactly where they were, what they were doing, and who they were with. It was such an iconic moment in American history, similarly to how 9/11 was to the next few generations.

As we see in Libra, and as we discussed during the panel presentations today, we can understand the motives behind which Oswald may kill Kennedy: America likes to believe in lone gunmen, as one student mentioned. And by believing in lone gunmen, we highlight and focus on specific individuals in the course of doing evil deeds. We all know that Oswald (supposedly) killed Kennedy. We all remember Lee Harvey Oswald, by his full name, for that. Nobody knew Lee Oswald before that, outside of the people who had interacted with him. By killing Kennedy, Oswald, an outcast in both the capitalist US and the polar opposite USSR, cements himself into American and world history through this action. No longer is Oswald an irrelevant speck of dust in the universe, he is rather the sun, around which a solar system of history, stories, fact, fiction and conspiracies revolve. Killing Kennedy not only immortalizes Kennedy, but it immortalizes Oswald in the process.

And then, Oswald was assassinated, two days later. As we see in Libra, we see an angered Jack Ruby shoot and kill Oswald, in a way to pay off mob debts. Thinking that it will enhance his patriotism and make him seem as a hero, instead the opposite occurs. Ruby is seen as a killer, who destroys any chance of holding Oswald accountable for his actions or getting to the root of what happened that fateful November day. I don't know anybody who sees Ruby as a hero, they see him as the guy who killed Oswald, messing things up in the process. Oswald also becomes immortalized in conspiracy theories because his side of the story is never told, because of Ruby. And Ruby becomes immortalized as another figure involved in the immensely confusing mess that is the Kennedy assassination.

Libra shows us an alternative view at one of America's most convoluted parts of history, exploring it from the perspectives of the figures involved, showcasing a variety of opinions and beliefs of those figures, which could not be any different from how they are actually viewed today. The actions on that day immortalized the most prolific individuals involved in the incident to this day, in manners both similar and completely different to what they expected.

Will we ever know who killed JFK? Was it Oswald, Raymo, the Umbrella Man, or the Babushka Lady? Was it Connally, the limo driver, or even Jackie Kennedy? Was it Bill O'Reilly? Was it my uncle Neil? The world may never know. But what we do know is that the assassination was an important part in American history, and that some of the supposed figures involved are remembered to this day, 53 years after the fact.

MJ, signing out. Consider this blog stapled shut. Nice Swingline 747 there...anybody ever seen Office Space? :-)

Final Project

So I really, really liked by Final Project for this class, and thought I might as well share it with everyone. Why not? Stay tuned for a post soon on Libra....

BARTMAN NIGHT

JACOB RAJLICH

October 24, 2016

It’s a Monday evening at Wrigley Field. Crowds bustle around me, entering the hallowed playing grounds of the Cubs, playing for a chance to advance to the World Series, a chance to win the pennant. To win a pennant would be spectacular, a feat which hadn’t occurred for the Cubs in seventy-one years. And a pennant victory meant that the Cubs would have a chance to win their first World Series in over a century. On this evening, the Cubs were going to play in Game 6, up 3-2 in the series, against the Marlins. The dreaded Marlins...

The Cubs and Marlins don’t have a bitter rivalry between them, but rather a modern history, a painful one in the eyes of the Cubs. For it was thirteen years ago against the Marlins, that the Cubs had their most unlucky game, in the history of their 108-year streak of relative mediocrity. It was then, on October 14, 2003, that it happened. The Steve Bartman incident. Anybody who happened to be watching that game, Game 6 of the NL Championship Series, knows that Bartman can’t be blamed for what transpired. Well, anybody with a smidgen of common sense can’t. There were a lot of people that lacked common sense then. There’s a lot of people that still lack common sense now. Bartman messed up a play on a foul ball, allowing the Marlins to take the lead at the end of a game, and then win the series. This whole series, people have been talking about Bartman. About him, his actions, his seat in Aisle 4, Row 8, Seat 113 along the left field foul line...Bartman was all anybody wanted to talk about.

Bartman was coming up because tonight, the Cubs somehow managed to put together a “Steve Bartman Night”. Regardless of the fact that Bartman had practically been hidden away for the last thirteen years for his own safety, the Cubs had managed to pull him out of hiding, to make his first public appearance since the incident, throw out the first pitch, and sit in his trademark seat for the game. How Bartman agreed to become involved is unknown. Probably the exchange of large sums of money, exorbitant sums, considering Bartman had turned down TV deals for five to six figures.

I pull out my ticket, have it collected, step through the metal detector, and go inside. I haven’t attended a playoff game since that fateful 2003 season, where I saw the Cubs play in Atlanta as a young toddler. I wonder what’s in store this time around, and if I’ll be able to see history, in the making. Suddenly I notice myself not starting to feel well. I become dizzy and images start blurring. I go to the nearest restroom, go into the stall, and lock the door. All of a sudden, everything darkens into nothingness. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I can’t see, or hear anything. I don’t know what’s going on.

Mens’ Restroom, Upper Deck, Third Base Side

Slowly, my sight comes back. I’m back at Wrigley, in the stall. Thank God. I was starting to worry what was going on. Then, I notice it. The stall’s different. The freshly painted walls are now a dingy off-white, chipping in places. What is going on? I open the stall door, walk out past the urinal troughs. Nothing different there. I head out the door, into the stadium. The cool breeze of a Chicago October afternoon, coming off the lake, is the same. Then I notice it, looking out over the field. The scoreboards, the digital ones, are gone. The Budweiser board in right field, the Wintrust video board in left. There’s only the classic one in center. There’s a Cubs game going on, for sure. The Cubs are out on the field doing field practice, in their home white uniforms. There’s something strange though with the fans. Nobody’s wearing Bryant, Rizzo, or Arrieta uniforms, like I had seen so often during other games this season. Instead, I see numerous fans wearing Mark Prior’s 22, Sammy Sosa’s 21, Aramis Ramirez’s 16. Apparently a lot of fans decided to throw it back for Bartman Night, and dress up like it was 2003. Some strange sort of historical re-enactment.

“Pitching for the Cubs tonight, Mark Prior,” says the PA announcer over the intercom. I stop in my tracks. What? It had been ten years since Prior had pitched for the Cubs, since Dusty Baker had destroyed his shoulder through the stress of countless games where he threw over 100 pitches, even over 120. This is surreal. I run up to a fan, hoping I may be able to find out what’s going on.

“Damn, they’re really getting into the 2003 vibe tonight. Going all out for this Steve Bartman Night, I suppose,” I say to the fan.

“Steve Bartman? Who’s that?” the fan replies.

“You know, the fan who screwed up Alou’s play on the ball, Game 6 of the NLCS in 2003, 8th inning. Started a Cubs meltdown, they lost the game and the series the next night. World Series drought continues. He goes into hiding for the rest of his life, until tonight, when he’s the main honoree at the game today. That Steve Bartman,” I reply. “Seems like everybody here tonight would know of him. He’s on your ticket, after all.” I pull mine out, the piece of printer paper with a barcode on it to be scanned upon entry, showing it to him.

“What the hell is that? That’s not a Cubs ticket! Hell, it says 2016 on it. My kid’ll be graduating from college that year,” the fan says, confusedly. He pulls out a ticket stub out of his pocket, the old-style, classic Cubs ticket. He shows it to me. “This is a Cubs ticket for tonight’s game. Goes for a pretty penny too. Not every day that the Cubs are playing in the NLCS.” I look at the ticket.

“Chicago Cubs vs. Florida Marlins at Wrigley Field,” it says. “Tue Oct 14, 2003 3:00 PM” is the date inscribed on the stubs ticket. I look up in disbelief at the fan.

“Thanks,” is all I can get out as I hand him back his ticket stub, rushing away. It’s Game 6 of the NLCS against the Marlins, alright. But it’s 2003, not 2016. I don’t know why I’m here. But I am. And there’s only one thing I can do: make sure Steve Bartman doesn’t get that ball.

October 14 2003, NLCS Game 6: Top of the 8th

This is crazy. Prior’s still on the mound. With over 110 pitches to his name, Cubs manager Dusty Baker doesn’t even have anyone warming up yet. I’ve made some money on bets. A fan comes up to me, hands me a $20.

“You’re one crazy son of a bitch to think Baker would keep Prior in over 110 pitches. But you’re right. Baker’s gonna kill that kid if he keeps this shit up,” he mutters. Apparently, I’m not the only “psychic” at the stadium that night. Somehow, I’ve managed to find myself a seat. Somehow, I happen to be just over from Bartman. Bartman sits there, watching the game, unaware of what is about to transpire, how is name is going to go down in history if I can’t stop it. A Marlins batter pops it up. 5 outs from heading to the World Series. I get up, and walk down to Bartman.

“Excuse me, sir. Would we be able to trade seats? I’m willing to pay up to $100. I’m just a row up and a handful of seats over,” I tell him.

“What? Why? You must be crazy,” he says, with a look of surprise akin to that he’d be giving in a few minutes, sitting there in his seat, adorned in his green turtleneck, only just starting to comprehend what he had done.

“That seat, and $100, is yours if you want it,” I say again. Thank God for those bets. I don’t need the money for anything else than getting Bartman out of the seat.

“Sure, but you’re crazy,” he says. I hand him five 20s, he gets up, and moves over there. I sit next to a man in gray, waiting for the foul ball to come our way.

Luis Castillo is batting, full count. This is it. He hits a foul ball, way left and short of my spot. He fouls off another one, a high looping one which lands deep in the stands. This foul ball will be it. Castillo swings the bat, connects with the ball. I can see it headed our way.

“Alou’s got it, Alou’s got it!” I scream. A man in gray stands up, in an effort to get the ball. “That’s Alou’s!” I yell. Alou comes running, and the man in gray reaches out over the wall, reaching for the potential souvenir. Alou jumps. I grab the man’s hand, pull it away. Alou makes the catch. Four outs to go.

Prior strikes out the next batter. 127 pitches, eight shutout innings. Cubs 3, Marlins 0. Three outs to go. The Cubs have this thing in the bag. The Cubs offense the next inning delivers, knocking in four runs. Sosa hits a two-run home run, making me think back to the days where I watched him play on TV. Joe Borowski closes out the game. Cubs win! Cubs win! The players dogpile on the pitchers’ mound. As I stand up and high-five the man next to me, it happens again. I fall over, over the wall edge. Everything goes black. I’ve done it, I think as I fade away. Steve Bartman will not be hated for years, and will be able to live a normal life. And who knows, the Cubs might just end their World Series drought in 95 years, years before that game in 2016.

Suddenly, everything starts to come back. But things aren’t the same.

Bathroom

I reappear inside a restroom, inside a bathtub. A residential restroom. This isn’t Wrigley. The only tubs there were the urinal troughs. This can’t be Wrigley. I get up open the door.

A woman screams, then shouts, “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Sorry, I just showed up here. I don’t know what’s going on!” I stammer.

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” she continues to scream.

“Where’s the door? I’m sorry. I really am, I just don’t know where I am,” I reply quickly, jumbling my words in the process. She opens the front door, I run out, into a hallway. I see the sign for an elevator, and take it down to the lobby. There, set into a marble wall, are two words, carved out of some black rock.

ADDISON PLACE

Addison Place? What’s that? I’ve never heard of such a place. I run up to the main desk, where a well-dressed man, with hipster beard and glasses, sits waiting for any call to duty.

“Excuse me, sir,” I ask. “Do you know how I could get to Wrigley Field? And also, what’s today’s date?”

“What?” he says, with a sarcastic drawl in his voice. “It’s October 24, 2016. And you’re as close to Wrigley as you’re gonna get.”

“Huh?” I reply, confusedly.

“Very funny, I haven’t heard that one before,” the man replies. “Now if you don’t mind, I have better things to do,” ending the conversation abruptly as he returns to reading his Twitter feed.

Dammit. Once again, I’m in a place where nobody is willing to help. But it’s October 2016, I’m back where I was. I’m confused out of my mind. I step outside, onto a street corner. Then I see the street signs. Addison & Clark. I’m right where Wrigley should be. The classic McDonald’s is still across the street. Wait? Wasn’t that torn down in March? What the hell? Maybe they’ll be able to help me figure out where I’m at.

I walk inside, to find it empty, with the exception of a couple people behind the counter and a lot of pictures of Wrigley on the walls. And then I see it. A photo of a wrecking crane knocking in one of the walls. A small gold plaque underneath the image says, “Wrigley Field Demolition. November 4, 2007.” I go up to the counter.

“What happened to Wrigley?” I ask.

“Tore it down, when the team left town there was no use for it anymore. Somebody turns it into luxury apartments, makes money I guess,” the cashier says. “Business ain’t what it used to be, that’s for sure. I’ve owned the place for years. We used to get a ton of business. Now we barely get anything. We’re closing at the end of the month, so they can put up another high-rise here.”
“The Cubs moved? To where? The suburbs?” I wonder out loud.

“If only, there ain’t no Chicago Cubs no more. You wanna see the Cubs play, you go to Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas? Why the hell they move to Las Vegas?”

“Money, man. Controls everything in these parts. Cubs win the World Series in ‘03, they want to make a bunch of improvements, now that they’re a quality program. They don’t have a quality stadium though. It’s too small, city won’t let ‘em put up video boards ‘cause it’ll block the view of the rooftop seats. And Las Vegas makes a nice offer. ‘Hey, we’ll subsidize the construction of your stadium? You pay us 25% of ticket revenue, you get a nice stadium, biggest in the MLB, nicest in the MLB, for only a fraction of the cost out of your pocket.’ City and the state footed the rest of that bill. An offer they just couldn’t refuse.”

“So, you’re telling me the Cubs play in Las Vegas now? They got a playoff game tonight, right?”
“Where you been for the last five years, man? Cubs ain’t no playoff team, they’re the worst team in the NL West. Giants and Dodgers have been smashing the shit out of ‘em ever since the move. Dunno what it is or why, but them Cubs haven’t been the same since the move. They lost the fanbase, they lost Wrigley, they lost their drive to win it seems. The players just take home their paychecks, the Cubs make a bit of money, and they’re happy with that. They broke the drought, now they see no need to win it again. It’s a shame, really. The Cubs had a bright future, in a great place with great fans. But Las Vegas ruined that. The money game ruined it. Fans don’t go anymore, and you can’t even really follow ‘em if you wanted to. Barely get TV time, and they’re an afterthought in the papers, man. If only the Cubs had waited a handful of years to win a World Series, maybe, just maybe, things would be different. Damn, man, you’re making me sad just thinking about it.”

“Thanks for the explanation,” I say sadly. “Could I get a Big Mac?” Perhaps Bartman wasn’t the worst thing to happen to the Cubs after all, I wonder. I hit the floor again, as everything goes back to black once again.

October 14, 2003

I wake up in a booth in the McDonald’s. I look out the window. Wrigley’s there. And so are the fans in Prior jerseys. Back in 2003, at least. A chance to right wrongs, a second chance to make things right, now and for the sake of the Cubs’ future. 2003 was not meant to be the Cubs year, and I can’t allow it to be. The McDonald’s staff pulls out a TV on a roller cart, the old style black box one. We watch the game, as it progresses just like I know it will. The eighth inning comes, Castillo bats. The third foul ball ricochets off the hands of an unfortunate man wearing a green turtleneck and headphones, an image which won’t leave the minds of Cubs fans for years to come. With that, the Cubs fell apart. They lost that night. It wasn’t Bartman’s fault. But Bartman changed the mood of the game, put the Cubs into a very different situation which allowed for the shortstop Gonzales to botch the play. And botch the play once more, he did. The game ends with a crushing loss, the Marlins scoring eight runs after the Bartman play to win, 8-3. I thank the McDonald’s staff, step outside, and walk down the street. I see a man, in green, being rushed into an unmarked vehicle, that peels off and heads down the road.

“My God,” I mutter under my breath. “They’re taking the poor bastard into hiding.” For the last time, I fall over, as everything fades away.

October 24, 2016

I sit up on the stall seat. I hear Pat Hughes on the radio, lamenting about Schwarber’s early-season injury. Thank God. It’s 2016, and the Cubs are playing October baseball. Maybe, just maybe, this’ll be the year. As I walk out of the stall, I look at the ticket, trying to figure out where exactly StubHub has me sitting. Aisle 4, Row 8, Seat 113. The Bartman seat. What a coincidence, I think, as I settle down in my seat. A man comes up to me, offering money to take my seat. Is he like me, trying to change the past to make a seemingly better future, or just a fan hopped up on the nostalgia of “Steve Bartman Night”, hoping to sit in the iconic seat. I can’t risk it, to allow history to be altered and take the Cubs down with it. Whatever happens must happen. I respectfully decline, take a drink of my soda, and begin to fill out my scorecard. Go Cubs!

Author’s Note

The story above was largely influenced by my reading of Kindred, by Octavia Butler. The helpless time travel dynamic of the novel, in which Dana is left to the mercy of whatever is controlling her travel through time, makes for a unique storytelling where rather than many sci-fi novels where the main character finds a way to control time, both Dana and my character (referred to in the first-person, it’s a combination of myself, my die-hard Cubs fan mother, and a handful of fans I’ve met in the times I’ve gone to Wrigley) are controlled by time, having to make decisions in situations that could potentially alter the course of human events forever (though in Dana’s case, with much more severe consequences than the relocation and collapse of a great baseball team). The narrative was also somewhat inspired by the Back to the Future films, with the idea of the character going back to change, what has already been changed, by that same character themself, getting another chance to right wrongs and make everything right once again.

I happened to choose the Bartman story because it’s one that has always fascinated me. The idea of one fan ruining a possibly playable ball (having watched the footage, I’m quite dubious if Alou had a play on it), in turn ruining the game, the series, and even the season to some, is ridiculous in my eyes. What would’ve happened if Bartman hadn’t gotten involved? Would the Cubs be better off or worse off? The Cubs are in the great position they are in today, thanks to Bartman. The Ricketts family wouldn’t own the team, and have transformed it into a great program without Bartman. Jim Hendry would still be the manager. The story, in a way, is a tribute to Bartman in his role in making the Cubs who they are today, though rather exaggeratedly. Rather than bash him, we should realize the unique role he may have played in putting the Cubs where they are today, if we want to even say that he affected that game whatsoever.

This was a lot of fun to write, and I may continue to work on it or other fictional stories based around the Cubs, and/or Wrigley Field experiences. The Cubs are a team with such a rich past, that it seems like it could be quite the project, a set of short stories titled The Time Travels of a Diehard Cubs Fan, or something like that. Maybe a summer project! I hadn’t written fiction in a long time prior to this, and I hope to be able to do even more in the near future on my own!

Bibliography

Babb, Kent. "Steve Bartman's Agent Keeps the Wolves from the Door." Washington Post 15 Oct. 2015: n.

   pag. Chicago Tribune. Web. 26 Apr. 2016. <http://www.chicagotribune.com/sports/baseball/cubs/

   ct-steve-bartman-20151010-story.html>. This article explained a lot about what Bartman has

   done, and gone through, since that day in 2003. Gave me a bit of insight into talking about how

   a fan might see Bartman's reclusiveness, and to provide some factual basis into the strangeness

   of a "Bartman Night", given his seeming unwillingness to return, or even be featured in TV

   commercials for large sums of money!

Catching Hell. Dir. Alex Gibney. ESPN, 2011. ESPN. Web. 26 Apr. 2016. <http://espn.go.com/video/

   clip?id=13883887>. ESPN documentary on the Bartman incident, and a similar error in the 1986

   World Series, useful for gauging fan reactions at the time, and discussing it as a historical

   event as a different context through which to view the incident.

Cubs-Marlins, Oct. 14, 2003 (8th inning). By Jeff Agrest. YouTube. N.p., n.d. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.

   <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZ-4mHW-YRY>. Game footage, as televised of the 8th

   inning, from before the Bartman play through the Marlins' run to the lead and eventual World

   Series title. Of note to a baseball fan outside of the Bartman context is pitcher Mark Prior,

   who pitched over 110 times prior to anybody even beginning to warm up in the bullpen.

"Steve Bartman Incident." Wikipedia. N.p.: n.p., n.d. Wikipedia. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.

   <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Bartman_incident>. A general background of it.

Lee Harvey Oswald: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

*NOTE: This post was written while listening to the soundtracks of the National Treasure films. Be warned that examples of inane, US History-centered conspiracy theories will make up the gist of this post. Please enjoy the little tidbit above. These obviously can't all be random coincidences...something's obviously going on.*

*SIDENOTE: While this post is somewhat inspired by the National Treasure films, there will be no Disney special effects. There may be a hyperlink at some point. That's the closest I get. Also, there will be no Nicholas Cage. Sorry for getting your hopes up.*

Anyways...there's a lot which we supposedly know about Lee Harvey Oswald. Dude shot and killed JFK, ran away, got arrested and was shot and killed by Jack Ruby before there was a trial. With the lone gunman dead, all traces back towards a cause/motive are eliminated, and we know little to nothing about what transpired with the assassination, and why it happened. In fact, most people don't know a whole lot about Oswald, prior to that fateful November day in Dallas. Heck, I've read a lot on the JFK assassination and the various conspiracies and what not, but I knew little to nothing of his prior life before I read Libra, by Don DeLillo.

DeLillo constructs a unique, creative narrative in which Oswald is merely a pawn in an extremely complex plot by two former CIA operatives, who aim to cause a war between Cuba and the US following the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, by creating an intentional near-assassination attempt to be pinned on the Cuban intelligence agency. Additionally, in the course of word breaking on the attempt, the operatives hope that the CIA's role in attempted assassination attempts on Fidel Castro enter public knowledge, helping discredit the agency. It's an incredibly complex plot, with new elements and characters being introduced in seemingly every chapter.

So far, we're not sure how Oswald factors in exactly to their plot...the CIA knows of Oswald, and thinks he may be potentially useful, based on his Communist digressions (Oswald defected to Russia, before coming back to the US), and experience in the military (though his shooting records are less than clear, with both great and poor marks coming up, along with an incident where he "shot himself in the left arm with a sidearm" (DeLillo, 92) ). However, as the operatives want to pin the assassination on the Cubans, I'm unsure about how they plan on fitting Oswald into that role, since having Communist leanings doesn't seem like a strong enough case.

Anyways, the point I'm making is that DeLillo crafts a uniquely deep portrait of Oswald, more three-dimensional than many of the narratives, photos and videos that we see of him, or based on him. DeLillo goes back through time, piecing together facts from Oswald's tough childhood, growing up with numerous fathers through various marriages, but never really having a father figure he can look up to, through his troubled military service and into the assassination. Sometimes, I've stopped and hesitated while reading, and a Google search or two proves that a seemingly minor detail in the narrative is indeed factual. This contrasts with the other postmodern novels we've read, where the authors constructed a shell of fact which they built off of to create their fictional narrative. Rather, DeLillo creates a web of interweaving facts (with regards to Oswald, that is...for all we know, DeLilllo's JFK conspiracy narrative is completely fictional...or is it? We'll see in 2017 when pretty much the rest of the documents regarding the assassination are released.), and then adds fiction into these facts, creating a narrative that seems to be fictional, despite the fact that DeLillo's central character, Oswald, is based so heavily in fact.

Despite the fact that we're already 150 pages into the novel, I think we've just dipped our toes into the conspiratorial waters of this novel, and I'm loving it. As an avid history enthusiast (especially of the presidents), I love reading JFK conspiracy theories, and this is one that stands alone from all others, suggesting that the CIA unintentionally killed him. I can't wait to see what DeLillo does in the rest of the novel, and the plot will undoubtedly become even more complex before we're able to completely comprehend it, if we're ever able to.

MJ, over and out.

Surprise, Nicholas Cage does show up!

MJ, over and out. For real this time.

EDIT: Somebody pointed out that the original conspiracy image was a meme. There are many correlations, but that one is only partially true. Some are BS. Use your better judgement. I was duped!

A better version...

And some wise words from Abe Lincoln himself...

MJ, over and out. For the last time.

Not Your Everyday Time Travel

In Kindred, Octavia Butler constructs a unique method in which time travel occurs: there is no DeLorean, no TARDIS, no futuristic watch. Time travel just happens. And we, as readers, are immediately thrown into this sudden occurrence of time travel, without rhyme or reason.

Take into account the opening of the first chapter, "The River": "...I began to feel dizzy, nauseated. The room seemed to blur and darken around me...I heard him move toward me, saw a blur of gray pants and blue shirt. Then, just before he would have touched me, he vanished."

We don't know why Dana is time travelling, nor does she. And as we find out, Dana seems to go back in time whenever Rufus, a distant ancestor of hers, finds himself in trouble. Dana also realizes that Rufus must have a child, Hagar, with Alice in order for her family lineage to go as planned, and for her to be born in the first place. Kinda like what happened in Back To The Future, though sans DeLorean/mad doctor/skateboards/what not. Oh well...though a DeLorean would be cool.

By constructing a time travel based in something that is largely unknown, to which there's only a vague reason behind it that we can comprehend, the novel manages to avoid one of the defining factors in most novels involving time travel: the science fiction behind the time travel mechanism. By doing so, Butler is able to focus a lot more on the development of characters, across time periods, as well as the historical plot and background of 1800s Maryland. In fact, despite being a time travel novel, Kindred comes across to me as more historical fiction than science fiction, a rarity in time travel novels. Heck, I don't know of a single time travel novel which I would classify as not being a sci-fi.

The nature of Dana's time travel also creates an interesting perspective through which Dana lives in the 1800s. Since Dana knows that she will return to the modern day if she finds herself in danger of being killed, many of the risks that she, as a black woman, would have in those times are either nullified or greatly lessened in their impact. She will not be killed as punishment, and if it seems possible that she might die, she returns. Similarly as we see in the end of "The Storm", Dana also has the power to bring herself back to the present by trying to kill herself, as seen when she slashes her wrists. This gives her, as Jonah mentioned in class, a sort of privilege that other blacks in Maryland at the time lacked, the ability to get away free from many of the punishments and hardships that others faced.

Then again, time travel novels have twists...and it wouldn't surprise me to see a twist in the end of this novel, ending up with Dana getting stuck in the past or something along those lines...maybe once Hagar is born, her danger/Rufus' dangers are irrelevant, and she's stuck wherever she is? We don't know. We can't use what's happened to certainly predict what will happen in the future, and it's quite possible that what ends up happening may not be like how it's happened in the past (Click this link for an example of that playing out.). We'll have to wait and see, and I think that Butler does something with the novel's time travel dynamic to shake it up a bit in the end, considering its unpredictable nature from the beginning.

Aliens: The Root of an Anti-War Novel

As we discussed in class, the role of the Tralfamadorians, and the alien narrative, was largely discussed in its role in the anti-war novel. There were a lot of varying opinions, and I felt like I was the only one who took the aliens as being a crucial component to making Slaughterhouse-Five an anti-war novel. In fact, I'm not sure we could see it as an anti-war novel without the aliens, rather than just as a grim depiction of war.

Throughout my reading of the novel, I wondered how Vonnegut would frame Slaughterhouse-Five as anti-war. And I wondered how the alien narrative fit in. And both of these began to make sense on page 116. Here, Billy tells the Tralfamadorians about the war, saying, "Earthlings must be the terrors of the Universe! If other planets aren't now in danger from Earth, they soon will be. So tell me the secret so I can take it back to Earth and save us all: How can a planet live at peace?"

Rather than respond with a response, the aliens covered their eyes, an expression indicating how stupid his statement was. The point of this? Earth's wars are insignificant in the scope of the universe, and nothing the Earth does will have an impact on the events of the universe throughout time. Rather, it is the Tralfamadorians who end up destroying the universe, despite any accidental attempts by warring Earthlings.

While back in Dresden and during the war we get a largely negative depiction of war and imprisonment, that's a pretty standard depiction. I haven't seen anything, outside of military propaganda of the time, which promoted war as a fun, happy time. The negative depiction of WWII by Vonnegut serves to make us dislike the war and sympathize with Billy and the other soldiers who went through the hardships, but the anti-war angle of the novel comes from the fact that the fighting of this war meant nothing. WWII cost thousands upon thousands of lives, yet did nothing to change the course of the universe, and even Earth didn't have a huge change in its course, despite the change of powers. Part of this meaninglessness of WWII, as told by Vonnegut, is also aided by his hesitation to mention Nazism and its evils, and then does so quite fleetingly. The evils perpetrated by the Nazis aren't the moral basis on which the war is based in Vonnegut's narrative: the war is a war between Americans, Englishmen, and Russians against the Germans. We don't see why the Germans must be defeated. All we see is a war between these two sides, a war which ultimately ends up ruining and/or ending the lives of many, making the Earth a worse-off place at minimal benefit to the Universe (that is, in the context of the novel...in no way am I saying we shouldn't have fought Germany or Japan for what happened, it's just that that is not brought up, and seemingly irrelevant to, the story Vonnegut chooses to depict.)

Vonnegut uses the aliens in Slaughterhouse-Five to illustrate the futility of human actions, specifically of war and its massive consequences, by showing how human perception of war, and the dangers humanity possesses to the universe, are completely unimportant to those who understand the Universe's fate, and as a result, show the pointlessness of their happenings. Rather, the aliens choose to focus on the happy parts of their lives, while humanity bases itself in its futile conflicts. In my opinion, Vonnegut is pointing out that all wars are pointless, and as a result, are bad, rather than just categorizing all wars as bad in general. The fact that they are pointless drives home why there shouldn't be any, because they fail to accomplish anything meaningful.

A New Conspiracy Theory

First and foremost, I need to explain the situation I'm writing this in. I got six hours of sleep last night (I typically need nine.), I haven't had caffeine in like two weeks now, and I'm listening to dramatic music by Hans Zimmer on repeat. Needless to say, I'm kinda all over the place and may be thinking irrationally.

Secondly, I started thinking about conspiracies and Mumbo Jumbo during class today, after Mr. Mitchell brought up Antonin Scalia and the International Order of Saint Hubertus (fancy white guy secret society who hunt and wear purple robes...wouldn't purple scare off any animals?). And I wasn't thinking about conspiracies in the context of The Knights Templar, The Wallflower Order, or the Atonists. I was thinking about it in the nature of Mumbo Jumbo itself. Mumbo Jumbo is not an ordinary book. In fact, it's probably one of the most far out books I've ever read (the other candidate: The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker, a brilliant novel about nothing yet everything, the Seinfeld of postmodernist literature, and a tenet to his 20th Century Novel Course).

Back on topic now...Mumbo Jumbo is far out, and I'm kinda far out right now. Anyways, conspiracy theories are far out, so I got that going for me. Plus, the whole irrational state I'm in makes me the perfect candidate to create a conspiracy theory? When's the last time you heard one from a completely sane, rational individual? That's what I thought!

SO...here it is: Mumbo Jumbo is not a fictional tale. It is an autobiographical tale, in which Papa LaBas is telling the story of himself in the 1920s through his current persona, Ishmael Reed. Much like Hinkle von Vampton, LaBas is immortal. I mean, if Vampton can be, then why can't LaBas? This is a pretty shaky conclusion, I must admit. But a few points in the epilogue cemented a few points in my theory, or at least presented a few rather specific similarities in the characters of LaBas and Reed. First off, LaBas is described as a "Ghede..., unafraid to march up to the President's Palace and demand tribute" (211). First off, the Ghede are "the family of Loa that embody the powers of death and fertility" (1). This seems to partially explain how the very old LaBas has managed to survive into the 1970s, and perhaps continue living into the present day. Secondly, the mention of the President's Palace, in the context of a collegiate lecture, seems to indicate the home of the University's President. Reed lectured at UC-Berkeley for 35 years, despite having been denied tenure at the university throughout his time there (2). Just as LaBas fought to get the ability to lecture on Jes Grew, Reed fought for tenure. And while LaBas kinda won unlike Reed, he mostly lost in that he wasn't taken seriously. Kids left early, showing up for the bare minimum, probably providing the bare minimum of attention. While LaBas got what he want, he didn't really, because what he did failed to amount to anything useful to many. The other major point that made me think LaBas and Reed were the same person was on the last page, describing how "people in the 60s said they couldn't follow him...[and even] walked out". This is quite reminiscent of the view many had on Reed's controversial writings of the '60s, when "satirizing the black literary tradition in a period of Black Power" did not help Reed make allies at the time (2). Both Reed and LaBas faced uphill struggles throughout time, and it makes me think that perhaps, just perhaps, Reed and LaBas are the same person. Or perhaps, in a much more likely case, Reed based LaBas, especially the later LaBas, on himself. 

Anyways, it's just a crazy conspiracy theory, so take it with as few grains of salt as you think it deserves. ;)

Thanks for reading!

MJ

SOURCES USED

1: WikiPedia Page on Ghede

2: Modern American Poetry Bio on Reed, UIUC

A Whole Lotta Mumbo Jumbo

If there's anything I've noticed so far in Mumbo Jumbo, it's that it's a pretty confusing book. There's a lot of characters, and a whole lot of stuff going on. What should I focus on? Who should I focus on? There's the Wallflower Order, the Knight's Templar, the Mu'tafika...Warren G. Harding is a president planted by the Order. There's something going around as Jes Grew, and the Wallflowers are trying to stop it? But why? And why's the book called Mumbo Jumbo? Well, I think that it has to do with the book being so far, a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo.

Now what's mumbo jumbo, one might ask? According to Merriam-Webster, there are multiple definitions, but the most fitting ones here are "unnecessarily involved and incomprehensible language", as well as "language, behavior or beliefs based in superstition", which just like Mumbo Jumbo itself brnigs up originated with the Mandingo people of west Africa. There's a lot of relatively incomprehensible language, as well as superstition going on, so mumbo jumbo is most definitely involved, though indirectly. And this language is on both sides of the story.

For one, you have the "Jes Grew". What is this? The Wallflower Order treats it like an illness or disease, which must be eradicated. But it really doesn't seem to be a huge deal. It's just the new dance craze, coming in with jazz and merging with the ragtime era, which we discussed a lot with our last book, aptly named Ragtime. Jonah brought up a really interesting point, saying that "Jes Grew" sounded like a mispronunciation of "jazz groove", and represents not only jazz but the entrance of black culture into mainstream America. It's a really good point, considering "Jes Grew" is nonsensical on its own...it must mean something, after all! In fact, if you start saying "Jes Grew" over and over again quickly, it kinda morphs into jazz groove. It wouldn't surprise me either, that outsiders screw up and misunderstand whatever they're trying to figure out, and in this case, stop.

Then there's also the Mu'tafika? Who are they? I mean, I've heard of the Knight's Templar, the Masons, the Illuminati, and the affiliation of the Wallflower Order makes sense, but these guys aren't part of the established conspiracies running everything for years. Nick Cage hasn't gone up against these guys or found their treasure yet, after all. Unlike the Jes Grew, there name doesn't seem to be made up by the whites but is rather a name of some sort, and not a mispronunciation of a term for one who performs Oedipal actions.. Research shows up that "Mohammedan writers [wrote about] the mu'tafika, i.e. the Sodom of the Bible", so there seems to be a connection to real things, presumably Islamic in nature, which in turn fits with the ties it has with Abdul Sufi Hamid.

There's a whole lot of things which may at first seem like mumbo jumbo in Mumbo Jumbo, but with some interpretation and research, some of the confusing aspects of the novel can be cleaned up and become less unknown and more integrated into the complex, confusing plot of the novel.

On a side note...similarly to Ragtime, the novel seems to be starting with a lot of character introduction and setup, making it quite disorienting at first. There's also some plot similarities, especially in the Atonist plot, which hopes to bring in a figure similar to Booker T. Washington in Ragtime. I wonder what's gonna happen next...there's also, once again, the integration of fictional and real characters into a world which is both true and false at the same time. Love the whole "what is history" discussions we've had, so I can't wait to see how this plays in here.

Hope you enjoyed reading!

Jacob