Categories
Letters To The Editor Opinion

Postscript

Beating Around Bush

To the Editor:

Thank you very much for the highly informative editorial “Unpatriotic Act” (February 13th issue). It was indeed appalling, and it confirmed my deepest fears about the Bush administration’s alleged War on Terror.

The Domestic Security Enhancement Act of 2003 is especially terrifying considering [that behind it] are the same right-wing Republicans who have given us McCarthyism, Watergate, the Iran-Contra crimes, and the Clinton impeachment. Clearly, they intend to arrest their enemies: peace activists, ACLU members, feminists, homosexuals, Islamists perhaps, and definitely “liberals in the media.”

I want to know more about this Domestic Security Enhancement Act. I have heard nothing about it from other news sources. The news about this should be shouted from the rooftops!

Howard Wiggins

Memphis

To the Editor:

So, here’s the scenario: Bush, the keeper of the oil-lit flame and seeker of the second term his father was “robbed” of (how else to explain the rabid Republican pursuit of the robber for the entire ensuing eight years?), fans the fires of war with Iraq and plays his own war brinksmanship. And what is the immediate, most visible effect of all this war-drum thumping? A run-up in the price of gasoline. Has anyone else noticed that?

How, you ask, does that benefit our cowboy president? Simple. It’s his war chest for the 2004 election. The oil companies are traditionally among the biggest contributors to the Republican Party, so, when Dubya comes with his hand out to ask for help to finance his campaign, he’ll be calling in his chits. He can tell his oil-patch buds he’s just making a small withdrawal from the account he funded by his game of petro-politics.

I say we seize all of the assets of the first family and those slopping themselves at their trough to reimburse the U.S. Treasury for the billions of wasted dollars of our money they’ve spent to ultimately line their own pockets. That would be my idea of “democracy in action.”

Martin H. Aussenberg

Memphis

To the Editor:

President Bush calls the millions of war protesters around the world a “focus group” and says they won’t have any effect on his decision to invade Iraq. Maybe he considers the majority of voters who voted for Al Gore a “focus group” as well. The young soldiers we will be fighting in Iraq are mostly fathers. Half of the population of Baghdad are children. The Iraqi soldiers will have guns at their backs and our guns in their faces just as they did in the last Bush war.

When do we get back to the business of investigating the president’s and vice president’s corporate criminal activities, where the spotlight was before this war of mass distraction?

Don Johnson

Minneapolis

To the Editor:

Why has the man who brought down the towers been forgotten? The man President Bush solemnly promised to find and bring to justice is still loose. Why has Bush shifted our attention to Iraq, a country that did not attack us? Even more puzzling, why did Bush break the national ban on flying a few days after 9/11 in order to fly 11 members of bin Laden’s immediate family out of the United States? Despite the bin Laden oil family’s ties to the Bush oil family, all the bin Ladens should have been made to stay within the United States. Instead, they were whisked back to Saudi Arabia before the bodies from the 9/11 attack were even cold.

I wonder what the Republicans would say if President Gore had been the one to break the nationally imposed flight ban to fly the family of the world’s most wanted man out of the country? Cries of “Impeach Gore” and “Cover up” would have deafened our ears and filled that liberal media of ours to this day. Kenneth Starr would have had no end of things to do. It would have made peanuts of his Lewinsky case. Yet, we have no special investigators, no truth-seeking task forces, no Osama and family, and no questions about it all from the major news networks. Alice, pass me the looking glass.

David Singelyn

Memphis

Correction: In last week’s City Reporter, we identified Robert Spence as the attorney who issued an opinion that the Memphis City School district did not legally exist. It was actually attorney Allan Wade who wrote that opinion. We regret the error.

The Memphis Flyer encourages reader response. Send mail to: Letters to the Editor, POB 1738, Memphis, TN 38101. Or call Back Talk at 575-9405. Or send us e-mail at letters@memphisflyer.com. All responses must include name, address, and daytime phone number. Letters should be no longer than 250 words.

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Smoking Guns

If you’re struck with a case of Déjá vu while watching the formulaic corrupt-cop movie Dark Blue, there’s good reason. The film is based on a story by ace crime-fiction writer James Ellroy, the scribe behind L.A. Confidential, and the screenplay was written by David Ayer, who penned Training Day. Those are both better films than Dark Blue, and their echoes reverberate throughout this disappointing exposé on police corruption in the Rodney King-era LAPD.

Like Training Day, Dark Blue is part buddy movie, pairing a morally shady veteran cop, Sgt. Eldon Perry (Kurt Russell), with a handsome, good-hearted but corruptible young partner, Bobby Keough (Scott Speedman). Perry and Keough work under a sinister higher-up named Jack Van Meter (Brendan Gleeson, basically playing James Cromwell’s Dudley Smith role from L.A. Confidential), who is engaged in an internal war with ambitious Deputy Chief Arthur Holland (Ving Rhames) for the soul of the LAPD. Perry is a key foot soldier in this conflict, part henchman, part vigilante with a badge, his combination of ambition, muscle, knowingness, and internal conflict making him something of a composite of Ellroy’s three cops in L.A. Confidential.

Dark Blue‘s plot ostensibly centers on a robbery/homicide investigation at a Korean grocery store, a seemingly simple crime that ends up having much broader implications, a plot element similar to the role of the “Nite Owl” massacre from L.A. Confidential.

The film opens with Russell’s Perry in a motel room, unshaven, bloodshot, firearms and open alcohol containers littering the room. It’s March 3, 1991, in the moments just before the verdict is announced in the trial of the LAPD officers who beat Rodney King. Then the film flashes back five days to show us how Perry got this way.

The King trial marks time in the background of the film, in much the same way that the World Series was used as a background structural device in Abel Ferrara’s corrupt-cop flick Bad Lieutenant. Perry sees the trial as a no-win situation, telling his young protÇgÇ that their “brothers” don’t deserve to take a fall for merely doing their job but that “this city will burn” if they’re acquitted.

Dark Blue is directed by Ron Shelton in his first trip outside a sports milieu since his second film, 1989’s disappointing Blaze. Shelton at his best (see Bull Durham) is one of the few contemporary American directors capable of making mainstream comedies with the style, verbal wit, and feel for incident of masters like Howard Hawks and Preston Sturges. Shelton has a subject too — no, not sports per se but masculinity: specifically, male stubbornness and macho camaraderie, which he consistently portrays with knowing affection yet also critiques from within (most prominently in Tin Cup). Dark Blue fits this subject, but anything Shelton might have to say about the dying breed Russell’s macho cop represents gets drowned in noise and clumsily delivered genre formula.

The material here seems too weighty for Shelton’s easygoing style, and the feel for conversation that marks his best films is absent since he isn’t working from his own script. I haven’t read the particular Ellroy story the film is based on, so I’m not sure if “I was raised up to be a gunfighter by a family of gunfighters” or “This city is here because my grandfather and father helped build it, with bullets” comes from Ellroy’s pen or Ayer’s. But the blustery, Ellroy-esque language that’s such a gas on the page and that worked so well in jive form in a period film like L.A. Confidential doesn’t hold up here. And the film’s climax is a lazily assembled grandstanding speech that is basically a rewrite of a scene Shelton wrote for the William Friedkin-directed basketball dud Blue Chips, a silly theatrical spectacle that comes across as false in a film so intent on creating a gritty, realistic feel.

About the only thing Shelton really has going for him here is Russell, a classic Shelton lead with his rough good looks and regular-guy demeanor. The vastly underappreciated Russell is in fine form here, but he doesn’t get much help. Gleeson and Rhames are restrained by underwritten roles, and Speedman is a bland cipher.

The high points of the film, outside Russell’s performance, are the riots themselves, depicted in a hazy, disorienting way that burns with a life that (literally) explodes the formulaic machinations that come before. The tension of this impending unrest creeps along underneath the film’s personalized main story until erupting in the end. DÇjÖ vu all over again. This is the exact same strategy that was recently deployed in Gangs of New York and with a similarly mixed-results payoff. The riots are the most compelling thing in the movie, but the surface story isn’t tied to this tension as well as one would hope, leading one to wish that the film had been more directly about the riots and what led up to them (a subject that I don’t think has been dealt with in a feature film before).

To its credit, Dark Blue ties a racist police system to the 1991 riots, directly so in its vision of Russell’s wayward gunslinger trying to navigate the smoky, chaotic post-verdict streets of South-Central L.A. In these scenes lie the elements of a fine film waiting to be born, but Shelton and company never realize this promise.

Chris Herrington

There is a zesty little Web site out there called RottenTomatoes.com, a compendium of movie reviews from the heights of Roger Ebert to the most inarticulate nerds with their own small, movie-skewering sites. I’m a lurker there, making frequent visits to see what’s hot and what’s not. The Life of David Gale, it would seem, is not. With a 17 percent approval rating, Gale summons online respect in amounts just below other contemporary critical targets Just Married and The Hot Chick. Ouch! What a shame, since it boasts three of modern moviedom’s best and brightest: Kevin Spacey, Kate Winslet, and Laura Linney.

David Gale, played deftly by Spacey, is a fallen man. Once a respected philosophy professor and leading anti-death-penalty activist, he now sits on Texas’ death row for the rape and murder of colleague Constance Harraway (Linney). The odds are against him: He was previously accused of sexually assaulting a student, and his idiot lawyer has virtually ignored potential evidence and several opportunities to have Gale’s sentence reduced. Now, four days before his execution, he has summoned ace magazine reporter Bitsey Bloom (Winslet) to chronicle his life story and his last, philosophical thoughts as he approaches his end. Bloom gradually comes to believe that Gale is innocent, and when a missing videotape of Harraway’s death appears in her hotel room, she is galvanized to sort through the mire of injustice, red tape, and local rubes to discover the truth before it is too late.

I enjoy a good, preachy, political melodrama a great deal. Boasting a thick skull, I enjoy a good whack over the head from time to time by extremist, liberal-minded cinematic politicos with fierce, fight-the-man propaganda films. The recent Bowling for Columbine springs to mind as such a film, as does JFK, The China Syndrome, Philadelphia — all as subtle as sledgehammers in getting their points across: gun control and the validation of Kennedy conspiracy theorists, etc. These are movies that not only make you think but tell you what to think. And you love or hate the film based on your ability to empathize with its characters and agree on its social points. These are artful films, powerfully written and superbly acted and directed. Their messages are carefully and successfully delivered amid superlative production values. Not so here.

The Life of David Gale is obviously against the death penalty. We know this because everyone in the film makes powerful statements against it except the inarticulate, Bible-wielding, redneck, former frat-boy Texas governor. There’s also Bitsey’s 11th-hour symbolic jaunt through a cemetery on her way to deliver crucial evidence to the police — before it’s too late. There’s more symbolism to be found — Hallmark card-quality heavens, Gale posed crucifixion-style as he lies pensively in the grass looking skyward. There is no subtlety here. The Life of David Gale mistakenly unfolds as a melodrama instead of a political potboiler or conventional thriller. Consequently, any potentially interesting or provocative points are wasted on preachy diatribes or emotional histrionics — not good, old-fashioned grandstanding. Winslet, usually quite good, is wasted on a part that should have gone to an older actress — a Cate Blanchett or a Jodie Foster. It is not easy to buy her as a formidable journalist. And what kind of name is Bitsey Bloom, anyway? Fortunately, Spacey anchors the film with gravity and down-sized pathos, though he has the unenviable task of making believable a minutes-long drunken rant about Socrates. Regardless, the movie’s best scenes are between him and Linney, who has a secret of her own that eventually serves as the moral compass by which the film’s consequences are articulated.

Despite good acting and handsome cinematography, the obvious and hammy Life of David Gale misses narrowly what Gale himself so desperately seeks from Bitsey and from us: redemption.

Bo List

Produced by Ivan Reitman, who helped create godfathers of the form like Stripes and Animal House, and directed by Todd Phillips, who tried to join the pantheon with the horny gross-out flick Road Trip, Old School is a promising attempt at one of those reckless, socially irredeemable, “National Lampoon” comedies.

It’s promising because it has a surefire premise (a group of thirtysomething friends reject their respectable adult lives and start a fraternity) and a great cast (Luke Wilson as straight man, Will Ferrell as wild man, and Vince Vaughn as middleman are perfect for their roles). As a film fan who generally prefers a good dumb comedy (most recently, Super Troopers or, my personal classic of the form, Office Space) to middlebrow Oscar bait, I had high hopes. But Old School isn’t quite lunatic or anarchic enough for its own good. The film is very conscious of the castration anxiety and ex-frat-boy nostalgia of its domesticated, regular-guy audience, so it takes care to balance its glimpse of the wild side with a restoration of domesticated adulthood, teaching its audience that you can find fulfillment in the nuclear family by courting the good girl you had a crush on in high school and by making those weekend trips to Home Depot and Bed, Bath, & Beyond with wifey. It tells the audience that it’s okay to trade in beer bongs and hot rods for Dockers and minivans.

Is this all true? Of course it is. But we don’t come to a movie like Old School to reaffirm our conventional life choices. (At least I don’t.) We come to a movie like Old School to see a butt-naked Ferrell interrupt a Snoop Dogg performance at an off-campus house party with a plea to go “streaking across the quad.” We come to a movie like Old School to see an 89-year-old pledge named “Blue” engage in intergenerational KY Jelly wrestling with a couple of co-eds and to hear Vaughn give a rousing speech to the trio’s motley group of fraternity pledges: “We will give nothing back to the academic community and do nothing for community service, that I can assure you.” In other words, we come for the glimpses of anarchy, not the reassurances of normalcy.

But at least we’ve got that cast to get us through the rough patches. Wilson, who’s had difficulty getting screen time in interesting movies outside those done by his brother Owen and Wes Anderson (particularly, Bottle Rocket and The Royal Tenenbaums), plays a real-estate lawyer who comes home early from a convention only to find his live-in girlfriend (Juliette Lewis in a very small role — guess Scientology hasn’t done the trick for her career) engaged in some serious hanky-panky with several creepy “Internet friends.” Disillusioned and shell-shocked, he moves out, renting a house adjacent to the campus of the unnamed university where presumably he and his buddies matriculated. The house rekindles a bit of nostalgia in Vaughn’s Speaker City millionaire, a wife-and-two-kids soccer dad who sees the house as an avenue to “getting a lot of ass — I mean boy-band ass,” though he may just see it as an opportunity to sell high-end stereo equipment to the college kids. Along for the ride is Ferrell, a just-married regular Joe whose newlywed wife cautions him not to let old alter-ego “Frank the Tank” back out again.

These guys keep the film going. Ferrell looks the role of good suburban husband, which only makes his over-the-top commitment to the bacchanal life of “Frank the Tank” all the funnier. Vaughn, who seems more at home here than in anything since Swingers, is all paradox, playing the role with what amounts to deadpan intensity and achingly sincere insincerity. He gets great mileage out of having a kid (and having the kid cover his ears — “Earmuffs!” — on those frequent occasions when he’s about to say something hopelessly crude), and to see him aping Britney Spears choreography during a fraternity-testing show of “school spirit” or flashing an appreciative glance at Ferrell’s interpretative gymnastics routine are moments of dumb-comedy glory. And Wilson, relegated to the straight-man role, is a regular guy even not-so-regular guys wouldn’t mind hanging out with, which is about what you could say for the movie itself. — CH

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

Blues in the Night

BB. King was a headliner for Martin Scorsese’s gigantic “Salute to the Blues” concert at Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan on February 7th. He was the last act on stage, following more than 30 other entertainers who filled the night with blues.

Before the show, I spoke to King and noted a large artwork in the lobby by Memphian, George Hunt. In the collage, which is typical of Hunt’s work, was an original, yellow Pepticon Energy Tonic box. Pepticon sponsored King’s first radio show on WDIA more than half a century ago. I asked King how far it was from WDIA to Radio City Music Hall. His answer, “a long, long way,” was accompanied by a long thoughtful sigh. I know that sigh represents at least 5,000 performances logged from 1949 to 2003.

“But the blues have come a long, long way too,” he added. At that moment, as if on cue, Scorsese walked into the room to accentuate the point.

I asked King, “What about Memphis?” as he was pulled away for a photo with “Marty.” His reply: “Memphis will always have the blues.” But will it?

The New York event was essentially a Handy Awards show times 10, but without the awards. The show had an eclectic blend of blues performers, with a smattering of rock, R&B, New Orleans gumbo, and rap. No more eclectic than a lot of Handy shows. The major difference was scale, sophistication, and a very obvious abundance of money.

The stated purpose was threefold. First, it was a kickoff event to celebrate the U.S. congressional resolution declaring 2003 the Year of the Blues. Second, it was being filmed as part of Scorsese’s upcoming, seven-part PBS series The Blues. All well and good and reason to celebrate, but somewhere among the celebrating, the powers that be were sending a message to Memphis, the self-proclaimed “Home of the Blues.”

Who are these powers, and what is their message? I had to pay close attention to find the answers. Two weeks before I went to New York, I had the impression that the Memphis-based Blues Foundation was working with Seattle’s Experience Music Project to produce the event. That’s when things started to get confusing. After some frustrating phone calls, I realized that there was another player in the game: The Blues Music Foundation, also based in Seattle, Washington. The new foundation was an element of the show’s third purpose: Profits from the show and other activities will go to the Blues Music Foundation, and that group will distribute money to various blues organizations and projects around the country.

Yes, the Memphis-based Blues Foundation has fallen on hard times and is languishing between executive directors. Is that sufficient reason to ignore it and start a whole new organization? Not unless there are other reasons, like personalities, power, politics, and, of course, money. The stated purpose of the new Blues Music Foundation is very similar to that of the 23-year-old Blues Foundation. But the Blues Foundation was surprisingly absent at the New York event, even though I was told by Memphis sources that it would be the recipient of some of the proceeds.

I’ve been backstage, on stage, or sitting in the audience for more than a dozen Handy Awards shows. I attended the Radio City Music Hall rehearsals and show with a certain sadness that Memphis was not officially involved.

The 6,000-seat venue held 4,000 patrons, out on a snowy night, eager to see this “Salute to the Blues.” They were not disappointed, even though many eventually left before the end of the four-and-a-half hour show. Honeyboy Edwards, Ruth Brown, Robert Lockwood, Shemekia Copeland, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, B.B., Bonnie Raitt, Robert Cray, Keb’ Mo’, Andrew Love, Levon Helm, Gregg Allman, Solomon Burke, Buddy Guy, Kim Wilson, and Dr. John are all Handy veterans who played their hearts in New York. It was indeed a success, but the question stands: Has the Home of the Blues now become Seattle?

David Simmons is past president of the Blues Foundation and founder of Blues & Legends Hall of Fame Museum.

Categories
Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

Catfight

It was no holds barred in last Saturday’s best boxing match.

By Bruce VanWyngarden

Man, you missed a good fight. At least you did if you weren’t in The Pyramid Saturday night.

No, I’m not talking about Tyson vs. Etienne. That was a pathetic excuse for a boxing match, over before it got a chance to be remotely interesting. The only compelling thing about that mugging was how the vanquished “Black Rhino” carefully removed his mouthpiece with his glove before settling his head to the mat and waiting out the 10-count. It was one of those things that make you go hmmm, as they say. In fact, Etienne fought harder trying to get to the fans who were heckling him as he left the arena than he did against Tyson.

On the other hand, there was no doubt that the battle between Tonya Harding and Samantha Browning was the genuine article. Oh sure, it was a Jerry Springer-esque setup — disgraced, nekkid-posin’ ice skater takes on a beer-joint brawler from Mississippi — meant only to be comic relief before the big boys went at it. But that was its charm. You had the hope that maybe they’d confess to lovin’ the same man or something, then really go at it. Reality television at its best. All I can say is you shoulda been there. It beat the hell out of “Get Me Out of Here. I’m a Celebrity.”

Browning entered the ring first, surrounded by a motley crew of goobers in bad haircuts who looked like they just got off work. And maybe they did, come to think of it. They all wore white T-shirts with “Advanced Fire & Water Restoration, Tupelo, MS” on the back. Talk about your big-time sponsors.

As she shed her robe and began bouncing around the ring, Browning looked confident, ready to kick some skater butt. A rangy, statuesque woman, she raised her arms over her head, clearly enjoying the cheers. If her white sports bra had had a pocket, the crowd would have been in it.

Tonya’s entourage came to center stage wearing black jackets emblazoned with “Team Tonya.” They looked cool, confident, like real boxer-handler guys. Their fighter, however, looked scared spitless. As the crowd loudly booed her entrance, Tonya screwed her face into a cartoonish scowl and stared at Browning’s ring antics, awaiting instructions from the referee, clearly overwhelmed by the spectacle. But hey, that’s life. One decade you’re trying to nail a Hamill Camel and outskate some Boston blueblood, the next you’re trying to avoid getting nailed to the canvas by a big ol’ redneck girl.

At least in boxing you don’t have to worry about those pesky Russian judges.

Not long after the opening bell, it was obvious Harding should have given ice-dancing pairs a try. Her strategy — perhaps “strategery” is the better word — was to extend her left arm and run at Browning, rubbing her glove in her opponent’s face and clutching with her other arm.

But Browning quickly proved she knew how to, uh, take a push. She pounded Tonya upside the head, shoved her away, then pounded her upside the head again. It looked like a classic bar brawl. You half-expected someone to douse them with a pitcher of Bud Lite and yell, “Yeeeeeehaw! Cat fight!”

Or throw a hubcap in the ring.

After repeated shots from Browning’s automatic right, Harding’s pug nose was lit up like a baboon’s ass. But she was a gamer, coming back for more time and again. What the woman lacked in finesse, she made up for with moxie and a lack of talent. Browning had the edge in reach and punching power, however, and it was too much for Tonya to overcome.

It was the only fight of the evening to go the distance, in this case, four rounds. But by the end, the only question was whether the judges would have the nerve to take the fight from Browning and award it to Harding. One did, scoring it 39-37, Harding. (He must have been from L.A., where celebrities get extra credit.) Boos cascaded down like a three-year mullet before order was restored and Browning was awarded a split decision.

Afterward, Browning danced around the ring some more, milking the crowd, then headed for the exit — and probable instant obscurity. As she and her entourage walked through the nearly empty media room, they high-fived each other and giggled. One of them said, “You don’t [bleep] with a Mississippi woman. I know, I’m married to one.” And Browning repeated her best line of the night, which was that she felt good but not good enough to “go barrin'” — not that night anyway.

Which is too bad. I’d love to have bought her a beer.


Miller Time

What can Grizzlies fans expect from new acquisition Mike Miller?

By Chris Herrington

Monday night at The Pyramid, the under-manned Memphis Grizzlies beat a Utah Jazz team that had demolished them in three previous games this season. How is it possible that such an unlikely victory carried a tinge of disappointment? Because most of the crowd showed up anticipating their first live look at the team’s newest player, recent trade acquisition Mike Miller, who made his Grizzlies debut on last week’s two-game road trip against New Orleans and Houston but missed his first game in Memphis after a freak turf-toe-like injury in shootarounds prompted back spasms.

Miller, who has no history of back problems, is expected back in the lineup in about a week and will probably take a couple of weeks to get comfortable in the system. What can fans expect from the newest Grizzly?

Before we discuss what Miller is, let’s establish what he isn’t. Mike Miller is not an “emerging superstar,” as one over-excited local radio personality enthused the day after the trade. Nor is he likely to become the team’s “go-to guy,” as many sources have intimated. It’s also unlikely that he’ll dramatically improve on the 16.5 points per game scoring average he brings over from the Magic. In Orlando, Miller was a distant second option to league-leading scorer Tracy McGrady on a team without a decent third option. For Memphis, he will likely be a close second option to Pau Gasol on a team with plenty of viable third options. Call it a wash.

But Miller also isn’t just a spot-up shooter, as some sports-radio callers and message-board posters have claimed. In fact, though Miller can certainly stretch defenses with his shooting range, he’s not really a Wesley Person-caliber marksman, at least not yet. Miller’s three-point shooting percentages have actually gone down in each of his three NBA seasons, from 41 percent as a rookie to 38 percent last season to 34 percent so far this season. Prior to the trade, Miller was mired in a horrible shooting slump from beyond the arc, making only 14 of 65 three-pointers (22 percent) over his previous dozen games.

But if Miller isn’t yet a sure thing from downtown, that’s okay, because what he is is more impressive than what he isn’t: He’s a kind of player this franchise has never had — a rangy, talented athlete on the wing who can get you 20 on a regular basis. While Miller isn’t superstar material, he is a great complementary scorer with superb all-around offensive skills, and he’s young enough (he turned 23 the day the trade went through) and talented enough to develop into a borderline All-star.

At 6’8″ and 220 pounds with speed, agility, and surprising explosiveness, Miller is a quantum leap athletically over the team’s other options on the wing. Person may be a better shooter and Shane Battier certainly a more hard-nosed defender, but neither can match the variety of skills that Miller brings to the floor.

And though Miller’s local debut was spoiled Monday night, he gave what amounted to a seminar on his game in his first Grizzlies appearance Friday at New Orleans. Miller entered the game at the 5:09 mark in the first quarter, the team down 14-22. When he left at the 6:15 mark in the second quarter, the Grizzlies led 44-39. Over that stretch, Miller showed us just about everything: his raw speed and ability to finish on the break with his first basket, blowing past Hornets point guard Robert Pack after a steal; his ability to make the pass in half-court sets, coming off a curl and finding Mike Batiste for an open look; his playmaking, by leading the break and setting Stromile Swift up for a lay-up with a left-handed scoop pass into the lane; his ability to create off the dribble, by driving past Kirk Haston and finishing with a dunk; his mid-range game, by jab-stepping Stacey Augmon and rising up to sink a 17-foot jumper. And he showed his range by knocking down a deep three. Monday night, after the Utah game, Hubie Brown looked back at that stretch in New Orleans and called it “a glimpse of what we can be.”

But what’s perhaps most exciting about the addition of Miller is how his skills seem to mesh with those of Gasol and Jason Williams. On November 13th, Brown’s first day as coach, he talked about the need to establish a style of play, an identity, and this trade, perhaps more than anything else, is a step toward accomplishing that.

In Miller, the Grizzlies have added an athletic finisher on the break to fill the other lane opposite Gasol — someone who can beat defenses down the floor, catch Williams’ passes (not always a sure thing with other Grizzlies, as Monday’s game attested), and finish plays. Miller is also, like Gasol, the rare forward capable of getting a defensive rebound, handling the ball in the open court on the break, and making the correct pass. With Person as the perfect trailer, spotting up for open three-point shots, the Grizzlies now have the makings of one of the best fast-break offenses in the league. The only component that’s missing is a defensive-oriented true center to get things started. And the addition of Miller also gives the Grizzlies three playmakers in the half court as well. Miller, Williams, and Gasol can all pass, shoot, and handle the ball, and all are unselfish players.

That sure wasn’t a style of play developing with Drew Gooden, the player the Grizzlies gave up to get Miller (with Gordan Giricek heading to Orlando and Ryan Humphrey and two marginal but not meaningless draft picks coming to Memphis). The hunch here is that Gooden will put up numbers for Orlando that will lead a lot of fans to question the trade. The Grizzlies’ attempt to develop Gooden into a small forward was an utter failure and he will get to play his “natural” position in Orlando. I put that in quotes because Gooden is really a tweener, too slow to guard the three and too small to ever be an All-star-caliber four, at least in a Western Conference with the likes of Tim Duncan, Chris Webber, Dirk Nowitzki, and Rasheed Wallace. In the East, the only comparable talent at the position is Indiana’s Jermaine O’Neal, so Gooden should be able to get away with being undersized. He’s also going to a team that previously boasted perhaps the worst interior talent in the league, so he’ll have all the minutes and shots he wants.

But Gooden was never going to work out here. Some have said that trading the player he earlier claimed would be the Rookie of the Year is an admission of failure on Jerry West’s part. Others have defended the move as in keeping with West’s stated strategy of stockpiling talent and making moves from a position of strength. Both are valid arguments. Mike Miller may be but a piece to a puzzle at least a couple of years away from completion, but he makes the team better, now and in the future.

Categories
Editorial Opinion

No Rose-Colored Glasses

“Everybody’s in the same boat. We’re all in this together.” That was Governor Phil Bredesen’s message in a conference call to members of the Tennessee news media Monday, as the 2003 National Governors Convention was coming to an end in Washington.

The “everybody” was not just the governors of these united — and financially distressed — states but their denizens as well. After Bredesen and his gubernatorial peers had finished a round of talks with various ranking federal officials, including President Bush, the bottom line was this: “We got no encouragement on federal help to the states.” One of the consequences, said Bredesen, was that Tennessee had the company of 42 other states in having to cut back on optional programs and various forms of optional eligibility under Medicaid — or, in Bredesen’s case, TennCare, under the terms of the federal waiver granted Tennessee. Bredesen is hoping to get that waiver revised so as to allow a variety of cutbacks. If the revision isn’t permitted, it would lead to what Bredesen called “a disastrous situation.”

Under its current obligations, TennCare faces a $500 million shortfall, and even the state’s rainy-day fund, a last-ditch reserve, contains only about $178 million. Bredesen is actively considering cutbacks or shifts in other previously protected areas besides TennCare. One such is in the matter of state-shared funds. Asked if withholding significant amounts of these would not force local governments to seek property tax increases, Bredesen said, “I don’t believe that’s the case. There aren’t very many places that could not find some way to save some of the money that’s out there the way we have in state government.” Bredesen reminded his listeners that, not too long ago, he too had been in charge of a local government (as mayor of Nashville for two terms in the 1990s) “and I know what it feels like on the receiving end.”

Which is to say, the governor, who has asked state agencies to make 7.5 percent cuts across the board, was preparing local governments for the same tough medicine. He outlined the substantial cuts he’d already begun in areas like health and human services, higher education, and nutrition programs — “I’m asking everyone to pitch in a little bit as opposed to making draconian cuts” — and suggested that local governments could make proportionate reductions of their own.

Other subjects were discussed during Bredesen’s businesslike chat with the media, but the bottom line of it all was obvious: Not only were most of the 50 states in the same leaky boat, but shortly so would most of the state’s local governments. And, yes, that means Memphis and Shelby County.

“The mistakes we’ve made in the past came when we put on rose-colored glasses,” Bredesen said. As Mayors Herenton and Wharton, as well as their legislative bodies, must have noticed, the governor wasn’t passing out any on Monday.

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Music Music Features

True Believer

A0lejandro Escovedo is just 500 miles upriver in Chicago, but two weeks and more than a dozen gigs will go down before his next Memphis performance. He’ll head east to New York and south to Atlanta and Nashville before driving here by way of Lexington, Kentucky. Nevertheless, Escovedo is bubbling with enthusiasm about his pending trip to the Bluff City.

“I always have a good time in Memphis,” he says. “How’s Teenie Hodges doing? I heard he’s been sick. The Hodges brothers are my favorite rhythm section, ever,” Escovedo emphasizes, and almost before I know it, we’re talking Al Green, Hi Records, and our favorite soul 45s.

Listening to his music, it’s easy to discern that Escovedo’s influences come from myriad sources. Some, of course, are as obvious as the conjunto and Tex-Mex musics of his San Antonio youth, while others, discovered after the family relocated to southern California, are more obscure. Escovedo cites a litany of long-forgotten garage-rock bands (including Mouse & the Traps and the East Side Kids) alongside mentions of Buck Owens, the Byrds, Dillard and Clark, the New York Dolls, and Iggy Pop and the Stooges as inspirations for his own first two bands, the Nuns and Rank and File.

“I feel lucky, having been a part of that West Coast scene in the late ’70s,” Escovedo says. “Lots of groups — including the Nuns — were doing shows even though they couldn’t play their instruments. We were the worst. Absolutely horrible,” he says with a laugh. “But it was a time when anybody could get up and get on stage,” he adds. “Not just punk. There were reggae bands, rockabilly bands, and rock bands. It was a good time for me. Anything goes.”

When the Nuns disintegrated after an East Coast tour, Escovedo formed Rank and File from the ashes of the punk-rock scene. “[We] started out as a cover band,” Escovedo recalls. “We covered everybody from Muddy Waters to Marty Robbins. I guess that’s where I get my inspiration from now.”

Alongside the Blasters and Lone Justice, Rank and File spearheaded the alt-country scene of the early ’80s. Formed in New York, the band relocated to Austin and signed a deal with Warner Bros. imprint Slash Records. But Escovedo wasn’t happy, and he walked away from the group after recording their ground-breaking album Sundown.

The True Believers came next. Escovedo, his younger brother Javier, and Jon Dee Graham provided the band’s unique triple-guitar onslaught, which led to a deal with Rounder Records for their self-titled debut. “When the True Believers got ready to record, we called in Jim Dickinson to produce,” Escovedo says, uncovering another unlikely Memphis link. “I was really listening to Ry Cooder’s soundtrack work at the time, and my friend Kent Benjamin hooked us up with Dickinson.”

True Believers was cut in early ’86 at Austin’s Arlyn Studios. The sessions lasted less than a week — and cost less than $10,000. “I think we did preproduction during the drive from the airport to the studio,” Escovedo says. “Working with Jim was incredible. We learned so much about how to make a record, just from being around him. It was all about contrast,” he recalls. “At the time, I was making the drive from Austin to Los Angeles and back fairly often, and I wanted to record something that reflected that landscape — my own version of Brian Eno’s Another Green World — and I think we did it.”

But by the end of the ’80s, Escovedo was on his own again. He woodshedded for a few years then recorded the seminal Gravity album for Austin’s Watermelon label. Gravity showcased the versatility Escovedo had developed over the previous decade while shining a light on his emerging talents as a songwriter. Always introspective, Gravity‘s tracks range from delicate acoustic guitar and cello-based compositions to full-on rockers. Most importantly, it catapulted Escovedo to the forefront of the burgeoning No Depression scene.

Escovedo has released six albums since then, including the maudlin, autobiographical Thirteen Years and the polished roots-rock masterpiece With These Hands. No Depression magazine declared him “Artist of the Decade” for the 1990s, yet Escovedo is modest: “I still can’t play guitar. I’m more of a writer than a guitarist. I keep a notebook and just write down words and thoughts then elaborate on them with music. I usually start out with a sentence. I don’t like to use a lot of adjectives. I prefer to let other people fill in the blanks in the stories,” he says.

That sentiment led him to By the Hand of the Father, a collaboration with playwrights Theresa Chavez, Eric Gutierrez, and Rose Portillo. The original theater production — which chronicles the lives of first-generation Mexican-Americans — debuted in Los Angeles in 2000. Later this spring, Escovedo — the lyricist for By the Hand of the Father — will appear in the play in a handful of cities across the Southwest. “I don’t play a character,” he clarifies. “The musicians and I work to guide the story along. The music provides the narrative.”

Escovedo’s local concert this week at the Blue Monkey is a benefit for WEVL FM-90, yet another local connection for the songwriter, who has performed in the station’s studio twice. As station manager Judy Dorsey explains, “This is an experiment — a way to bring national artists more local exposure and simultaneously raise money for the station’s general operating expenses. Since 9/11, fund-raising has been a little tougher. Bringing [Escovedo] in for a benefit seemed like the perfect thing to do.”

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We Recommend We Recommend

friday, 28

It s the last Friday of the month, which means it s South Main Trolley Tour Night, with, well, no trolley cars because they aren t running, but plenty of galleries and shops open. Opening receptions in the area include Durden Gallery for works by Kevin Mitchell; Jay Etkin Gallery for Regional Flower Show; D Edge Art & Unique Treasures for works by Jerimiah Stansbury; and 378 S. Main for As Real As It Gets: Luther Hampton, a retrospective of Hampton s work from 1968-2003, along with works by Cornelious Carter and David Green. Other openings around town include: Greater Memphis Arts Council for works by Wess Loudenslager; Memphis College of Art for Common Thread, a Fibers Exhibition; Delta Axis Contemporary Arts Center in Marshall Arts for a show of sculpture by Tom Lee; and Rhodes College s Clough-Hanson Gallery for Works by Ladis Sab. The Memphis Grizzlies are playing Miami tonight at The Pyramid. Today kicks off this weekend s Madonna Circle s Antique, Garden, and Gourmet Show at the Shelby County building at the Mid-South Fairgrounds; proceeds benefit The Church Health Center. Today also kicks off this weekend s Home Expo 2003 at Agricenter International, where you can see latest in modern home design (or you could just come to my house). Tonight s I Had A Dream Once Gala at the Coors Belle is a Coors African-American Association fund-raiser for the National Civil Rights Museum and features guest speaker Mayor A C Wharton. Johnny Mathis is at The Orpheum tonight and tomorrow night. Joyce Cobb is at CafÇ Zanzibar tonight. Galactic and Lyrics Born featuring Joyo Velarde and DJ D-Sharp are at The New Daisy. The Distraxshuns are at Patrick s. The lovely, lovely Kelley Hurt with the Chris Parker Trio and the U of M Jazz Singers is performing tonight at the U of M s Harris Auditorium as part of the U of M Jazz Week. And last but certainly not least, there s a free CD-release party at the Hi-Tone by Wrecked Em Records artists Flesh Vehicle, along with Nashville rockers The Clutters.

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Cover Feature News

“Where Are They Now?”

Sidney Shlenker

Back in 1989, our sister publication, Memphis magazine, named Shlenker “Memphian of the Year” and portrayed him on the cover as an angel. The former owner of the Denver Nuggets had come to town with grandiose plans for developing The Great American Pyramid (as it was then called) into a world-class attraction, complete with a Grammy museum, Hard Rock Cafe, college football hall of fame, inclinator rides to the top, and even a bizarre Egyptian-themed entertainment complex to be called Rakapolis. Mud Island, which would somehow be incorporated into this bizarre venture, would be renamed Festival Island.

The Pyramid got built, of course, but nothing else did, and Shlenker left town, leaving Memphians holding a bag full of past-due construction bills. In 1991, our former Memphian of the Year earned a Memphis magazine “Kudzu Award” (our version of Esquire‘s “Dubious Achievements”) and was featured on the cover as a comical Humpty-Dumpty figure atop The Pyramid that had been his downfall.

Things got worse. After he left Memphis, Shlenker moved to Los Angeles, where he made the national news as one of the high-profile clients (along with actor Charlie Sheen and others in the movie industry) of notorious “Hollywood Madame” Heidi Fleiss, who went to prison for running a top-dollar prostitution ring. Then, his California sports-promotion firm was investigated for possible links to organized crime. And in 1998, he was severely injured in an automobile crash, which has left him paralyzed from the chest down. The former master of hyperbole has not spoken to the media in years. — Michael Finger

Brett Kimberlin

Kimberlin, the subject of two early-’90s Flyer cover stories, first gained attention in 1988 when he told NPR journalist Nina Totenberg from a prison in Indiana that he had sold pot to Dan Quayle when the then-vice-presidential candidate was in law school. Within days (and within days of the 1988 presidential election) media interest grew, a press conference was scheduled and then canceled. Prison officials restricted access to Kimberlin, making this convicted drug smuggler and bomber a self-proclaimed “political prisoner.”

In 1992, The New Yorker published a lengthy article about Kimberlin’s claims — again just days before a presidential election. The article’s author, Mark Singer, then wrote a book, sharing his contract fee with Kimberlin. While working on the book, Citizen K: The Deeply Weird American Journey of Brett Kimberlin, published in 1996, Singer began to question the veracity of his subject’s claims, especially those about Quayle buying drugs.

Kimberlin was released from prison, was returned to prison, and was released again, the last time in June 2001. He has filed a number of lawsuits, among them a civil case against the Department of Justice stemming from the 1988 restrictions, which he argued violated his First Amendment rights. A final appeal of that case was rejected by the Supreme Court in March 2001. More recently, Kimberlin was involved in another First Amendment lawsuit against the Department of Justice, this time because of a prison ban of electric guitars. That suit was rejected this month.

Meanwhile, Kimberlin is a guitarist and vocalist for the D.C.-based band Epoxy. Epoxy released its first album, Nothing Else, last summer. — Susan Ellis

Peter Law

The last time the Flyer talked to Dr. Peter Law, he was injecting muscular dystrophy patients with immature muscle cells, suing his critics to the tune of $11 million, and running a self-launched nonprofit foundation.

More than five years later, he’s won his lawsuit, switched his foundation to a for-profit, and using the same immature muscle cells — myoblasts — on patients with heart disease.

“This is basically cutting-edge heart treatment,” says Law. “About a month ago, three heart patients were injected with myoblasts” [from thigh tissue of young healthy Asian males]. The donor cells augment the heart function and make the heart muscle stronger.”

Five years ago, Law claimed he cured patients with Duchenne muscular dystrophy by injecting their muscles with myoblasts, but other researchers who tried the same procedure didn’t have the same results. He still performs the surgery — although outside the United States because it is not approved by the FDA — but Law says his intention was always to focus on the heart.

“Let’s say you need a heart transplant,” Law says. “Last year, there were only 2,600 hearts available for transplant. Around the country, there is an urgent need for this type therapy.”

Law’s heart treatment, if it works, would provide a low-cost alternative to heart transplant operations.

“All three patients are very safe. There’s been no rejection of the tissue, no fever,” says Law. And although he says the heart was to be his real focus, he already has other problems he wants to try tackling with myoblasts: first, diabetes; then cosmetic possibilities. “Say women want bigger breasts or thicker lips. We’ll take muscle cells from their thighs and give them a series of injections. The myoblasts will completely replace silicone. They will give a better shape, and they will survive, develop, and function.” — Mary Cashiola

Bill “Superfoot” Wallace

With a karate kick timed at more than 60 miles per hour, Wallace had earned a national reputation before he moved to Memphis in the early 1970s to open the Tennessee Karate Institute with co-owners Patrick Wrenn and Red West. Among his students: a certain performer named Elvis Presley, who once flew a Los Angeles acupuncturist to Graceland to treat Wallace after a sparring injury.

Wallace, a native of Portland, Indiana, also taught kickboxing at the University of Memphis for several years. In 1980, after a 15-year tournament career that included an unprecedented 23 straight victories (many of them knockouts), Wallace retired as the undefeated middleweight champion of the Professional Karate Association.

These days, Wallace lives in Clearwater, Florida. His hair may be a bit gray, but his belt is still black. He owns Superfoot (SuperFoot.com), where he licenses the “superfoot system” of kickboxing instruction to some 25 martial-arts schools. The author of three books on karate, he lectures and gives demonstrations throughout the country. He also served as the bodyguard for John Belushi and has been a trainer and sparring partner for Jackie Chan and Mickey Rourke. Last year, Wallace returned to Memphis for his induction into the Elvis Presley Memorial Martial Arts Hall of Fame. — MF

Tav Falco

He was born Gus Nelson, but he became one of the foremost characters in a city full of them as “Tav Falco,” founder, alongside Alex Chilton, of the infamous, art-damaged roots band Panther Burns in the late 1970s. With reverence for the city’s blues and rockabilly heritage and irreverence for anything else, Falco’s “band” sold fewer records in its career than Millington’s Justin Timberlake will sell this week, but they formed an aesthetic template for much of Memphis’ underground music for the next two decades.

Immortalized in Robert Gordon’s scene history It Came from Memphis, Falco has been out of sight for most of the past decade, popping up briefly in 2000 with his first album in five years, Panther Phobia.

Contacted via e-mail, Falco says that “the seemingly ongoing demand for our music has landed me in an artist’s garret in the 19th arrondissement of Paris, not far from Place Stalingrad and the city’s largest park, Butte Chaumont.” With Paris as a home base, Falco seems to be living the life one might expect from such an international man of mystery, spending four months in Buenos Aires “researching the tango” and playing in Russia recently for the first time ever.

Asked about his present ties to his old home, he responds, “Do I miss Memphis? After living 17 years in the Bluff City, I have to answer that Memphis is a part of me. … I miss riding my Norton deep in the night around Overton Park, then swooping down the Parkway to Riverside Drive and back out to the Florentine villa on Walnut Grove at 3 in the morning to lean my head against the piano leg of Bill Eggleston’s Steinway and listen to his fingers implicate the melodies of Chopin.” — Chris Herrington

Rheta Grimsley Johnson

Rheta Grimsley Johnson was the Cal Ripken of newspaper columnists, first for The Commercial Appeal and then for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution and King Features. For 20 years she wrote, with rare exceptions, four columns a week, putting a couple million miles on various cars in search of column fodder all over the South.

Last year, she finally backed off, tired of the grind, the travel, and a growing estrangement from the home office in Atlanta. She writes one column a week for King Features and is working on a couple of other writing projects.

“It’s nice writing one column,” she says. “I can have some fun with it.”

Writing four columns, she says, had become a drag, and she found herself “writing about everything that happened in my life and repeating myself.”

For several years she has owned a house in Iuka, Mississippi, near Pickwick Lake. She now divides her time between Iuka and a cabin in the bayou country of Louisiana. They’re both off-the-beaten-path places populated by unpretentious people with interesting stories to tell — the sort of places, in other words, that she used to write about four times a week. — John Branston

Bill Applegate

In 1998, when Bill Applegate was hired as the new head of WMC-Channel 5, his reputation as a gun-slinging, tabloid-television promotions man preceded him. In a Flyer cover story, writer Jim Hanas quoted a former Applegate colleague in Chicago who said: “Bill Applegate can strut sitting down.”

He strutted for a couple years at WMC, adding sensationalist touches (Promo spots for the station’s “Food for Thought” segment were charged with such language as “tune in for the gross details.”) and hyped, breathless newscasts. But Applegate’s career specialty was taking stations at the bottom of the ratings heap and moving them up. WMC, the Memphis market’s perennial news ratings leader, was never really his cup of tea. In February 2001, he left WMC to take on management at two Raycom stations in Cleveland.

Now he’s back in his element, trying to take that city’s woeful bottom-feeder, WOIO, to the top. He’s changed management and on-air talent, and added a new “Action News” format. Results have been minimal so far. WOIO is still last in the ratings. — Bruce VanWyngarden

David Hersh

Baseball season is just around the corner and for the first time in years it looks like David Hersh won’t have a piece of the action.

Hersh was the last owner of the Memphis Chicks before the team moved to Jackson, Tennessee, five years ago and was renamed the West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx. Hersh ran the team in Memphis for five years and was a vocal advocate for improvements to Tim McCarver Stadium and, later, for a new ballpark. Memphis, of course, got a new ballpark and a new team, the Redbirds, but Hersh was out of the deal.

As he did in Memphis, Hersh arrived in Jackson with high hopes and high praise and left under acrimonious circumstances. The city of Jackson sued him and he, in turn, sued the city of Jackson. He and his ownership group sold the team last September for $7.25 million.

Hersh now lives in Tampa. He says he’s unlikely to take over a team this season but is “evaluating different fields right now. I haven’t made up my mind.”

He’s not far from the game he loves. A half-dozen major-league teams have their spring-training headquarters in the Tampa/St. Petersburg area, and Hersh says he’ll be taking in some games next month. — JBranston

Memphis T. Mississippi

In the early 1980s, a local artist certainly made a name for herself — literally — by calling herself Memphis T. Mississippi. The “T” stood for Tennessee. Not only did her watercolors focus almost exclusively on Mississippi River themes and images, she even designed and wore bright-colored, flowing gowns with patterns that suggested waves and river currents. When she wasn’t painting, she worked as a docent for the Mississippi River Museum on Mud Island.

In the late 1980s, Memphis married and moved away. The Lighthouse Gallery in Bartlett still displays and sells her paintings featuring Tom Lee Park, the riverbluffs, and the Mississippi that she found so fascinating. Gallery owner Buddy Kelso says she moved to Russia for a few years then returned to the U.S., and she and her husband, John Bailey, are now living in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio — hundreds of miles from the river she loved so much. Attempts to reach her before presstime were unsuccessful. — MF

Natalie Allen

Former CNN and WREG news anchor Natalie Allen has retired from the public eye to a very private life — so private that she wouldn’t return phone calls to the Flyer.

She lives in Atlanta and occasionally does freelance media training for [Atamira Communications]. I can tell you she is very private about her life and doesn’t like to be in the limelight now that she has left television news,” says Bobbie Battista, former CNN co-anchor and co-founder of Atamira Communications.

Atamira Communications is a media-relations firm specializing in strategy and training for both corporations and politicians.

After her stint at Channel 3, which she began in 1985, Allen moved on to cover the space industry for WRTV in Orlando. She then landed a position on CNN’s Live Today in 1993. She held that position until late 2001 when the network, under new executive leadership, developed a strategy to create “star” newscasters. Allen, Battista, and several other long-time anchors were asked to resign.

Allen is listed as number seven in “The Ultimate 50” on the “best of” hair Web site, Super-Hair.net. In 1997, Allen appeared in the movie Contact with Jodie Foster as a CNN news anchor. — Bianca Phillips

Denny McLain

Denny McLain was the Associated Press Male Athlete of the Year in 1968, a 31-game winner as a pitcher for the Detroit Tigers, and arguably the most famous ballplayer in America that summer. He was 25 years old and seemed to have the brightest of futures. Eight years later, his career was finished and he landed in, of all places, Memphis.

In 1976, McLain, part showman and part con man, was general manager of the Memphis Blues minor-league baseball team, which was forerunner of the Memphis Chicks, which was forerunner of the Memphis Redbirds. He managed to run a promising franchise into the ground, and for the next two years Memphis was without professional baseball.

McLain had several brushes with the law after his baseball career ended. In 1997, he was sentenced to 97 months in prison for mail fraud, pension fraud, and money laundering in Michigan. Now 58, he is incarcerated at the Federal Corrections Center in Bradford, Pennsylvania.

He is scheduled to be released this summer. Nobody in major-league baseball has won 30 games since 1968.

JBranston

Dayna Devon

Formerly the apple of onetime Flyer media writer Jim Hanas’ eye (and not only his), Dayna Devon, the onetime news anchor for WPTY-TV, Channel 24, parlayed what Hanas saw as a rare combination of “wit” and “beauty queen” looks into a plum job in 1999 with Extra TV, a Los Angeles-based syndicated program that beams Hollywood-style entertainment news across the nation. Devon, whose glamorized publicity shots are the equal of most of her subjects, co-anchors Extra‘s one-hour weekend edition and is the primary substitute for regular anchor Leeza Gibbons. Devon manages to transcend the role of entertainment reporter with some incisive general-interest reports — notably a relatively recent one which documented her own Lasik eye surgery. — Jackson Baker

Patricia Merrill

For years conservationist Patricia Merrill’s name has been synonymous with the Chickasaw Bluffs Conservancy. The group, which took on the arduous task of fighting for a bluffwalk, went against property developers and even Mayor Herenton to preserve the public’s access to the bluff. She was awarded a Women of Achievement award for courage last year for her efforts.

Since then, the energetic senior citizen has continued her work with the group, although she has resigned as president. Merrill has wasted no time in her new position as zoning chairman of her neighborhood — getting a billboard at Park and Mt. Moriah removed for code violations.

Merrill celebrated her 50th wedding anniversary last year and juggles her time between 10 grandkids and a garden. While she has admittedly slowed down, Merrill continues to work to establish a greenway and natural area along Nonconnah Creek. — Janel Davis

Hubert Van Tol

Hubert Van Tol was the burly, bearded guiding force of the Mid-South Peace and Justice Center. He was a participant/organizer in numerous rallies and protests and a frequent letter writer and newspaper columnist. But his specialty was bank lending practices. He doggedly pursued local banks to make them live up to the guidelines of community reinvestment that prohibit “red-lining” and require banks to make loans to poor areas as well as prosperous ones.

Van Tol left Memphis in 1996 and moved to Wisconsin a year later. These days he and his wife Lois, a physician, live on a farm in Sparta, Wisconsin, not too far from the Mississippi River in the western part of the state. They have “a bunch of sheep and a llama.” He is co-director of a nonprofit called Fairness in Rural Lending.

“I’m still doing community reinvestment work but with a rural focus,” he says.

Both modest and meticulous, Van Tol is something of a bigwig in his field, advising the Federal Reserve on its role in bank regulation and occasionally getting the ear of Fed chairman Alan Greenspan. He was partly responsible for getting Greenspan to mention predatory lending in a speech at a national community-reinvestment coalition meeting in Washington, D.C., which was “really getting the snowball over the hill in terms of momentum on that issue.”

His son Jesse is a student at the University of Wisconsin in Madison, while daughter Naomi lives in Memphis and is married to conservationist Larry Smith. She is a conservationist and activist in her own right.

JBranston

Walter Winfrey

Walter Winfrey, who once oversaw the Memphis Police Department, is still “serving and protecting,” only now it’s visiting NBA teams that are being served and protected.

Winfrey, who was police director from May 1994 to March 1999, now holds the title of NBA security representative, a position he took when the Grizzlies came to town.

“In every city where there’s an NBA basketball team, the NBA has a representative. The Pyramid, and eventually the new arena, has to sign contracts that say they’re going to provide certain services. My job is to make sure they’re complying. If not, I report them,” says Winfrey, who lives in Cordova with his wife.

For the past two years, Winfrey has also run an Avis Rent-A-Car franchise on Germantown Road.

Winfrey made headlines after his resignation — along with the entire Organized Crime Unit — for allegedly misusing money confiscated through drug seizures. An audit performed over a five-year period, from July 1994 to March 1999, showed that Winfrey had used the funds to pay golf fees, buy office furniture, pay for lawn care and mobile-phone service, as well as a vacation with his wife. — BP

Steve Hayslip

Time was when Steve Hayslip was a triple threat locally — accustomed TV face, family man, and church leader. He still is all of those things, but the venues are different. The former weekday reporter and weekend anchor on WREG-TV Channel 3 left Memphis in 1999 to become morning news host of WTVF-TV Channel 5 in Nashville. (He rises at 2 every morning to do that job!)

Formerly a communicant at Bartlett’s Church of the Nativity, whose priest, Father Charles Frederick Sauer, was convicted of arson at the church, Hayslip was one of a small group that kept the congregation going in the aftermath. “It was a painful time, and, yes, I had to cover the story myself. That hurt,” he says. He subsequently changed faiths and is now a member of the Peoples’ Church of Nashville, a Protestant congregation which offers the highly active Hayslip family an abundance of programs and facilities. Hayslip coaches basketball and soccer for teams that his two sons, Paul and Andy, play on. Daughter Elizabeth is an ice skater, “and I can’t help her there,” non-skater Hayslip says abashedly.

JBaker

Danny Owens

There was a time when you couldn’t pick up a newspaper or turn on the television without hearing something about Danny Owens, the king of Memphis strip clubs. But Danny’s Angels is no more, and two years ago the property that once housed the infamous Stud’s Playhouse was sold at auction, along with two of Owens’ residences. In 1995, Owens, who once waltzed into a competitor’s business with a baseball bat and began swinging, was convicted on gambling- and prostitution-related charges, fined $500,000, and sentenced to 27 years and three months in jail.

Today the 52-year-old Owens is getting plenty of rest at a federal prison in Lompoc, California. Interviews with Owens have to be cleared through the prison’s administration. Calls to prison officials were not returned by press time. Owens is scheduled for release in June 2016. — Chris Davis

Larry Parrish

Attorney Larry Parrish was once a man on a mission, a mission to prevent naked women from shaking their ta-tas in local strip clubs. The year was 1996, and Parrish spearheaded a concentrated effort to get eight local topless clubs shut down. The drive was financially supported by a local Christian group under the auspices of the district attorney. Two years later, the state abruptly dropped all charges against the Memphis clubs, deciding that the DA’s office shouldn’t be involved in prosecuting cases that are privately funded.

“I haven’t thought about [trying to close any more clubs]. I didn’t think about it before then either. I was approached by the district attorney to represent him.”

Parrish says if it had been up to him, it would have gone differently. They could have fought the ruling, he says, and he thinks they could have won.

“The amount of fortitude it would have taken to go forward with it was not there on the part of the decision makers. I was just the lawyer. When the client decides not to go forward, you don’t go forward.”

Since then, he’s been the lawyer for the foster family in the custody case over Anna Mae He. He also is representing a woman who was assaulted in The Peabody hotel in 1999. That case goes to trial this spring. — MC

Charlie Lea

A onetime star athlete at Kingsbury High School, Charlie Lea signed a baseball contract with the Montreal Expos and was assigned in 1980 to the home town Memphis Chicks, an Expos farm team. That year, pitcher Lea got off to an 8-0 start and was promoted to the Expos, where he played from 1980 to 1987. Highlights of his career included pitching a no-hitter and starting and winning the 1984 All-Star Game. After suffering an arm injury, Lea moved on to the Minnesota Twins in 1988, where he finished his career. He returned to the Memphis area and in recent years has pursued business interests and done broadcasting for the Redbirds. Between innings of a Redbirds game last year, Lea mused over the fact that both of his former major-league teams had been marked (temporarily, as it turned out) by baseball commissioner Bud Selig for elimination and reflected on his good fortune to be associated with the ‘Birds. — JBaker

George “Tic” Price

Tic Price has come a long way since his 1999 exit from Memphis and Tiger basketball due to his affair with — and subsequent payoff to — a University of Memphis student. Price has found his redemption at McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana.

Price became assistant coach at McNeese in 2000, then was named head coach in April 2001. That season, Price led his team to the NCAA tournament and was named Southland Conference coach of the year, Louisiana Sports Writers Association coach of the year, and District 8 coach of the year. This year, Price has led the Cowboys to a 12-11 record, with an RPI of 186. — JD

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News News Feature

“…WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS….”

For more awesome views of last week’s anti-war protests around the world, CLICK HERE.

And, for a good time (as they say), CLICK HERE.

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thursday, 27

Someone asked me the other day why I didn t write more anti-war messages in this space. I felt kind of bad about that, but then what could I possibly say that wouldn t be completely predictable and who really cares what I think about it anyway? And if I printed what I really think about it, you still wouldn t care and I d probably get a visit from Bush s Secret Service people or have John Ashcroft looking up my rectum through a computer chip viewing apparatus. I m all in favor of the mass protests, but I believe that whether or not this war happens is simply in the hands of predestined fate and anything I could possibly write about how wrong and ignorant it is any war, for any reason, after thousands and thousands of years to evolve, most of them wasted, apparently, by men worried about money, power, and the size of their penises would not change a thing. That s why I was so glad to run across an article by thestranger.com writer Neal Pollack that basically agrees that so much of what is being written is just so writers can read their own work. Here s just a couple of his statements: Shut up, antiwar people. Shut up, pro-war people. Shut down your computers and shut your goddamn pieholes. No one gives a shit about what you write, so stop writing about the war. Shut up, all of you. I wouldn t have put that quite so bluntly, but I m glad he did. And you should read his take on the 100 Poets Against War, about which he thinks the intention of the movement is nice, but it s no excuse for trying to use the war to try to garner more attention for their pathetic attempts at poetry. If you want to read the rest of what he has to say, check out thestranger.com. If you want to have some real fun, just type in Bush Twins on your search engine and check out the dozens and dozens of sites dedicated to the First Twins. There s an amazing subculture out there obsessed with Daddy s Little Darlings. Lots of stories about them partying even one by the waiter who served her the infamous glass of wine that got the poor thing into so much trouble. I think even left wing people are obsesses with them and actually like them because somehow they ended up being interesting, nice young women, despite the odds. And they love to party. And just try typing in First Niece Noelle Bush s name. Whew. It s extraordinary. I think it s great to type in the name of the president s niece and on the first site you come to the first thing you see is her mug shot taken when she was arrested not long ago for trying to score xanax with a phony prescription. Poor thing. Lord knows she needs them. At any rate, enough of this. What do you care about what someone has to say who tried to call a friend with the television remote control the other day, anyway? And there s a lot going on around town this week, so let s get on with it. Tonight, there s an opening reception at the new Olivia Cornwell Galleries on South Main St. for an exhibition by Ashley Saer. Native Son is playing at the Flying Saucer. And at Capriccio Bar in The Peabody, tonight s Shake & Stir Thursdays with 107.5 The Pig brings in Rhett Miller, about whom Details magazine recently wrote: Good-looking guitar pickers who croon world-weary lines of love and loss tend to get laid a lot. They also tend to get labeled pretty boys by jealous boyfriends. But just because Rhett Miller could make a straight man blush doesn t mean he ll unleash his inner Kenny Loggins on his new solo album, The Instigator. If you want to go, you can register online at www.radiopig.com.