Archive for April, 2008

Presidential Sport

Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008

This is not going to become a habit, I hope, and it is not political commentary per se, just some general advice, drawing on specific examples, to all Presidential candidates about not trying to seem something you’re not. Well, let me back off from that: running for President is mainly about seeming something you’re not. But still, you have to choose a realistic man or woman of the people image for yourself. Otherwise, you may be found out in a way that damages your chances of being elected.

There are just too many reporters, cameras, and, now, bloggers around to think you can keep much secret. Things get found out these days. If you’re going to engage in what some hair-splitting, old-fashioned types may consider “sexual relations” with a young intern, be ready for the embarrassing details to be printed in full in the NY Times and posted on the internet. The public wants to know I guess, though I didn’t. If you didn’t really come under sniper fire in Bosnia on a trip with many witnesses, don’t expect your assertion that you did will go unchallenged. In my mind, the mere running for President requires either courage or ignorance of its inherent danger (see my recent post), so why make up stories?

Today I’m mainly talking about trying to present an image of yourself as a sports fan or recreational athlete when in fact you don’t care about sports or don’t engage in them. We have certainly had some athletic Presidents. Lincoln was reputed to be a powerful wrestler. Teddy Roosevelt was the extreme case of an overachiever in the manly arts. Ike played football, and I first encountered the word “atheist” as a kid when Eisenhower jokingly defined it as someone who doesn’t care who wins the Notre Dame vs. SMU football game. (Don’t worry if you don’t get it.) Jerry Ford played football (too often without a helmet according to LBJ). Washington excelled at tree chopping and dollar tossing in his youth, or so they used to say.

JFK, despite debilitating health problems, was able to project an image of manly fitness because it had been true in his earlier days and exposing Presidential weaknesses wasn’t given such a high priority in his day. FDR obviously wasn’t an athlete, but he didn’t pretend to be, and he managed to appear much less physically handicapped than he actually was, something that would be difficult to achieve today. Speaking of FDR, I’ll bet Senator Obama envies his ability to flaunt his cigarettes in a holder that became iconic. Every era demands new sacrifices.

In recent years at least, it seems that candidates have striven more to give the appearance of being avid sports fans, probably because sports have become more and more important with the expansion of the sports media. Sports nuts are probably a significant segment of the population, if not, strictly speaking, a voting bloc. Nixon was truly interested in sports, I recall. So much for the idea that that’s a reliable indicator of a successful Presidency, but he did get elected twice.

Our current President also seems to follow sports with genuine interest. He owned a major league baseball team. He can throw ceremonial first pitches all the way from the pitcher’s mound to home plate with some authority, a major step up from the weak short tosses from the stands of not so long ago. So why then would John Kerry have tried to go up against the other guy’s strength in an area where he, Kerry, had a weakness? Maybe throwing back a shot of whiskey à la Hillary Clinton recently would have been a better idea; though, against a recovering alcoholic who’d been on the wagon for years, it could have seemed a bit like hitting below the belt.

In any case, Kerry definitely sought to portray himself as a sports fan, including a fan of NASCAR racing, but with results that worked against him I think. Representing Massachusetts in the Senate, Kerry no doubt had been told it’s important to be a big Red Sox fan. But when he started talking about Manny Ortez (probably a running together of Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz), it only seemed he was trying to remember lines, not speaking from true interest. And about 99.9% of Red Sox fans were going to see that. Yet he doesn’t seem to learn. He avowed that his favorite Sox player when he was a kid was Eddie Yost, who never played a game for Boston. There was an Eddie Yost, all right, who played for the Washington Senators, so Kerry may have truly remembered hearing the guy’s name. He may even be remembering something about him. Kerry said that the thing he really liked about Yost was that he walked a lot. Not hit homeruns or stole bases, but walked! This was not a normal kid baseball fan he was describing.

Kerry was following in the footsteps of the Senior Senator from Massachusetts with his mangling of ballplayers’ names. Ted Kennedy was somehow prompted to refer to the homerun hitters then challenging Roger Maris’s record as “Sammy Suser and Mike McGwire” (at a time when the names of Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were everywhere). Of course, what he really said was Sammy Susa and Mike McGwire. That extra “r” is just something people from Boston add before a following vowel, in this case the “and.” Think of JFK’s “Cubar” if you’re old enough.

In this Presidential season, Mitt Romney tried to recover from his exaggerated tales of being a lifelong hunter by making jokes about mounting gopher head trophies, which I have to admit is kind of funny. But you don’t have to be a hunter to say you don’t want to take hunters’ guns away, so better not overdo it in the first place. Romney spent a lot of money on his campaign, but seems to have come across as a phony to a lot of voters. The hunting fib couldn’t have helped.

Generally speaking, unless you can pull it off, as Hillary did in showing she was “one of the guys” when she downed the shot of whiskey, don’t attempt man-of-the-people feats. I doubt that hers was a spur-of-the-moment decision and it may have been born of desperation, but it could turn out to have been a brilliant move. How many percentage points was that shot worth? She must have practiced that one, but others have jumped in without thorough preparation.

President Jimmy Carter famously collapsed on camera while jogging during his term of office, which did not convey the image of vigor and stamina he was no doubt hoping for. Carter also became a figure of ridicule when he talked of having to beat off with a boat oar the repeated attacks of an aquatic rabbit that kept swimming toward his boat. The “Killer Rabbit” episode certainly has colored my image of him ever since. Maybe it was a rabid rabbit that really was dangerous or a drowning rabbit that should have been rescued instead of bashed, but it just seems ludicrous in the telling. Better to have kept the rabbit story inside the family. Perhaps that unfortunate encounter with the wild kingdom was enough to sink Carter against Reagan, who by the way got his start as a play-by-play baseball radio announcer using fake crowd noise and bat cracks for time-delayed broadcasts based on telegraphed reports coming in to the station.

Then there were the painful-to-look-at pictures of Kerry trying to catch a football as though it were the first one he’d ever had thrown to him, something to be warded off like an attacking hawk at Fenway Park. Whose idea was that? Why football anyway? Well, the Kennedy Presidential clan used to play touch football, so that might have entered into it. And JFK (the original) liked to sail of course, which may explain Kerry’s windsurfing. But windsurfing doesn’t convey mastery the way posing at the tiller of a sailboat does.

If you’ve never engaged in an activity before, better not do it for the first time with press coverage. As a case in point, if you’ve never bowled before in your life, don’t bowl in front of the television cameras the way Obama did. If you bowl a 37, just say you were under 100 unless you’ve foolishly let the press keep score. People might relate to a guy bowling under 100, but 37 is so low that it casts doubt on your basic physical co-ordination or performance under pressure. Most people who have bowled probably won’t remember having bowled a score that low. If you see you’re on your way to a 37, and the press is keeping score, better quit early. You can say it’s that old bullriding injury acting up or something. Is bowling a requirement for being President? No—so don’t act like it is by doing it in public, unless you can bowl at least, say, 150.

I would also recommend that, if you are as weak in an area as your opponent is, be careful how you ridicule him or her. Cheney could pile on Kerry about referring to Lambeau Field as Lambert Field, but Senator Obama’s talking about Hillary out there in the duck blind like “Annie Oakley with her six shooter” didn’t really work. It hinted at ignorance of both duck hunting, where shotguns are preferred, and Annie Oakley, who was famous for her rifle shooting. Associating Hillary Clinton with Annie Oakley in any way probably wasn’t a good idea, as Annie excelled at something usually thought of as a masculine activity, and who knows what might stick in the voter’s mind.

Looking to the fall, consider that John McCain really is a sports fan. This is neither good nor bad as far as I can see, unless taken to extremes. McCain will no doubt reveal some foibles of his own, but his opponent would be well advised not to try to match him in sports acumen or enthusiasm, because exposure as a phony, even in an unimportant area can tip the scales for some people. McCain really did get shot at too.

Commercial Break: DNA Day Sale Now Underway

Friday, April 18th, 2008

And now, a word from our sponsor. If you’ve ever wanted to learn or thought that maybe you should learn what the structure of DNA really looks like and how DNA actually works in our cells to make us who we are and keep us going, then you have a chance to do it in a very thorough and enjoyable way for the lowest price ever. OnScreen DNA, the virtual model programmed by the On-Screen Scientist himself, is on sale at a 70% markdown, in honor of DNA Day and the original discovery of the DNA double helix fiftty-five years ago. The price? Just $19.53 (where’d that number come from?), instead of the usual $69, through April 25, 2008.

What’s DNA Day? It’s the day we celebrate both the historic publication of the Watson and Crick paper that elucidated the double helical structure of DNA and the completion of the Human Genome Project. April 25 has been chosen as the day. I may feel moved to say something about the discovery one of these days, maybe even before DNA Day, but for now I wanted to alert my many readers to the sale.

The software runs on Macintosh OS X or Windows XP/Vista. Download the free OnScreen DNA Lite first if you wish to see the quality of the model. But you don’t really get the full how-DNA-works story in the Lite version, just a detailed guided tour of the structure, including the essential molecular components and chemical bonds. The on-screen tutorials explain everything you’re seeing, and practically no prior knowledge is assumed.

Can you spot the many (roughly 50% it seems) inaccurate popular depictions of DNA as a left-handed helix instead of the proper right-handed type? Well, you’ll be able to after a few minutes with OnScreen DNA (or even the Lite edition, for that matter). It would be so easy to tell the artists hired to make all these nifty DNA double helix logos and designs the difference between left-handed and right-handed DNA, but it seems no one does, even scientists. Witness the many backward examples. I think the professor that was maintaining the left-handed-DNA web site finally got tired of it, but I imagine the archives are still up in any case. Just Google it. New examples appear all the time. The Boston Globe had a doozy that occupied about half a page just last week. Left-handed DNA does exist in nature, but it’s a small percentage and is not the genome molecule of our chromosomes.

Anyway, the animations of DNA and RNA chain-construction in OnScreen DNA are a lot of fun. I still enjoy them after having seen them countless times during programming, debugging, testing, and just playing around. You really need to see the three-dimensional structure of DNA, not just the two-dimensional ladders which animations encountered on the internet seem to invariably fall back on. Having programmed the OnScreen DNA animations, I can see why. It’s a pain to do the three-dimensional programming. But it is worth it. Just go to <onscreen-dna.com/buy_dna_online.php> to purchase online and see for yourself. Or get the free version from the link in the upper right. Amaze your friends by pointing out the next picture of left-handed DNA you come across! That’s almost as good as ordering in French at the French restaurant.

The Candidates: Reckless, Fatalistic, Uninformed, Optimistic, or Heroic?

Saturday, April 12th, 2008

Think of a dream job—one with a lot of power and prestige and a private jet, if that’s what you’d like. Now imagine that there was one little drawback: about a 15% chance you would die as the result of a violent assault sometime during your first few years on the job, and that in fact you could be shot dead within your first four months of work, as a previous holder of the position had been. Would that make you pause before submitting your résumé?

Gee, I would have thought Mafia dons had better security than that, you may be saying to yourself. What is this job? Well, being a Mafia prosecutor in Italy has been an even more dangerous job than the one I’m thinking of, but the job I have in mind is plenty dangerous, is only open to US citizens, and carries a lot more power and prestige; so much power and prestige, in fact, that despite the inherent danger, a goodly number of risk-taking people, both men and women, can’t resist seeking the job, even devoting months and millions trying to attain it. The job of which I write is, of course, the Presidency of the United States of America.

Starting with and including Abraham Lincoln, twenty-seven men have held the office of President of the United States, and four of them have been assassinated. So during that time, 14.8% of US Presidents have been killed on the job, all well before their first five years in office, one (Garfield) less than four months into his term. This is a dangerous job! Starting with Lincoln may seem unfair, but I would argue that the first successful assassination (coming at the end of a civil war) changed the game, and made it more likely that others would follow.

The toll could easily have been higher. Ronald Reagan survived a bullet fired into a lung, and a woman shot at President Ford but missed because a man in the crowd grabbed her arm at the last second. Our current President was lucky that a grenade thrown toward him during a foreign trip to Tbilisi, Georgia failed to explode. Harry Truman was the target of two Puerto Rican nationalists in 1950, but the gunmen were shot before they could get to him; one attacker and a White House guard died in the gun battle. In 1994, a man sprayed bullets in the direction of a group of men on the White House lawn, which he erroneously thought included President Clinton, who was inside. Franklin Roosevelt was a target of bullets shortly before his first inauguration, in an attack by a lone gunman which killed the mayor of Chicago and wounded four others; crowd intervention probably saved the President-elect as in the Ford case. Other plans and stalkings have been uncovered, while others have no doubt gone undetected.

You don’t even have to be elected to be a target, nor are you necessarily safe after leaving office. Three candidates for the presidency have also been shot. Candidate George Wallace was paralyzed as a result of a bullet wound, and Robert Kennedy was shot to death. Teddy Roosevelt survived a bullet to the chest after he had left office and while he was campaigning to return to the White House. Saddam Hussein plotted to kill the first President Bush a few months after he left office, but Kuwait security intercepted the would-be car bombers.

To put it in perspective, let’s compare the risk of being President of the US with some other hazardous jobs, first looking at some regular jobs. The overall job fatality rate due to accidents and assaults for all American workers is about four per 100,000 each year, for a 0.004% chance of being killed on the job. Starting with Lincoln’s first inauguration and counting up to the present, the annual fatality rate through assassination for US Presidents is 2.7%, which says that a President’s risk of being killed on the job is around 700 times that of today’s average US worker! The average US worker has about a 0.08% chance of being killed on the job in a twenty-year period.

For the years 2001-6 an average of 43% of on-the-job deaths resulted from transportation accidents. Driving is kind of dangerous, which we knew, but that is quite a high percentage and points out how relatively safe most jobs are. We think of mining as a dangerous profession, and it is about 6.5 times more dangerous than the average job, but the odds of being killed in mining are around 0.5% in a twenty-year-period. Being President is over a hundred times more likely to get you killed than mining in an average year.

For the general population, 10% of on-the-job deaths are due to violent assaults, which seems strikingly high. But since there have been no accidental deaths of Presidents in office, for them the rate is 100%. Put together, driving accidents and assaults account for over half of the on-the-job deaths in the US.

The figures vary a bit from year to year, but the three professions that are regularly in the top three for death rates on the job are fishing, logging, and flying (which includes small planes like cropdusters), each having an annual job fatality rate of roughly 0.1%. Thus the Presidential annual fatality average is twenty-seven times that for he most hazardous normal jobs. Over a twenty year career, a fisherman’s chance of dying from an accident or drowning on the job is about 2%. This is high, but, perhaps surprisingly, nothing compared to the historical risk a President of the US faces while in office for only a few years.

What about the hazards of serving in the US military in Iraq? It goes without saying that some in the military are much more exposed to danger than others, depending on their respective roles. So keep in mind that the figure used here is an average over all military personnel without considering what percentage of them are in relatively safe areas and not regularly involved in combat patrols and assaults. Even remembering that, it still seems counterintuitive that, on average a President is at substantially greater risk of being killed than the average serviceman in Iraq.

Consider the following. In a relatively “hot” period in Iraq (when appreciably more casualties were being sustained than now) from September 18, 2006 to February 4, 2007, the calculated annual death rate for American troops was 7.5 per 1,0000 (Bird and Fairweather, 2007, abstract online). Thus a high estimate for the likelihood of dying on the job in Iraq (including non-combat accidents) within a year was 0.75%; which, from the fatality standpoint, is about 7.5 times more dangerous than logging. But the military fatality rate is only 28% of the Presidential one.

Roughly 80% of the military deaths in Iraq have been due to hostile action, with the rest being comparable to “normal” deaths on the job, such as helicopter crashes not due to enemy fire, etc. Take away the hostile action, and serving in Iraq is still about 50% more likely to kill you than logging or fishing in the USA. Over a sustained five-year-period the likelihood of being killed in combat in Iraq for the average serviceman would be something like 3%, while a President has a 15% chance of being killed by hostile action while in office.

However, the odds of suffering a non-fatal wound are over seven times as great as being killed for a soldier in Iraq, while Presidents have been more likely to be killed than wounded. Only Reagan was wounded and survived while in office. The risk of bodily harm, including non-fatal wounds, is then greater for the average serviceman in Iraq than for the President.

None of this comparing of averages over time is meant to suggest that the stress level and hardships of living in a foreign land with many hostile locals, while far from loved ones, eating army rations, possibly being shot at every day, seeing others around you being killed and wounded, and perhaps suffering horrible but non-fatal wounds yourself, are at all comparable to the daily life of luxury in the perceived security of twenty-four-hour Secret Service protection in the White House.

To put that average fatality rate for US servicemen in better perspective, let’s consider the battle of Fallujah in November 2004, which saw very intense house-to-house combat against well-prepared insurgents by US Marines and Army units. Some 6,000 assault troops lost about 50 killed in the ten days of heaviest fighting in Operation al-Fajr. Projecting that brief intensity of combat to an annual rate, would give a fatality rate forty times higher than the figure we have used for the average. More realistically, a Marine that went through the equivalent of a dozen Fallujah’s would be at a 10% risk of being killed.

Considered as occupations, US serviceman in Iraq and US President differ in a crucial way: the President’s uniqueness. A substantial portion of the military personnel are not regularly exposed to the same level of risk as troops venturing into enemy-held areas; and, even for the soldiers most at risk, an individual soldier is just one in the crowd, and chance will play a major role in whether he or someone next to him or fifty miles away from him is the one that dies from an IED explosion or sniper’s bullet, while the President is unique and a target himself just by virtue of his office. Other wars have of course had much higher military fatality rates, and future ones may as well, but the fact remains that the Commander-in-Chief is, by reasonable estimates, at substantially greater risk of being killed than the average serviceman or servicewoman in Iraq, though the risk to the President at any given time is even more invisible and unknowable.

Finally, let’s consider astronauts. Being an astronaut is not a safe job, as we have seen in spectacular fashion a couple of times. So far the career fatality rate has been something under 4%, in the sense that about that percentage of space travelers have died. Some have made multiple trips into space (when the danger peaks, of course) and all have had to train for years before the first flight, but this number can serve as a rough estimate of the likelihood of dying on the job in a career that is measured in a relatively few years, which makes it a good comparison with that dream job I mentioned in the first paragraph. On average, the danger is comparable to serving in Iraq, and it is much safer to be an astronaut than a President. The difference is that the period of greatest risk is obvious for the astronaut, while the secret actions of a Lee Harvey Oswald remain hidden until the final bloody deed itself.

Of course, the assassination probabilities I’ve been using are subject to the objection that it is really impossible to judge the relative dangers for different eras in terms of the overall threat, the level of security, and the likelihood of surviving a gunshot wound. Reagan survived being shot. Would Garfield and McKinley have survived if they had had the same level of medical care? Perhaps one or both would have. But we are dealing with a small sample size, and a slight deviation in the path of the bullet that punctured Reagan’s lung could have proved fatal also.

What if we start counting with George Washington instead of Lincoln? That reduces the assassination rate for Presidents to just under 10%. Looking at only the last fifty years, also gives a fatality rate of 10%. These numbers, though below 15%, still show the Presidency to be a lot more dangerous than all of the other professions we’ve considered, military service in Iraq included.

The constant historical background is that there will always be a certain number of mentally unbalanced people that will contemplate killing the President, whoever he or she may be, and some will eventually act on their obsessions with some possibility of success in our open society. And from time to time an individual or small group will also seek to rise out of their obscurity by performing a mighty deed, supposedly in the service of a noble cause they identify with (Secession, Anarchy, Defense of Cuba, whatever). War and Peace readers, think of Pierre, “L’russe Besuhof.”

What’s new in our times is an organized movement, rooted in religious fanaticism, that glorifies martyrdom in the service of killing. This fact alone, without the prior US history of assassinations, would be enough to make us anxious, especially when we think of the recent killing of Benazar Bhutto. Given the number of attempts by the “usual suspects” on the lives of Presidents and Presidential candidates since the Kennedy assassination, it seems clear that our Presidents, and we as a nation, have been lucky that there has not been a Presidential assassination in over forty-five years.

Of course, security measures have been increased. You can’t drive by or fly over the White House anymore, for example. But, at the risk of sounding overly fatalistic, I’ll guess that the country will have to deal with a Presidential assassination again sometime within the lifetime of most of us.

It’s like the big earthquake that we know is going to hit California or the asteroid that’s going to slam into the Earth one of these centuries unless we’ve figured out how to deflect it by the time it comes. I think it’s more likely that we’ll be able to deflect an asteroid than foil every assassination attempt. All we can do is hope that a combination of enhanced security, dumb luck, or providential protection continues to keep our Presidents safe; and, if we are in a crowd near a President, be alert and ready to wrest the gun from a would-be killer, as others have done in the past.

Retired astronaut Rick Hauck candidly said in 2003, after the second Space Shuttle disaster, that if he had known how high the fatality risk of space flight was, he probably wouldn’t have chosen to be an astronaut. I wonder if the presidential aspirants actually do the calculations? Michelle Obama has reportedly voiced concern for her husband’s safety, supposing there to be an increased danger due the special historical circumstances of his candidacy, but all candidates and their spouses must take the danger into account. Some may feel they are the darlings of fortune—the temptation to think that would certainly be great for anyone close to becoming President—and never give it much thought, but it must still have some place in the back of their minds.

I wonder if thoughts of assassination haven’t influenced the decisions of reflective men like Mario Cuomo, who decided not to seek the Presidency that so many thought could be his. This is mere speculation and would not be a judgment against anyone of whom I knew it to be true. To run for President, one would have to decide whether one could live and function well with the knowledge that, not only might each day be one’s last, which we are all theoretically aware of, but that the end might be due to murder, which is much less likely for those of us who are not Presidents.

Without overlooking their sometimes grievous faults or the degree to which blind ambition may motivate them, let us give those who serve as President some gratitude and respect for the courage they show in seeking and holding the office, as we also pray for each President’s safety.

Some Thank Yous and More on Ronnie Knox

Monday, April 7th, 2008

I started this blog February 27, 2008. I’ve actually had more people drop by or stumble in than I expected, and I’d like to say thank you to a few folks, as well as adding a little more information on Ronnie Knox, the Proust-reading football player I talked about in the previous post for April 1.

The first email I got (via the link near the top right) was from Jamie, who had come across The Perfect Italian Woman after it had triggered a Google alert she’d set up for any web pages relevant to a book she was writing on French women. She enjoyed the piece and was generous in her compliments. Thank you, Jamie, for the encouragement.

That was just one example of the funny ways people can end up here. The story of my unusual free-lance physics job Why Gamble? Hire a Physicist lured people that had made Google searches on “Lawrence Berkeley Lab salary negotiation,” “physicists for hire,” and “postdoc scientist.” I don’t know how long they stuck around since I suspect they had something more practical in mind, but it’s interesting to see the unexpected directions people are coming from.

The biggest spikes in visitors to the blog occurred after I posted the long accounts of my troubles installing Windows Vista on my MacBook Pro using Apple’s Boot Camp. Most of the traffic was due to the MacSurfer’s Headline News site’s having linked to the posts. It’s nice to be able to measure traffic in the hundreds instead of in single or double digits. I still get people coming by every day to check those computer-related posts out, which is not too surprising since I dealt with a number of issues that can come up when you’re installing Vista on a Mac.

I am grateful to two Proust-related bloggers that have made less ephemeral links to the Ronnie Knox, Marcel Proust, and I post along with appreciative comments. These are Antonia of The Laws of Night and Honey and Judy of Reading Proust in Foxborough. I’ve also had an enjoyable email exchange with John of the blog Thinking It Through.

Now to more on Ronnie Knox. I found some Google excerpts from a book published in 2003 called Beyond the Xs and Os: My Thirty Years in the NFL, an as-told-to book by the pro football coach, Jim Hanifan, who had been a teammate of Ronnie’s at UC Berkeley. Jim was a junior when Ronnie was a freshman. About Ronnie’s ability he has this to say:

Ronnie was a superbly talented football player. If his old man had not fouled him up, everyone in the country, even today, would know who Ronnie Knox was. That’s how good a player he was and could have been.

Hanifan fills in some painful details of the way Ronnie’s stepfather caused problems with every coach Ronnie had. I’ll just move on to later in the narrative, which finds Ronnie starring at football in Toronto and, according to Hanifan, also starring on a weekly television show. He provides a new slant on Ronnie’s decision to quit football.

Without any warning Ronnie just walked off the field one day and quit football. He had gotten serious with a young lady, and the two of them took off and went to Mexico.

Then, after telling of his regret at having years later missed a phone call from Ronnie, who never called back, Hanifan continues.

I heard he ended up living in Los Angeles and was homeless when he died a few years ago. I thought the world of him, and it hurts to see him gone.

I’d like to think that Hanifan might have just heard a false rumor of Ronnie’s death, but this sounds pretty definitive. I’m glad to hear how highly Hanifan thought of Ronnie, but it somehow makes me all the sadder. I’d still like to see an obituary or something just to be sure he’s really dead and possibly to fill in a little more of his last forty years. A strangely tragic figure, that Ronnie Knox.

Ronnie Knox, Marcel Proust, and I

Tuesday, April 1st, 2008

Marcel Proust was not a household name in the household I grew up in; I don’t know about yours. Can you remember the first time you ever heard Marcel Proust’s name? Unless the preceding sentence was it, probably not I’d guess. I can remember perfectly, and with the help of the amazing power of the worldwide web and Google, I can put an approximate date on it. This was actually an important event in my life. But first a little background.

Back in the 1950s there was a young football player in California, an outstanding passer who could also run and punt, named Ronnie Knox. Ronnie was California high school athlete-of-the-year for 1952-53, and had become one of the most sought-after players by college recruiters in the whole country. Ronnie was also good-looking, and was nicknamed “Golden Boy.” His overbearing stepfather, Harvey Knox, had moved him from high school to high school searching for the right coach to best showcase Ronnie’s talents. Then Harvey, acting in effect as Ronnie’s agent, had basically sold his services to the highest bidder, the University of California at Berkeley. The problem turned out to be that Cal already had one of the best quarterbacks in the country, and he had another year of eligibility.

Unwilling to see his son playing second string to anybody, even for a year, Harvey Knox pulled Ronnie out of Cal and took him south to UCLA, even though it meant losing a year of college playing eligibility. Harvey also got Cal in trouble with the NCAA by revealing some of the incentives that had been promised Ronnie in violation of the rules. It was at this time that I first heard about Ronnie because the story made it into national magazines.

California glowed with Hollywood glamour compared to my home state of Texas, and I took an interest in this West Coast story. I was twelve at the time and very open to finding new sports heroes. Mickey Mantle was my number one hero, and he would never be equaled by anyone else in my eyes, but I didn’t have a college football hero, so I think I mentally filed Ronnie away as a candidate for that position. In any case, Ronnie’s name stuck in my memory; but, as he had a year without playing, and I was in Texas and not going to get out-of-state football news unless it made it into a national magazine, I pretty much forgot about him, although his name would pop up every now and then. Ronnie took over the starting tailback job in the first game of the 1955 season for the UCLA team, which completed the season ranked fourth in the country. He played well in his team’s last-seconds loss in the Rose Bowl on January 2, 1956, which I may have seen on television, though I don’t remember it.

In an unusual move for the time, Ronnie decided to turn pro without playing his senior year at UCLA. He signed with the Calgary Stampeders of the Canadian Football League and played the 1956 season with them. He was drafted in the third round for the next year by the Chicago Bears, but only appeared in one game for them, whether due to an injury, or just being in a backup role, I don’t know. In any case, he went back to Canada to play for the Toronto Argonauts the following season. It was after that return to Canada that I became aware of Marcel Proust through the unlikely medium of a pro football quarterback’s words.

In the online archives of Sports Illustrated, one finds that the November 3, 1958 issue had as the second entry in its They Said It feature the following:

Quarterback Ronnie Knox of the Toronto Argonauts, an I-like-football-but man: “If I had to make the choice between a month of playing football and a month of reading Marcel Proust, I’d take Proust.”

I’m almost sure I saw the quote in some other magazine as well, with a phrase that described Proust in some inadequate way (but definitely mentioning he was French and probably that he had written a long work called Remembrance of Things Past) for those sports fans like me, who didn’t have a clue who Proust was.

To me, it was an altogether extraordinary statement. First of all, how could a gifted football player rather do anything more than play football? As a non-athletic teenaged sports fan who could only dream of being that skilled and successful at a sport, I tried to imagine what an exquisite pleasure the reading of this unknown-to-me Marcel Proust must be, at the same time thinking what a remarkable person Ronnie Knox must be to have the sensibility to appreciate this rare talent to such a degree. Now sixteen, alienated from fifties Texas culture and society, a reader myself, and vaguely attracted by the beatniks, I found Ronnie Knox, already a somewhat legendary figure, and Marcel Proust, this new intriguing writer, each causing the other to seem more exceptional in my mind.

Though I have no reason to doubt him—and it’s really just the difficulty I have in imagining any other pro quarterbacks I can think of as being that devoted to Proust that makes me say this—I don’t know for a fact that Ronnie actually ever read Proust. It could have just been an impressive name he’d picked up somewhere in college, but that thought never arose in my mind at the time, even to be rejected. All I had to go on were the words on a page. He’d rather read Proust than play football! Someday I too would read Proust, I thought, and then I will become one of the initiates and understand. I had no idea what Proust had written about, which was probably just as well. I very likely pronounced Proust as Prowst in my mind.

From that day on the mystique of the name Proust never faded for me, but I didn’t actually read any Proust until I was a junior at the University of Texas in a European Novel course. The sheer length of Proust’s one work of lasting importance was intimidating, and I thought I should read it straight through. I’d heard a professor recommend it as a summer project. When Ronnie talked about a month of reading Proust he wasn’t talking about rereading the same pages over and over. I may also have wondered if I would pass the Ronnie Knox test of Proust appreciation.

My English professor took an unusual approach. Proust’s long work had been published in separate volumes over time, so there was some slight justification for viewing it as a collection of several novels instead of one long one. The professor had us start toward the end with the sixth book in the series, called ridiculously in the translation we were reading The Sweet Cheat Gone (French title: Albertine Disparue). His reasoning was that the first volume (Swann’s Way), was not typical of the rest of the book, (presumably because the narrator was largely recalling scenes from his early years and because a good chunk of the volume—the Swann in Love section—was told in the third person, unlike the rest of the work) so that to really get to know what Proust was about we should read a later volume.

In practice this decision meant that we were thrown into the middle of a strange situation with numerous unknown characters whose personalities, sexual tastes, and foibles had been revealed and developed over the course of the earlier volumes; not to mention the narrator’s frequent references to earlier events, thoughts, and experiences from those volumes. I can’t remember exactly what I thought of the experience, and about all I can recall from class discussions of the book was the professor’s point that the narrator’s female love interests (e.g., Gilberte and Albertine) had all been given names which were the feminine forms of masculine ones, since Proust’s actual experience was with men. I emerged from this first sampling of Proust as committed to reading the whole work as ever, and with a better idea about what that meant.

It was not, however, until some eight or nine years later that I recommenced reading Proust. It was in Berkeley at a turning point in my life, marriage ending, when I felt the need to renew my acquaintance with great literature, which I sensed I had nearly lost touch with, having spent so much time on physics graduate studies and research and on political meetings and demonstrations. This Proust was still in English translation. I can’t remember if I skipped the previously read volume or reread it, but I did finish all of Remembrance of Things Past, which is what the translator Scott Moncrieff chose to call Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. I not only enjoyed the reading but had my approach to the world changed by it. I may want to talk about Proust more some other time, but that’s not my purpose now.

My aim had always been to read Proust eventually in the original French, and I had started learning French during my last year at the University of Texas, but hadn’t advanced very far until I started studying it in earnest about the same time that I took up Proust in translation again. A few years later, back in Austin, I felt ready to attempt A la recherche du temps perdu in Proust’s own language. Of course it was slow at first, but in time I found that I could read pages-long sentences without getting lost, which is a testament to Proust’s writing, of course, and also to its ability to train the reader’s mind to start thinking like Proust (or to have that wonderful illusion). After I don’t know how many months, I finished the full journey en français. A couple of years later I bought a beautiful three-volume French Pleiade edition as a treasure to keep and as a promise to myself to read Proust again someday.

One day not long ago, well over twenty years after that book purchase, and with no particular thought at all, I picked up the first volume of the Pleiade edition, started reading “Longtemps je me suis coucher de bonne heure,” and was swept into Proust’s river again. I’m a little over halfway through the second volume now, and, if anything, enjoying it more than during the earlier readings. But that is impossible to judge with the greatest writers, the unique power of their art being impossible to remember fully when it’s not being actually experienced. This is something Proust himself notes, as I recall.

Only in the course of writing this have I come to realize how obviously, thoroughly, and appropriately “Proustian” this whole experience of mine with the name Marcel Proust was. For the narrator in Proust’s A la recherche du temps perdu recounts numerous examples of words and names that took on enormous importance and aesthetic meaning for him just from his having heard or read them in some prestigious or romantic context—La duchesse de Guermantes and Balbec, for example—names that he had endowed in his mind with incomparable and exquisite qualities before having made a real acquaintance with the persons or places they denoted.

Just to finish with Ronnie Knox—he decided to quit football for good during his second season of playing for Toronto. The Time magazine online archive for September 26, 1959 records the following.

Badgered by a bad back, and no longer able to throw the long ball, cleft-chinned, curly-haired Quarterback Ronnie (”Golden Boy”) Knox, 24, quit the Toronto Argonauts in Canada’s rugged Big Four, thereby put an end to one of football’s most unfulfilled and peripatetic careers (three high schools, two colleges, four pro teams), which had largely been botched by the boisterous stage-mothering of stepfather Harvey Knox. “Football is a game for animals,” said Ronnie. “I like to think I’m above that.” Dreaming of higher things, Ronnie allowed he might toss off a novel or some poetry, already had some lines at hand that lurched with the proper beatnik beat:

Beauty is a thing of Ragmud But the maid left late. So don’t look under the apple tree Let’s rebel, man.

Who knows what kind of personal conflicts and disappointments may have lain behind that severe rejection of his profession? Or maybe the physical cost was just too great. I vaguely remember hearing that he tried acting for a while, which some web site listings confirm, but I never saw him in anything that I can remember. All I could find on the web were appearances in a handful of episodes of weekly tv dramas (e.g. an episode of Perry Mason), all from the 1958-1963 period. An astrology web site had his (to them) essential data plus a tiny picture of him taken some time after his playing days, in which he did not look happy. I’m not surprised he didn’t make it as a poet, but I don’t know what became of him. There’s also a movie/tv technician of the same name that shows up in online searches. Could it be the same person? If anyone knows, drop me an email.

So would I have read Proust at all without Ronnie Knox? Well, I read James Joyce (haven’t gotten all the way through Finnegan’s Wake, I confess), to mention someone comparable in some ways—writer of genius from roughly the same time period, but not exactly popular—so I can conjecture that I probably would have, but I can’t be sure. Perhaps literature, despite my having enjoyed reading as far back as I can remember, would not have secured such an important place in my mind without that adolescent connection between Proust and an unconventional star athlete.

Ronnie, old man, a lot of years have passed, and I hope the time has been good to you and that you have had a chance to read Proust as much as you wanted to. If you should somehow stumble across this, please know that I am grateful to you.