Month: November 2001

Categories
News

Navajo Nation

At the end of the day, Monument Valley is a sight worth seeing.

Driving east from the Grand Canyon, it’s easy to believe the land has never changed. It doesn’t need any alterations, and people wouldn’t want to bother, other than building some roads. The views are forever, from sagebrush at your feet to mountains on the horizon, with canyons cutting and buttes looming. Perhaps it’s a sad commentary, but it’s country which always makes me think of car commercials — the “open road” winding through hilly desert to far-off peaks — and it always makes me drive just a little faster.

There are people who live out here, though. The Navajo live here. Their presence seems to have a little of the eternal quality as well. They were here, after all, when the collective, mostly-white “we” arrived a few hundred years ago. But to the land, a few hundred years is like a week or two. Granted, it’s been a hectic and action-packed couple of weeks, but measured by the scale on which, say, canyons are formed, we are small and short-lived.

But we sure can make a mess, can’t we? Coming downhill from the east end of the Grand Canyon, the first signs of human habitation read “Welcome to Navajo Lands” and “Indian Shopping Next Right.” A small part of me, either the ignorant or the naive, wanted to say, “Surely the natives haven’t gone all commercial too!” But, looking around at the reservation, I wondered what else people would do for money, if not sell stuff to tourists.

We waited for a convergence of two desirables: natural wonder and shopping. We stopped at a viewpoint of the Canyon of the Little Colorado, which, after a day at the Grand Canyon, looked like a parking-lot fair after a day at Six Flags. But it’s also telling of the landscape: Every now and then you come across something like a 200-foot-deep canyon. We stopped and shopped.

In the windswept parking lot there stood a long row of booths, most of them empty. A few had tables covered with what we would soon call “the usual”: turquoise and silver jewelry, dream-catchers, bracelets, and pottery. It was all handmade and beautiful. Behind each table there were those constants of small-town America: young kids and old people. Everybody else seemed to have left.

Back on the road, I saw a sign for the next shopping area. It advertised a place with “nice Indians.” Perhaps some people need to be reassured of this on occasion.

We went through towns of cinder-block houses and falling-down lean-tos. In the yards were old cars, bathtubs, 50-gallon drums, basketball hoops, and kids. One yard hosted a collection of lawn mowers, another a starting gate from a horse track. We went through Red Lake, where there was no lake of any color, Moenkopi, Tuba City, Tsegi, Chilchinbito, The Gap, Mexican Hat, Bitter Springs, Mexican Water, and Sweetwater.

We had Navajo on the radio and a copy of The Navajo Times. In that day’s news, the Navajo Nation was struggling with the casino question (government wants it, people don’t), a local kid signed a basketball scholarship with Stanford, and a panel studying relations with the state decided that “the root of the problem is the separation or removal of the Navajo people from their culture and language.” From such commissions generally come such helpful specifics.

In every one of these towns, at every restaurant, museum, post office, and gas station, they offered tours. Tours of Navajo National Monument, one of many places where there were cliff dwellings. Tours to see rock formations like the Elephant’s Feet and dinosaur tracks. Tours of ghost towns. But most of all they offered tours of Monument Valley.

Monument Valley is, among sights on the reservation, the show-stopper. It was also our mecca. It’s one of those places that you see pictures of and say, “I need to go there.” It’s also like a semi-famous actor: People might not recognize the name, but they see the picture and say, “Oh, yeah, that guy.” Imagine a row of pinkish rock towers, each a couple hundred feet high, scattered through a desert and generally photographed at sunset. You’ve probably seen a cowboy smoking a cigarette there.

We were trying to get there for the sunset pictures, which meant skipping the Navajo Code Talkers Museum. During World War II, the Marines took dozens of Navajos into the Pacific because nobody off the reservation could speak the language. The Japanese never broke the code.

After all the driving and shopping and gawking, we found ourselves at dusk standing by a barbed-wire fence beside the highway. We had arrived at the Sight in the Moment. In front of us stretched Monument Valley in all its pinkish glory: the cliffs, the sky, the sunset, the emptiness. I let out a long, deep breath. The view was like a message from a higher power. It said to me, “Don’t worry about all the other crap. This is what you came for. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You can e-mail Paul Gerald at letters@memphisflyer.com. You can also check out his new book, 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: Portland (Oregon), published by Menasha Ridge Press.

Categories
Book Features Books

Pulp Nonfiction

The National Enquirer

Thirty Years of Unforgettable Images

Talk Miramax Books, 253 pp., $45

Never mind for the moment who. The question is what has gotten into America’s premier rag, The National Enquirer. Respectability, to judge from the new coffee-table book The National Enquirer and to judge from an essay, contained in that book, on the tabloid’s recent stabs at mainstream journalism and its past mastery of paid journalism. But your 45 bucks aren’t going for a self-congratulatory essay. They’re going for the pictures of celebs and politicos, hangers-on and 15-minute media darlings, somebodies and nobodies caught in the act of being themselves, and the more humiliating, the freakier the photos, the better. The book’s layout is good and clean. The book’s “unforgettable images” are something else, and let’s begin by working our way down (or is it up?):

Bottom line: the piece of patchwork known as Michael Jackson, in brutal, full-color close-up, laying hold of a petrified 7-year-old leukemia patient. Jocelyne Wildenstein, wife of a billionaire art dealer, full-face and demonstrating “the catastrophic results of a 10-year addiction to cosmetic surgery.” Wayne Newton alive but from the looks of it embalmed. Bikini-clad ex-“Happy Hooker” Xaviera Hollander hitting the beach at Cellulite City and hitting the scale at 200 pounds. Bryant Gumbel and Matt Lauer in extremis and party to a “man-sized lapdance” courtesy of some transsexual waitresses. A 1987 Brad Pitt looking like Kristy McNichol. A preadolescent Mariah Carey looking like Kristy McNichol. A preadolescent Ben Stiller looking like a butch-version Liz Taylor, circa Butterfield 8. Mug shots of Linda Tripp (1969; the charge: loitering; the look: guilty) and Al Pacino (date unknown; the charge: concealing a weapon; the look: pre-Raphaelite gas-station attendant). In the swim: the “free-wheeling” Brooke Astor, a century old and atop a dolphin, in a full-spread one-on-one with Tom Arnold atop the lovely Roseanne. Charles Manson in 1976, the year of the “dry look,” mop clearly in need of professional help, mind clearly beyond professional help. (His jail jumpsuit reads “S WING,” or is it “SWING”?) Fun couple of the year, 1994: giantess Anna Nicole Smith cradling 89-year-old hubby and meal ticket Howard Marshall II. Fun couple of the year, 1997: Woody and Soon-Yi lip-locking in the Tuileries. Boxed and ready to ship: a very dead River Phoenix, an equally dead Elvis Presley (a photo that helped sell 6.5 million copies of the Enquirer the week it ran). Dead but unboxed: John Lennon, Steven McQueen, Ted Bundy, and, hiding somewhere under a blanket, what used to be Rock Hudson.

Back to the living and on to the life-altering: historic photos, such as O.J. in his “ugly-ass” Bruno Maglis, Gary Hart and Donna Rice on board (and in the middle of some) Monkey Business. Family shots: the Ramseys positively glowing (the oversized cross hanging from Patsy’s neck, literally aglow); a couple of stiff upper lips (emphasis on the stiff): the Prince and Princess of Wales.

But there’s one knockout photo here that, truth be told, might just register as art. What’s it doing inside the Enquirer ? Giving it some photojournalistic cachet. What’s it of? An outfit of Australian bikers called the Findon Skid Kids captured exiting the most beautiful fireball you ever saw. Say you saw it in The National Enquirer. Enquiring minds will want to know. The less curious will wonder over this season’s asking price for a tabloid suddenly making out like People, as we know it, Life, as we knew it.

Ascending Peculiarity

Edward Gorey on Edward Gorey

Edited by Karen Wilkin

Harcourt, 273 pp., $35

Call him illustrator, writer, playwright, set-designer, cat-fancier, balletomane, voracious reader, TV junkie, man-about-town when he was in New York City, homebody when he was home on Cape Cod. Depending on the one interviewing him, you can also call him an artful dodger or a real charmer: one part coy closet case, one part pure showoff, for every two parts genuine smarty. Stephen Schiff in a 1992 New Yorker called him a “half bongo-drum beatnik, half fin-de-siècle dandy.” You could call him a knowing eccentric of the mink-coat-and-tennis-shoes variety but one who wisely knew when and when not to go on about himself. He is Edward Gorey or was before he died last year after authoring and illustrating such contemporary classics of the sinister as The Curious Sofa, The Hapless Child, The Loathsome Couple, and The Gashlycrumb Tinies. (Still don’t recognize him? Check out the opening credits for the Mystery series on PBS.)

Ascending Peculiarity is the appropriately titled collection of interviews with and profiles of Gorey written or broadcast over the past 30 years. There are within these pages serious overlaps, only so many ways for Gorey to trot out his boyhood, his first taking pencil to paper, his habit for years of attending every performance of the New York City Ballet, his admiration for the films of Louis Feuillade. Then there’s the matter of his instantly identifiable illustrations, which are only partially gone into here stylistically, psychologically. On a key to his character, though, think on this: a man who likes watching Golden Girls reruns as much as rereading (without ever understanding) Musil’s The Man Without Qualities. And in terms of memorable quotes, think on this, which makes Gorey no marginalist but a realist: “I think you should have no expectations and do everything for its own sake. That way you won’t be hit in the head quite so frequently.” Sound advice from a man of sound mind who had his audience believing he was anything but.

Categories
Politics Politics Beat Blog

THE DOCTOR IS IN

Éor make that ‘in like Flinn,’ as the GOP may finally have a mayoral candidate

Is radio magnate/radiologist George Flinn the Republican nominee-presumptive for the office of Shelby County mayor? It begins to look that way.

Dr. Flinn — who owns a host of local radio stations and, as a radiologist, pioneered in (and got rich from) the now widespread art of ultrasound technology — hankered to run for mayor of Memphis in 1999 but decided that the number _ and variety _ of candidates then available made that race a potential “three-ring circus” for a political neophyte like himself and therefore opted out.

Back then he foresaw himself being matched against the likes of Hizzoner Willie Herenton (the eventual winner), then City Councilman Joe Ford, and wrestling eminence Jerry Lawler, among numerous others. As a potential candidate for the GOP nomination for county mayor, he won’t have that problem of standing out in a crowd.

Right now Flinn is all by himself as a potential Republican candidate. Nobody else seems to want the honor.

“I’m ready to go. I can put together the money, I believe, and if they’ll help me with the essentials of running a major campaign, I think I can mount one,” said the good doctor this week.

The “they” of his commentary was the local GOP leadership, who have been running down the list of potential Republican heavyweights and seen them all deign not to run. The latest to say no was Allie Prescott, the recently retired president of the Memphis Redbirds.

Prescott was a new political face who would have been making his maiden race _ a fact that emboldens Flinn to believe that GOP eyes should now be turning to him.

And local Republican chairman Alan Crone, who has been heading the party’s increasingly desperate efforts to find a standard-bearer, may be ready for a session with the doctor.

“I think that a successful candidate has to be both politically viable and financially viable,” Crone said. “I think that George is the latter, and it’s possible he could be the former, too.”

Any doubts Crone has on the matter are owing to Flinn’s relative inexperience in the GOP wars, though he doesn’t consider it to be an obstacle that Flinn’s son Shea Flinn, a brand-new lawyer who is about to become a brand-new husband, ran unsuccessfully as a Democratic candidate for the legislature last year.

“George has been fairly convincing that he is a life-long Republican himself, and I doubt that many people would be concerned about the fact that his son may have a different personal politics. That happens a good bit,” Crone said.

Crone does not buy into the widely accepted theory that name Republicans have ducked the race because recent demographic change has made it unwinnable for a Republican. “Not one of the people we talked to was of that persuasion,” he said, meaning, among others, Prescott, District Attorney General Bill Gibbons, former Memphis city councilman John Bobango, and Shelby County Trustee Bob Patterson (who technically is still thinking about it).

The GOP chairman then proceeded to qualify himself a tad, however. “I do think that political influence is cyclical, and it’s probably true that the Republican Party will need to adapt to population tendencies. We’ve been heavily suburban and rural , but we’ll probably see ourselves becoming more urban-oriented in the years to come.,” opined Crone,who over the years has been a consistent advocate of Republican outreach into traditionally Democratic minority communities.

Flinn believes that, in that respect, he is exactly what the, er, doctor ordered. “My main offices are in the center city. I’ve had a center city presence for years, and I understand the thinking of people who live in the center city.”

It remains to be seen what becomes of a Flinn candidacy or of a local Republican re-orientation, just as it remains to be seen what the results of next year’s mayoral election will be.

But change of some sort is clearly in the offing in a season when the incumbent Republican mayor, Jim Rout, has decided against running and potential GOP successors are scarce indeed, while simultaneously three active Democratic candidates _ Shelby County Public Defender A C Wharton, Bartlett banker Harold Byrd, and State Representative Carol Chumney _ are actively campaigning..

Categories
News News Feature

THE CURSE OF QADRY?

What do Red Sox fans know, anyhow? Compared to the hex hanging over the U of M football Tigers, the Curse of the Bambino is child’s play.

There was just over two minutes left on the clock at the Liberty Bowl last Saturday, on a magnificent autumn afternoon, and Tommy West’s scrambling Tigers had just taken a 34-30 lead over the Cincinnati Wildcats. The old stadium was fairly pulsating with fan enthusiasm, as 26,395 screaming, long-suffering U of M football fans were already celebrating what appeared to be a historic victory, one that would cap the team’s first winning season since 1994.

Not those of us, however, who have long been regulars in Section Eight on the stadium’s north side. No, we knew better than to wax euphoric. As loyal fans of a team whose official theme song ought to be “Cry Me A River,” we understood only too well that you don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We stood rather quietly with the cheering multitudes, smiling, yes, but, well, suspicious. I pointed out to my companions that the afternoon sun was at that very moment perfectly framed on the opposite side of the stadium by one of the section entryways, creating from our perspective an eerie glow inside, much like the solar effects at Stonehenge at the exact moment of the winter solstice.

It’s an omen,” I said, and my friends nodded sagely, all but the 11-year-old son of one, who was screaming at the top of his lungs. “Calm down. Trust us,” we told him wearily, in much the same way that grizzled battle veterans greet newcomers to the trenches, “it ain’t over til it’s over.”

And it wasn’t, of course. After taking over at the Wildcat 20 yard-line, Gino Guidugli marched his charges down the field, quickly and efficiently. Oh, he was blessed by a questionable pass-interference call, but mostly, he was the lucky beneficiary of a Qurse every bit as real as the one that Bostonians say was placed on their team when they traded Babe Ruth, the Bambino, to the Yankees in 1920, and kept them from winning a championship ever since. It’s a Qurse whose impact is, simply, that whenever Memphis is in a close game near the end, the Tigers will always, invariably snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Just like they did last Saturday. Guidugli completed a Hail-Mary on fourth-and twenty-seven, and put the final nail in our coffin with just four ticks left on the clock, hitting John Olinger with a 13-yard pass in the north corner of the end zone.

Were we dejected? Of course, we were; practically suicidal, in fact. Were we surprised? Of course not. True blue U of M football fans always know that when the chips are on the line, ours will always turn into those of the bovine variety. “That was the same play that Louisville beat us with in 1999, right?” said one of our group dejectedly, as the crowd stood in place, in stunned silence. He was correct, of course. The Tigers had lost 32-31 in the Liberty Bowl that year when Chris Redman threw almost the exact same pass to Lavell Boyd. Oh, there were differences, to be sure. Redman’s pass went 18 yards, not 13. And, hey, we were left with six seconds on the clock, not four. See what I mean?

Over the past three seasons, the Tigers have been perhaps the best losing team in Division One. Unquestionably, ours is the most snake-bitten football program in America. A few bounces here and there, and we would have gone bowling long ago. Hell, we lost eight games in 1999 and 2000, out of a total of thirteen, by the combined margin of — are you ready for this? — twenty points! Less than three touchdowns altogether; win those games, and we go 9-2 and 8-3 those two seasons, respectively. And by the way, these weren’t losses to chumps; besides Louisville, the Qurse made us victims of Ole Miss, Mississippi State, and the Great Orange Evil One itself, Tennessee, not once, but twice.

True-blue Tiger fans remember every excrutiating detail of these games — All- American Ryan White’s first career missed field goal against Ole Miss (we lost 3-0, naturally), UT’s Tee Martin’s 53-yard desperation pass in the waning minutes at Neyland Stadium in 1999 (we lost 17-16), and poor Scott Scherer’s “here, take this” intereception in overtime last year against these same Bearcats (we lost 13-10). I could go on, but nauseau prevents me.

So what about the Qurse, anyway? And why, Kenneth, are you spelling it with a “Q”?

Ah, that’s because I’ve finally figured it all out. It came to me clearly, blindingly, in a flash, during that Stonehenge moment at the Liberty Bowl last Saturday:

It’s all Qadry Anderson’s fault. That’s why we’re laboring under this curse, this malediction, this hex. Call it the Qurse of Qadry.

Memphis football fans know exactly I mean, but let me explain for the rest of you.

Qadry Anderson was the starting quarterback for the Tigers for most of the 1996 season. A senior, this junior-college transfer from Oakland, California, had played sparingly the previous year, and even in his one full season at the helm, Anderson was hardly a world beater. He threw nearly twice as many interceptions (11) in 1996 as he threw touchdown passes (6).

Ah, but one of those six was, indisputably, the greatest touchdown pass ever thrown by a Memphis Tiger. It came with just 34 seconds left in the fourth quarter before 65,885 at the Liberty Bowl on November 9, 1996. The recipient in the end zone of Anderson’s three-yard toss was tight end Chris Powers. And the opponent, of course, was the sixth-ranked Tennessee Volunteers, who fell 21-17, in an upset of such grand proportions that Sports Illustrated would later rank it as one of the top ten of the entire decade.

Qadry Anderson was no Peyton Manning, his illustrious opponent that fabled afternoon. Peyton threw for nearly 300 yards; Qadry had thrown for less than 30 before that last, heroic drive when time stood still, and our Paper Tigers became, at least for a moment, animals of the first order.

This, my friends, is what I think really happened. The offense, such as it was, took over at the UT 31 with just six minutes left in the ball game, trailing 17-14. They had gained just 84 total yards all afternoon, all the Tiger points having come off interceptions, fumbles, and kickoff returns. In the huddle, though, something strange happened. Quadry told his teammates to relax. “Let’s just be calm, guys. We’ve got this game won.” They stared at him in disbelief. “What, is Peyton coming in for our side?” said one exhausted lineman in jest.

Qadry smiled whimsically. “Very funny. No, let’s just say I’ve made a deal.”

“You’ve made a deal. With whom?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you. But, hey, time’s wasting. Let’s go get ’em. Woods, right tackle, on five. Break!”

Well, we all know what happened next. The Tigers sliced and diced their way up field. Anderson himself, limping around on one leg, made a critical fourth-and one quarterback sneak that kept the drive alive, then followed that with a 41-yard bomb — those of us watching couldn’t believe Qadry could throw the ball that far — to Chancy Carr. A couple of plays later, Anderson hit Powers, and the Tigers had an implausible four-point lead. In the last thirty seconds, Manning came back and threw a few desperation passes, but, frankly, he looked more like Qadry Anderson than Peyton Manning. A final interception, and the goalposts came tumbling down.

It was all too perfect, wasn’t it? That’s why I think something fishy happened in that huddle. I’m still not sure what the exact nature of the Faustian bargain Qadry cut with you-know-who on that memorable November afternoon five years ago, but, I swear, we’ve been paying the price ever since. Think this team isn’t cursed? Hey, the facts speak for themselves. The Qurse cost Rip Scherer his job, and if it continues, it’ll cost Tommy West, his coaching successor, his sanity.

That’s why the football Tigers need to blow off spring practice next year and do something far more constructive. Coach West and his impressive quarterback prodigy Danny Wimprine need to spend two or three weeks in New Orleans, searching out Marie Laveau’s successors. Nothing but black magic is gonna get rid of the Qurse of Qadry.

Anybody know where we can find a Philip Fulmer voodoo doll?

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

thursday, 29

Tonight, there s a reception at the newly converted PaperWorks Lofts on Front Street — one of downtown s first renovated warehouses for residential living with wine, cheese, and a chance to meet the artists and designers commissioned to do the installations for the new lobby. Make it a night and have dinner at the new Gus s Fried Chicken just a few blocks down the street. There are a couple of art openings tonight: at David Lusk Gallery, for an exhibit of works by John Torina and the sale of Shrinky-Dink ornaments to benefit the Memphis YWCA Shelter for Abused Women; and at Memphis Botanic Garden, for works by the Memphis Ten. A Dream Play opens tonight at Rhodes College s McCoy Theatre. At Burke s Book Store, author Perre Magness and photographer Murray Riss will be signing copies of their new book, Elmwood 2002: In the Shadows of the Elms, which commemorates the 150th anniversary of Elmwood Cemetery. Big Bill Morganfield (son of the legendary Muddy Waters) is at B.B. King s tonight and tomorrow night. And the Ross Rice Band is at the Blue Monkey.

Categories
News News Feature

THE CURSE OF QADRY?

What do Red Sox fans know, anyhow? Compared to the hex hanging over the U of M football Tigers, the Curse of the Bambino is child’s play.

There was just over two minutes left on the clock at the Liberty Bowl last Saturday, on a magnificent autumn afternoon, and Tommy West’s scrambling Tigers had just taken a 34-30 lead over the Cincinnati Wildcats. The old stadium was fairly pulsating with fan enthusiasm, as 26,395 screaming, long-suffering U of M football fans were already celebrating what appeared to be a historic victory, one that would cap the team’s first winning season since 1994.

Not those of us, however, who have long been regulars in Section Eight on the stadium’s north side. No, we knew better than to wax euphoric. As loyal fans of a team whose official theme song ought to be “Cry Me A River,” we understood only too well that you don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We stood rather quietly with the cheering multitudes, smiling, yes, but, well, suspicious. I pointed out to my companions that the afternoon sun was at that very moment perfectly framed on the opposite side of the stadium by one of the section entryways, creating from our perspective an eerie glow inside, much like the solar effects at Stonehenge at the exact moment of the winter solstice.

It’s an omen,” I said, and my friends nodded sagely, all but the 11-year-old son of one, who was screaming at the top of his lungs. “Calm down. Trust us,” we told him wearily, in much the same way that grizzled battle veterans greet newcomers to the trenches, “it ain’t over til it’s over.”

And it wasn’t, of course. After taking over at the Wildcat 20 yard-line, Gino Guidugli marched his charges down the field, quickly and efficiently. Oh, he was blessed by a questionable pass-interference call, but mostly, he was the lucky beneficiary of a Qurse every bit as real as the one that Bostonians say was placed on their team when they traded Babe Ruth, the Bambino, to the Yankees in 1920, and kept them from winning a championship ever since. It’s a Qurse whose impact is, simply, that whenever Memphis is in a close game near the end, the Tigers will always, invariably snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Just like they did last Saturday. Guidugli completed a Hail-Mary on fourth-and twenty-seven, and put the final nail in our coffin with just four ticks left on the clock, hitting John Olinger with a 13-yard pass in the north corner of the end zone.

Were we dejected? Of course, we were; practically suicidal, in fact. Were we surprised? Of course not. True blue U of M football fans always know that when the chips are on the line, ours will always turn into those of the bovine variety. “That was the same play that Louisville beat us with in 1999, right?” said one of our group dejectedly, as the crowd stood in place, in stunned silence. He was correct, of course. The Tigers had lost 32-31 in the Liberty Bowl that year when Chris Redman threw almost the exact same pass to Lavell Boyd. Oh, there were differences, to be sure. Redman’s pass went 18 yards, not 13. And, hey, we were left with six seconds on the clock, not four. See what I mean?

Over the past three seasons, the Tigers have been perhaps the best losing team in Division One. Unquestionably, ours is the most snake-bitten football program in America. A few bounces here and there, and we would have gone bowling long ago. Hell, we lost eight games in 1999 and 2000, out of a total of thirteen, by the combined margin of — are you ready for this? — twenty points! Less than three touchdowns altogether; win those games, and we go 9-2 and 8-3 those two seasons, respectively. And by the way, these weren’t losses to chumps; besides Louisville, the Qurse made us victims of Ole Miss, Mississippi State, and the Great Orange Evil One itself, Tennessee, not once, but twice.

True-blue Tiger fans remember every excrutiating detail of these games — All- American Ryan White’s first career missed field goal against Ole Miss (we lost 3-0, naturally), UT’s Tee Martin’s 53-yard desperation pass in the waning minutes at Neyland Stadium in 1999 (we lost 17-16), and poor Scott Scherer’s “here, take this” intereception in overtime last year against these same Bearcats (we lost 13-10). I could go on, but nauseau prevents me.

So what about the Qurse, anyway? And why, Kenneth, are you spelling it with a “Q”?

Ah, that’s because I’ve finally figured it all out. It came to me clearly, blindingly, in a flash, during that Stonehenge moment at the Liberty Bowl last Saturday:

It’s all Qadry Anderson’s fault. That’s why we’re laboring under this curse, this malediction, this hex. Call it the Qurse of Qadry.

Memphis football fans know exactly I mean, but let me explain for the rest of you.

Qadry Anderson was the starting quarterback for the Tigers for most of the 1996 season. A senior, this junior-college transfer from Oakland, California, had played sparingly the previous year, and even in his one full season at the helm, Anderson was hardly a world beater. He threw nearly twice as many interceptions (11) in 1996 as he threw touchdown passes (6).

Ah, but one of those six was, indisputably, the greatest touchdown pass ever thrown by a Memphis Tiger. It came with just 34 seconds left in the fourth quarter before 65,885 at the Liberty Bowl on November 9, 1996. The recipient in the end zone of Anderson’s three-yard toss was tight end Chris Powers. And the opponent, of course, was the sixth-ranked Tennessee Volunteers, who fell 21-17, in an upset of such grand proportions that Sports Illustrated would later rank it as one of the top ten of the entire decade.

Qadry Anderson was no Peyton Manning, his illustrious opponent that fabled afternoon. Peyton threw for nearly 300 yards; Qadry had thrown for less than 30 before that last, heroic drive when time stood still, and our Paper Tigers became, at least for a moment, animals of the first order.

This, my friends, is what I think really happened. The offense, such as it was, took over at the UT 31 with just six minutes left in the ball game, trailing 17-14. They had gained just 84 total yards all afternoon, all the Tiger points having come off interceptions, fumbles, and kickoff returns. In the huddle, though, something strange happened. Quadry told his teammates to relax. “Let’s just be calm, guys. We’ve got this game won.” They stared at him in disbelief. “What, is Peyton coming in for our side?” said one exhausted lineman in jest.

Qadry smiled whimsically. “Very funny. No, let’s just say I’ve made a deal.”

“You’ve made a deal. With whom?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you. But, hey, time’s wasting. Let’s go get ’em. Woods, right tackle, on five. Break!”

Well, we all know what happened next. The Tigers sliced and diced their way up field. Anderson himself, limping around on one leg, made a critical fourth-and one quarterback sneak that kept the drive alive, then followed that with a 41-yard bomb — those of us watching couldn’t believe Qadry could throw the ball that far — to Chancy Carr. A couple of plays later, Anderson hit Powers, and the Tigers had an implausible four-point lead. In the last thirty seconds, Manning came back and threw a few desperation passes, but, frankly, he looked more like Qadry Anderson than Peyton Manning. A final interception, and the goalposts came tumbling down.

It was all too perfect, wasn’t it? That’s why I think something fishy happened in that huddle. I’m still not sure what the exact nature of the Faustian bargain Qadry cut with you-know-who on that memorable November afternoon five years ago, but, I swear, we’ve been paying the price ever since. Think this team isn’t cursed? Hey, the facts speak for themselves. The Qurse cost Rip Scherer his job, and if it continues, it’ll cost Tommy West, his coaching successor, his sanity.

That’s why the football Tigers need to blow off spring practice next year and do something far more constructive. Coach West and his impressive quarterback prodigy Danny Wimprine need to spend two or three weeks in New Orleans, searching out Marie Laveau’s successors. Nothing but black magic is gonna get rid of the Qurse of Qadry.

Anybody know where we can find a Philip Fulmer voodoo doll?

Categories
News The Fly-By

THE FOGYMAN PLAN

by CHRIS DAVIS

Avon Fogymans plan for mEmphis scool isn t bad it good. Mini peoples have ben making complaining about Fogeyman s perposal to lower standids for mEmphise Cidy scools sysyims so the kids can pass the testes and gradulate. But it is rong and they is rong to do it to him, a good man, thusly.

So what if Memphis has it s trubles getting business reloketed here becaus scools are bad and there arent eny good skilled workers to employee anyway becaus scools is so bad. We always have Otto ZOne and Fed-X to leech of off anyhow.

The thing most peoples don t realizing is that problems that seam unsolvible requires ansers that are unsolvible to. Not onlee shood we lower standids for scools so that kids can pass the testes and gradulate, there are many other instinces where the standids is too hi already and lowering them could be good for the people who need them lowered. We will call this boweld movement the Fogyman Plan.

First, if we lower standids for studants that means we can lower standids for teachers sinse they don t have to be ass smart anymore ether then we can have more of them to teach and thereby helping to eliminate unemployment at the same exact tim. And that is not the onlee way that the Fogyman Plan can help out things while helping our unemployed teachers get on unemployeedmint

For instince, there was this wun time when I herd on that show 20 minits that this chemical and oil indistrys has trubles with toxis wase an it cost them zillions of dollers to deel wit h toxis waste ever yeer because of fedrel riskrictions.

Now if the fedrel govermint wood just lower there standids sum— or even git rid of them on the hole, then the indistrys could save hundreds of dollers. That money saved cood leed to more jobs for the homeless and poor peoples of meMphis. Teechers too. No dout.

And there was this one time, my uncel Donald. He applied as an airport security. And you no what? They didnt hire him. So what if he didnt gradulate, he can wach peoples go throo a medal detekter as good as anybody else. Maybe even better.

I think there standids are to high to.

And besides, uncle DonaLd don t even sell any crack anymore cause they said if they caught him again they wood put him in the penile farm. So even tho hes unemploeed becaus of unfair standids he wont sell nothing but regular cocaine and sometimes some grass.

In 2001, acording to all availlable sources to us, the advertizing indistry have taken it s biggest hit since the great big Depreshun was here. Naturally, that has impacted the revenue of publishing groups like eben th e Memphis Flyers. In order to mak buget for the yere we had embrassed the Fogyman plan to our bosoms. Lowerin our own standerds alowed us to ill iminate copy edits in sertin parts of the paper there bye lowerin labor costs without elemonaideing jobs. What does a litle errer hear and here matter so long as the writin is good and the reeder gits the pint.

Categories
Opinion

Test Question

Give Avron Fogelman credit for this much: At least he forced Memphis to face up to the consequences of standardized testing and put forward a clear, if politically unpopular, way to respond.

That’s more than Memphis City Schools superintendent Johnnie B. Watson, the board of education, and some kibitzing state lawmakers did this week. Instead, they veered into the safe harbor of political correctness by bashing Fogelman, challenging the validity of standardized testing, parsing the meaning of the word “failing,” and blaming optional schools. In a key public test of his leadership on the testing issue, Watson straddled the fence.

As everyone now knows, Fogelman, an outspoken Memphis businessman and state board of education member, suggested the bar be lowered for Memphis City Schools on the Gateway tests required for graduation three years hence. Or else, he suggested in light of available evidence including recently released school report cards, seven out of 10 students could fail.

At Monday’s board meeting, Lora Jobe submitted a letter to the state board objecting to Fogelman’s suggestion. Her colleagues unanimously signed on. But sometimes unanimous agreement is not what it seems.

Jobe wants Memphis students to pass the tests, period. With help, she believes, they can do it. The Class of 2005 gets three chances a year to pass Gateway tests in algebra, English, and biology. Jobe said it would be “an insult” to lower the standards for MCS.

Sincere as they come, Jobe is possibly not the best person on the board to act as spokesperson for a hard-line position on testing. She and colleague Barbara Prescott come from the affluent, highly educated Grahamwood Elementary and White Station High School optional school population that breezes through standardized tests. Inner-city schools with a high percentage of low-income families have a much tougher row to hoe.

Optional schools may even be part of the problem, suggested board member Lee Brown, because they are magnets for high-achievers. Brown, elected to the board last year, wants to take a fresh look at the 25-year-old program, acknowledging that his own children were among its beneficiaries.

Board member Carl Johnson questioned the validity of standardized testing which grades students and schools on a bell curve so that 50 percent are either “low-performing” or “failing.” Johnson said his problem is not so much with the tests as with the “interpretation” of the results, especially when some 75 percent of the students in MCS are on free or reduced-price lunch.

As Johnson spoke, Watson vigorously nodded his assent. Last week the superintendent seemed to react favorably to some of Fogelman’s comments, but by Monday he was preaching his familiar theme of “you can’t compare city and county schools” and warning of the dangers of “high-stakes tests.”

What Watson, or anyone else for that matter, did not do was utter a single word in defense of such tests, which have been a well-established fact of life in Memphis and Tennessee for 10 years. The tests themselves have been studied, revised, studied some more, and revised again. The grading has been fine-tuned. The Gateway tests are not graded on a curve; theoretically, at least, everyone can pass. A passing score in biology, for example, is a mere 22 out of 62 questions. And, yes, it is possible to flunk the course and pass the test and graduate.

Why should Watson rise to the defense of testing? Because for better and for worse, preparing for such tests is now a standard part of the curriculum in every city school. A case can be made that the curriculum is test-driven. Some optional students begin practicing for college entrance exams in the seventh grade. Elementary schools identify the specific skills that will be on the standardized tests and give students test-taking tips and practice. Watson himself unilaterally threw out his predecessor Gerry House’s free-lancing “reforms” in favor of a more standardized curriculum in elementary reading and math in an effort to raise test scores.

One of the calmest and most sensible comments at Monday’s board meeting came from the youngest member, Michael Hooks Jr. He suggested inviting Fogelman to come and have his say. If Fogelman will do that and stick to his guns instead of bending to political pressure, he could prompt a useful civic discussion of such questions as why more than 60 Title I schools in Memphis are NOT on the failing list, why a school that raises its scores from a 25 to a 49 should be called a failure, and whether the handful of seniors who were denied diplomas this year will be multiplied by 100 or so in three years.

Maybe Memphis will have a graduation debacle on its hands in three years, or maybe everything will be all right. But the possibility of a train wreck is not unreasonable given past performance, and Fogelman should not be vilified for saying so.

Categories
News News Feature

COMMISSIONER JAMES FORD, ‘MAN OF RESOLVE,’ DIES

Shelby County Commissioner James Ford _ an ophthalmologist and pastor (of the Fellowship Church of God in Christ) who was respectfully referred to by his commission mates as “Dr. Ford” — died early Tuesday morning at Methodist Healthcare-South, from the effects of cancer. He was 52.

Although it had been clear for some time that Commissioner Ford, a former member of the Memphis city council and the holder of a law degree, was seriously ill– he was confined to a wheelchair for the last several years– he was still able to perform his duties as a commissioner vigorously. This was most notable during the last year when he was chairman of the commission and oversaw the resolution of several tough issues– including prolonged and stormy debates over school funding and the use of public money to construct a new arena for the transplanted Vancouver Grizzlies of the NBA.

Even when he was relatively healthy, Commissioner Ford was mild of manner and polite, even courtly, to an extreme. Conversely, even when he was in the throes of his illness, he was capable of quite firm, robust responses to opponents or, as was the case in one or two of the past year’s stormier meetings, to audience members who ventured to heckle commissioners. He did not suffer fools gladly.

“He had as much resolve as anyone I ever knew, even in his illness, and he had great academic achievements,” observed his nephew, U.S. Representative Harold Ford Jr., who pointed out that Commissioner Ford had attended more or less concurrently Columbia University Medical School, Union Theological Seminary, and New York University School of Law.

He was a worthy representative of the extended Ford family which has produced so many notable politicians _ including, at present, a congressman, a city councilman, and a state senator. Early speculation took it for granted that a member of the family _ possibly brother Joe Ford, who left his council seat to run for city mayor in 1999, or nephew Jake Ford _ would be named by the commission to succeed him.

Funeral arrangements, as announced by the family funeral home, N.J. Ford and Sons, are as follows: Dr. Ford will lie in state at the funeral home on Friday and Saturday, and the funeral will be at 1:30 p.m. Sunday at Temple Deliverance Church of God in Christ at 369 Patterson Avenue. The family specifies that, in lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the American Cancer Society or to the N.J. and Vera Ford Endowment Fuind at LeMoyne-Owen College

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

wednesday, 28

The Gary Beard Chorale is performing a holiday concert at today’s “Calvary and the Arts” concert and luncheon series. And the Memphis Troubadours featuring Steve Cheseborough and Native Son are in the Lounge in the Gibson Guitar Plant.