The year 1933 in France was rank with seamy scandals: les affaires Violette Nozière, Oscar Dufrenne, and Sonia Rozensweig. Each provided rich material for the early 20th century’s forerunner of clickbait, the newspaper fait divers. Each expressed, with caricatural bluntness, a current anxiety. The little jazz parricide Violette revealed the weakening bonds of family. The brutal slaying of Oscar Dufrenne in his own theater’s office by a young man dressed as a sailor took a wavering course through the judicial system, condemnation shifting from the accused, finally acquitted, to the sexual mores of his victim. The final and most turbid of these affairs, one whose small, sad reality was overshadowed by billows of contradictory newsprint, was that of Sonia Rozensweig, a 13-year-old suicide.

The facts appear to have been these:

Viewed by Henri Duvernois

Le Bataillon des sans-amour [Battalion of the Unloved]

(The Mayor of Hell)

I was greatly moved by this film. The dreadful existence of some delinquent children, I believe, can never be shown enough. And it is not blindly optimistic to declare most of them capable of reform. During my research for a novel, I discussed this subject with the man most qualified to do so, the head of instruction at the Petite Roquette [a Paris prison for boys 7-20]. He told me flat out:

“Eight out of ten, at least, if they are treated kindly, intelligently, gently, are capable of becoming splendid fellows. And I myself would not hesitate to have them associate with my own children. If you write a book on this subject, your surest inspiration will be pity.”

INTRODUCTION

Three card monte and its sucker effects – a marvelous topic for thorough discussion. I don’t know how far back in history this game goes, or who invented it, but I do know that it is one of the best means of exhibiting your proficiency in the art of dexterity. No doubt it is closely related to the three shell game, which developed from cups and balls, and they go way back in history. I read in some history book that Nero did some clever moves with cups and balls, when he was not playing his fiddle. Which gives you a slight idea of how old the game is.

Now before we go any further into this discussion, let’s get acquainted with the types of people we will meet during said discussion. First, there is the Grifter – better known as the three-card man or monte worker. Three-card man we call him, but to the mob he is known as a broad tosser. He is the gentleman whom you see standing behind a small table or packing case, in fact behind anything that he can use, provided he can attract a crowd with his cry of “Step this way, gentlemen.”

During the recent N.R.A. celebration and parade here in New York, the “grifters” were very much in evidence. Mingling with the crowd, they managed to attract the attention of on-lookers with their come-on tactics, and many of the lambs were shorn of their wool so smoothly that they were hardly aware of it. Many are the ways that games start. A familiar method is to ask a spectator to hold out the newspaper he is reading. Cards are spread on it and with the effort of the “shills,” a crowd collects, interest runs high when the apparent simplicity of the card moves going on in front of them impresses them, the spectators put their money up and get cleaned, as it were.

Almost anything will serve as a table top for the “grifter.” Sometimes, the back of one of the boosters will serve, while his arm-pits serve as convenient nooks or wells for certain necessary card changes. Win? Try to do it, brother. You haven’t a chance.

The “grifter” is ably assisted by a group of followers known as “cappers,” “boosters,” “shills” – the latter name being the correct one. These gentlemen travel around with him at all times. The clever “grifter” has clever “shills.” This group you will find in any place where there is an opportunity to make money – at race tracks, on trains, carnivals, ocean steamers, even amongst society and better known clubs. “Shills” working at these places dress accordingly. One of these shills is usually known as a “ham-donny” – a third-rate pugilist who goes along as strong arm man for the mob. He is the gentleman who tells you to “scram or screw” if you should put up a holler after you have been gypped or cheated. No doubt you have read or been told that the “grifter” will let the spectator win to encourage betting. This is wrong. It has never been known that the “broad tosser” gave the sucker an even break. The winning spectator is always a “shill.” Nobody has ever beat a “grifter” at his own game. It is impossible. (Incidentally there is one exception that is hardly an exception to the rule – up to a short time ago, a mob was working on ferry boats around New York. They let suckers win, but winnings paid by the mob was counterfeit money, or “queer” money as it is called by them. It was a clever way to get rid of the “queer.”)

The reason why you can’t win – the “shill” himself never knows where the winning ace is until the signal is given to him by the “grifter.” After that if you are lucky enough to place your hand on winning ace the “shill” will place his hand on any other card. The “grifter” grabs the “shill’s” money, thereby killing your chances of winning, because only one person can play at a time. The “grifter” will say, “Money in hand or no play.” If you give him your money first, then place your hand on the right card, he will say, “Double the bet?”

The “shill" will then say, "I double the bet.” You get your money back and the “shill” wins, thereby keeping the money in the mob. The “grifter” will say, “Double the bet,” if you have your hand on the wrong card. If you do it is O.K., if you don’t, it’s O.K. – you lose anyway.

DEFINITION OF GAMBLING TERMS

ACE – A dollar. A good humored individual, a sport.

BERRIES – Money – one of the terms a gambler uses when speaking of the wherewithal to play.

BLANKET – Used sometimes in place of a table. Also means overcoat.

BLOWOFF–Climax.

BREEZE– Scram or screw, in other words, make an exit.

BUCK– Another term for dollar.

BULL– A policeman.

BUM STEER– Bad information.

Roger Miller's obituary in the New York Times of October 27, 1992 ran under the headline "Roger Miller, Quirky Country Singer and Songwriter, Is Dead at 56."

As condescending and limiting as that is, it does reflect how a lot of people thought of Miller -- the clown prince of country, the "down-home jester of pop" behind novelty hits like "Dang Me," "Do-Wacka-Do," "Chug-A-Lug," and "You Can't Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd."

Reading John W. Campbell's Who Goes There? (1938) the source novella for both Howard Hawks' The Thing from Another World (1951) and John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) is instructive, enjoyable and inspiring.

Campbell was a major science fiction editor, if rather prescriptive, who undoubtedly elevated the genre. His writing is often quite fine, though he's over-fond of the adverb: "Abruptly it rumbled disapproval throatily." And the story feels like a serial which has been carelessly patched together, with weird breaks in scenes and text that seems keen to recap what we just read. Other than that it's terrific, suspenseful, atmospheric.

The first movie, produced by Hawks, but mostly directed by his editor Christian Nyby, and scripted by Charles Lederer with uncredited input from Hawks and Ben Hecht, jettison everything but the basic concept of an Antarctic base menaced by an alien monster thawed from the ice. The whole shape-shifting concept was apparently judged too challenging from a visual effects standpoint, but maybe Hawks wouldn't have enjoyed the idea of Campbell's "who-is-it?" paranoia and suspicion: what we get is his usual group unity, with the untrustworthy egghead who admires the alien horror as the only one who's not part of a smoothly functioning team.

The script tries to maintain the alienness of the monster by stating that it's of vegetable origin ("An intellectual carrot? The mind boggles!") and subsists on blood, cheap world-building/creature-building that can be established via dialogue. And it can grow a new arm. But when we finally see it, it's basically James Arness in a bald cap and jumpsuit.

Nevertheless, Hawks' version is suspenseful and shocking and goes at a fair clip, and the characters, paper-thin, generic and devoid of star names or charisma, are somehow likeable.

A lawyer representing French journalist Jean-Pierre Thibaudat contacted François Gibault And Véronique Chovin in June of 2020 to pass along some news. It was news no one was expecting, least of all Gibault and Chovin. I’ll get back to this eventually.

Louis-Ferdinand Celine (1894-1961) was a complex and contradictory character. He was a nihilist yet a moralist, a decorated soldier yet and ardent pacifist, an unrelenting misanthropist yet a physician who cared for the poorest of the poor. He harbored a broiling hatred for damn near everything, but loved the ballet. My god how he loved the ballet. He’s also one of the most important, influential and reviled authors of the twentieth century.

On June 6, Spain joined South Africa’s case at the United Nations top Court, accusing Israel of genocide.

This move followed a decision by Madrid and two other western European capitals - Dublin and Oslo - to recognize the state of Palestine, thus breaking ranks with a long-established US-led western policy.

As per American thinking, the recognition and the establishment of a Palestinian State should follow a negotiated settlement between Israel and Palestine, under the auspices of Washington itself.

No such negotiations have taken place in years, and the US has, in fact, shifted its policies on the issue almost entirely under the previous administration of Donald Trump. The latter had recognized as 'legal', illegal Jewish colonies in Palestine, Israel's sovereignty over occupied East Jerusalem, among other concessions.

Several years into the Biden Administration, little has been done to reverse or fundamentally alter the new status quo.

More recently, Washington has done everything in its power to support Israel's ongoing genocide in Gaza.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is often criticized for failing to produce a vision for the ‘next day’, meaning the day following the end of the Gaza war.

Some of these criticisms emanate from Israel’s traditional western allies, who are wary of Netanyahu’s personal and political agendas, which are fixated on delaying his corruption trials and ensuring that his extremist allies remain committed to the current government coalition.

The criticism however is loudest in Israel itself.

“As long as Hamas retains control over civilian life in Gaza, it may rebuild and strengthen (itself), thus requiring the IDF to return and fight in areas where it has already operated,” Defense Minister Yoav Gallant said last May, demanding a ‘day-after’ plan.

The same sentiment was conveyed by Israeli army chief Herzi Halevi. “As long as there’s no diplomatic process to develop a governing body in the Strip that isn’t Hamas, we’ll have to launch campaigns again and again,” he was quoted in Israel’s Channel 13 as saying.

It is true that Netanyahu has no post-war plan. The lack of such a ‘vision’, however, does not entirely rest on his own failure to produce one, but due to his inability to determine, with any degree of certainly, if the war would yield favorable results for Israel.

Nine months of war have shown that Israel is simply incapable of maintaining its military presence in urban areas, even those that have been ethnically cleansed or are sparsely populated.

This has been proven to be as true in the southern as in the northern parts of Gaza, including border towns that were relatively easy to enter in the first days or weeks of the war.

For a post-war plan that fits Israeli interests to be produced, Gaza would have to be militarily subdued, a goal that seems more distant than ever.

At the start of the war, and many times since then, Netanyahu argued that Israel would have "overall security responsibility" for the Gaza Strip "for an indefinite period".

For those who have not studied the familiar Bartlett, the prison warden Lewis E. Lawes sort of famously said, “If you want to make a dangerous man your friend let him do you a favor.” (Burroughs said, though, that if you do a favor for a friend he’ll never forgive you, but that’s a whole nother ball game.) I ask, then, what is a dangerous man? Men in prison by definition are dangerous men, we are told, and it is these kinds of men that the coolheaded (if prone to grandstanding the cause somewhat) reformist Warden Lawes attempted to befriend, back in the good old bad old days, in his storied stewardship of the notorious Sing Sing state prison in Ossining, New York, and storied I say because during the second decade of his tenure, from 1932–40, no fewer than five Hollywood movies were made based on his published (fiction and nonfiction both) books. Such danger men, Lawes calculated, notably and also famously even now, served during his wardenship, in toto, many thousands of years behind bars, doing society a favor. He evoked terrifically for us all the ineffably wasted time simply with the title of his best-known work, “Twenty Thousand Years in Sing Sing.” Twenty thousand years! Think of the action abused, the energy spat away. Lawes gathered some of that vulnerable hope and energetic despair and told the stories of the general character of such fallen men, whose literary portraits at least, thanks to his stamina, remain for us today, if not exactly what makes the danger back of it all so quotable in the minds of the otherwise silent readers of books on prisons and prisoners.

by Don Kennison

The voices of some male speakers or singers — often those thought of as “folk singers,” whether they were or not – that sound like they’ve always been there, that they emanate directly from the earth, like the landscape speaking through evolution and history.

Ewan MacColl, the late Scots singer/songwriter – and partner in every way of Peggy Seeger – was a prime example, a voice that arouses and lifts you with a deep, almost palpable sound.

The most mesmerizing non-singer of this type I’ve heard was the South African poet Dennis Brutus. He did a reading and… would I call it a lecture?… at the Annenberg Center in Philly in the ’80s. I was writing a weekly column for the Welcomat weekly at the time, so he was a natural to report.

I took no notes. His words so seared themselves into me that I could quote almost everything he said verbatim the next day. Now I wish I had such notes, because those enrapturing words have seeped away over the decades.

But I’m not working up to a laud of MacColl or Brutus here. This is for Stan Rogers, a Canadian singer/songwriter who died way too early.

I don’t recall who had the grace to point me to Between the Breaks, his third album, first one before a live audience, and still my favorite. He wrote all but three of the songs recorded there, which… again, feel like you could unearth the lyrics by asking any rock along the Canadian coast.

Though Rogers spent most of his adult life in Ontario, his truest love of Canada and its people came, first, from the Maritime seaport provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, then later, the farmers and laborers of the plains. The best tracks of Between the Breaks are the seafaring tales, including “Barrett's Privateers,” “The Mary Ellen Carter,” and “The Flowers of Bermuda,” plus his rendition of a traditional sea chanty, “Rolling Down to Old Maui.”

President Herbert H. Hoover wasn’t very popular following the 1929 stock market crash. In fact, the name Hoover would become a wisecrack betraying general fury over America’s dispossessed, homeless millions – folks using newspapers as slim protection against the elements called them “Hoover Blankets.” Empty pockets were known as “Hoover Dollars,” or, flapping inside-out, “Hoover Flags.” Shantytowns are unfortunately making a comeback, and they go by that old finger-pointing moniker, “Hoovervilles.”

–Daniel Riccuito’s The Depression Alphabet Primer, drawing by Tony Millionaire