I awoke at 3 a.m. this morning and began a long series of misadventures which found me in the presence of Dave Dryburgh, a rather difficult task since he has been dead since 1948. He observed that I was resurrecting him. What an apt phrase inasmuch, in a real sense, that is what biography does – it restores a dead person to life. I fear I am getting sidetracked by this blog because the mission of my life, at this moment, should be to restore Dave Dryburgh to life.
Looking back on my own life I see that the distraction began over a year ago. Interestingly, I looked too far ahead, becoming immersed in the fear of what would happen to me when the book was finished. The awful truth is that when a biography is finished, the biographer has to kill off her subject. I could not face that thought and began to distract myself with people, places, things. I realized in these early morning hours that I must trust that I will be ok and get back to resurrecting him.
Then as if per magic, sitting on my computer is a piece of his writing which I will share. This shard of his writing is so profoundly clever. I am buoyed. Dave Dryburgh is writing from New York. Three prairie province newspapers have sent him there to observe and record the heavyweight championship of the world – how dramatic that sounds. it is a boxing match and all eyes are riveted on the match between two men. One must remember they are not riveted the way they are today, through the wonder of live television. A fan had two choices. Either you were there or you had to read the observations of a person who was there. So Uncle Dave’s job was to go to the event and write about what he saw. That is how he made his living, he got paid to do that. Whereas, I do not get paid a red cent for doing this.
Dave Dryburgh brought an amazing perspective to his job, my computer revealed. The fight is over, it was a disappointment to all. Uncle Dave took an amazing tack to it. He is so funny.when he says” LOUIS GREAT CHAMPION But Ringsiders Exit Blushing. Is he being literal? No, of course not. Is he being creative? Absolutely. He goes on to say.
Some 15,000 boxing fans wearing wry faces streamed out of Yankee stadium Wednesday night and vowed they wouldn’t tell their grandchildren they had shelled out $100 for a ringside view of Joe Lewis chasing a harmless fellow named Billy Conn to an eight-round knockout back in 1945.
Better that things of that sort should be locked up in the family cupboard.
As a fight it was a dismal flopero. As a spectacle, it might have been fair enough but you don’t pay $100 for spectacles even in these days of inflation in New York.
Uncle Dave went on to say:
The Joe Lewis we saw on Wednesday can knock out Billy Conn every day of the week and twice on Sundays.
Uncle Dave gave a blow by blow account for two or three paragraphs and then summarized the situation in these words.
Conn just seemed to say “to hell with it” and gave up.
I gained such an appreciation for his writing. He invents words (flopero), he uses colloquialisms, he lies (probably no one thought of concealing the purchase of a ticket from their grandchildren, most probably did not even have grandchildren). Then to cap it all of he had the temerity and the tenacity to write to “hell with it” He was writing for three prairie province newspapers in the 1940s. That took some guts. I can imagine more than one editor telling him to take the “hell” out. I can imagine him saying: “It’s staying in!” Dave Dryburgh is, after all, his niece’s uncle.
It is now later, I wrote and then went back to sleep. My vow of the moment is to finish this blog, breakfast and get back to the biography. But first we will go back to mundane matters of yesterday and the day before.
The day before yesterday the Trump International Hotel was littered with U2 fans. It was an hysterical scene, particularly when the fans were trying to get from the hotel to the concert. The staff here again proved phenomenal. Taxis were not to be had so one woman cleverly said: “Get me my car, drive us there and then bring the car back.” Those phenomenal door men did it. But here is the hysterical part. Security (I think) brought up the wrong car, a black one. The man says: “Our car is green but lets go in this one. I don’t care, I am not prejudiced! Everyone piles in but Godfrey yells: “Stop! You can’t do that, there could be liability!” I say: “Go, you might be late for the concert.” But I am laughing so hard I have to leave because I am about to faint from laughing. I asked Godfrey later and he prevailed. The green car was summoned and off they went. See what I mean about phenomenal staff!
Then I rashly asked some U2 fans t I met to come and view my view after the concert. They were on the fifth floor, poor folk. But I told them: “Don’t come and drink all the booze from the mini bar.” They promised to bring their own liquor. When I mentioned this move to Patrick he said: “Ms. McBride, you should call housekeeping and have them remove the liquor from the minibar.’ It was an excellent idea, immediately friendly and funny housekeeping staff arrived and now I have space in the refrigerator for yogurt, milk and other boring food. There are no vegetables in there and never will be, I promise. The people never showed up, by the way.
But the staff is not perfect. I reread Triple C’ s email. (most probably written on his day off). There had been a slight blog card fiasco and I placed him on probation. He demurred saying: “So I am not on probation as FedEx are to blame not me, so Tiple C is still the top man and has a unblemished resume for Ms.McBride hahaha”
Back on probation Triple C! You did not put the R in triple. I laugh. Living well is the best revenge
I am laying low today. It is Mother’s Day and I am staying clear. I have my stocked minibar.
Who needs brunches, spa treatments, dinner and flowers? .
