PQ Blog Central

PQ Bookblog, Jan. 1, 2009

For a highly critical person like myself, the most wonderful thing about the year’s end (even better than the drinking!) is the opportunity to pass judgment on the year in review. For eleven and a half months, one is obliged to bite one’s tongue, employ euphemisms and seek the positive in any given situation. But come late December, everyone feels entitled to proclaim the “ins” and “outs”, the “best” and “worst” of absolutely everything. Hurrah! Nothing Santa could squeeze down the chimney could ever bring me more joy! But now that the moment of truth has arrived, the egg nog, yule log and genial spirit of auld lang syne have combined to mellow my mood, and I find myself looking back over 2008 with nothing but warm, fuzzy feelings for the efforts of all authors who have given of themselves and their talents (albeit in varying degrees) to enrich the literary heritage of our region.

    That said, I have no difficulty declaring David Liss’s novel, The Whiskey Rebels, the Biggest Disappointment of the Year. Not because it is actually bad, but simply because it did not live up to my expectations.  By the same token, Drummer for the Mob, the debut novel by local author Frank Catanzano, easily rates the Happiest Surprise of ’08 award.  When I took this book on vacation over the summer, some rather cheesy cover art and an Author House imprint led me to expect a vaguely embarrassing, self-serving melodrama by a Mario Puzo wannabe.  Braced for the worst, I was delighted to discover a well-written, genuinely entertaining tale loaded with laughs and a palpable nostalgia for the excesses of the disco era.  

    Described as a cross between “Saturday Night Fever” and “Goodfellas,” “Drummer” tells the adventures of twentysomething Frankie Severino of the Nite Lites, a “quartet of part-time musicians and full-time goombahs” that became the go-to group for mobsters who ran Pittsburgh’s after-hours clubs in the 1970s.  Burning the candle at both ends, Frankie works for a PR firm by day and then plays with the band from 1 a.m. until dawn “for individuals who just can’t say no to the night.” He can neither afford to quit his day job nor bear to surrender the lifestyle of  a popular musician, which includes an endless supply of drinks and drugs and Qiana-clad, halter-topped groupies in the halcyon days before either AIDS or herpes.  He is more amused than concerned by the criminal aspect of his employment, which adds excitement and an absurd sort of glamour to a tough gig.  It is only when Frankie falls for the lovely underage Toni and attempts to transition from young blood to responsible adult that he discovers the terms of his business arrangement do not include an exit option. 

    Outrageous characters and lots of local color enrich the story, but the real bada-bing comes from the author’s terrific tongue-in-cheek tough-guy narrative style.  For instance: “…She reached into her purse and extracted an impressive silver 357 magnum and pointed it directly at Mr. Mope. … Having earned a college degree in communications, I got a sense of what this lady was trying to communicate to Mr. Mope, and … dove for cover, rapido.” 

And: “Chaos reigned and the paramedics were summoned. Two guys rushed in and examined the guy, but it was too late.  He was dead, apparently of a heart attack.  That kind of put a damper on the evening for all of us, and especially for that guy.”

And: “Here it was, nearly five in the morning, and Johnny and I, dressed in our colorful band costumes, stuck out like a couple of turds floating in the punchbowl at the junior prom.”

Okay, perhaps it won’t win a Pulitzer Prize, but Drummer for the Mob will win hearts, and gets my award for the year’s favorite.

PQbookblog Spring ’09

Well, the economy may be in the toilet, but -- good news! -- money doesn’t buy happiness, anyway. Just ask James Oliver Goldsborough, whose memoir, “Misfortunes of Wealth,” recounts the self-defeating misadventures of his parents and the series of tragic accidents that rendered his maternal grandparents prisoners of duty in Sewickley.

Although the family’s interests extended as far as the then-undeveloped Yucatan peninsula, the story is centered on Sucasa, the local family estate. Sucasa (as in “mi casa es su casa”) was one of the many fine homes built in the vicinity of the ultra-posh Allegheny Country Club in the early years of the twentieth century.  It was not, however, built on the heights beside those of the newly-rich industrial families.  Instead, it stood (and still stands, albeit greatly altered) downhill, on lands owned by the long-established and historically distinguished Shields family.  Its name makes reference to the early life of Goldsborough’s grandfather, William Crittenden, who lived for many years in Mexico.  The author writes lovingly of the home as a wonderland of exploration and discovery, but to all other characters it seems to have represented all that is constricting and oppressive about old families and high society.

Grandpa Crittenden’s personal drama is the most poignant of the tales comprising this family chronicle.  His own father served as governor of Missouri in its Wild West days, and as such, offered a reward for the capture of the outlaw Jesse James.  When the folk hero was murdered by a bounty hunter, Crittenden came under attack and relocated his family south of the border.  There Will Crittenden remained until the age of 40, conducting an epistolary courtship for 12 years with a young woman he had only met twice, who was not psychologically free to marry until he father died.  When the couple  finally wed, their dreams of a new life together were dashed at the Mexican border by a telegram announcing the death of Crittenden’s new brother-in-law --  heir to the family fortune -- and requiring their immediate return to Pittsburgh to take on the management of the bride’s family’s coal and iron mining business.  Further disappointment came in later years when their daughter Caroline, the author’s mother, grew into a willful, self-indulgent libertine, who flouted her parents’ dedication to family and duty; dishonoring them by two scandalous elopements, numerous affairs and a divorce.

 Goldsborough’s parents relocated to Playa del Rey in the early 1940s, where they basked in the sunshine of personal freedom and a democratic social life. The bright and gay descriptions of greater Los Angeles in those boom days contrast sharply with the repressive atmosphere in Sewickley, where absurd comic scenes resulted from offenses as incomprehensible as requesting a second helping at a meal.  Then, as now, Southern California represented a golden dream of a new life that was as close to the ideal of Mexico as the family ever got.  Yet happiness eluded them. Goldsborough’s father, who suffered alternately from a world-class inferiority complex and terminal pride, didn’t make a killing in real estate (as almost everyone else did), but spent his days at the racetack, drinking and stewing in resentment.

James Goldsborough, a retired journalist, tells a good story, with just the right amount of foreboding, cliff-hanging, and time-traveling to keep the pages turning. Yet even now, in his seventies, he struggles to comprehend his family’s demons, and one suspects that there is much he still can’t see.  But for local gossip and detailed descriptions of a way of life gone with the wind, the book makes for rewarding reading and gives economically challenged readers cause to celebrate their deliverance from the misfortunes of wealth.

PQbookblog Winter ’09

    If, after “Ruanaidh,” you still can’t get enough of Art Rooney lore, there is further confirmation of his lovable eccentricities in the Creative Nonfiction Foundation’s latest publication, Pittsburgh in Words. This time the author is Kathleen Rooney Mara, the Chief’s granddaughter, who revisits the ghosts of 940 N. Lincoln Ave., and recalls a memorable trip to Quebec as one of Rooney’s “rosary road warriors” in 1975. It has all the humor, pathos and nostalgia of her Uncle Art’s book and, curiously, the same feeling of inadequacy, as though no Rooney could ever live up to the example set by her “Nonno.”  Both authors should give themselves more credit for the talents they possess.  Reading their writings, I laughed, I cried -- well, chortled and teared up -- and I’m a pretty tough nut to crack.

    The same insecurities that seem to plague the Rooneys are expressed with regard to their hometown in another of the volume’s selections.  Anjali Sachdeva, in “Pod City,”  observes, “Today, Pittsburghers appear highly suspicious of progress, as though we’ve passed through a magical era that divides the city’s history into before and after: some generations looked forward to it, a few lucky souls lived through it and the rest of us look back on it.”

    Fortunately, most of the seven essays comprising Pittsburgh in Words are celebratory (being the foundation’s contribution to the city’s 250th anniversary), and , as editor Lee Gutkind notes, “convey not only Pittsburgh’s rich and complicated history, but also the excitement of the present as the city struggles to reinvent itself.”

    I quite enjoyed Elena Passarello’s “Double Joy: Myron Cope and the Pittsburgh Sound,” which , while paying tribute to the proudly distinctive/grating intonations of the late writer and broadcaster, revels in the enjoyment of words and sounds; illustrating how language can excite, evoke, define and inspire -- even when it isn’t beautiful. A terrific metaphor for Pittsburgh.

    “Rowing Through the Ruins,” by Erin Tocknell, is easily the most lyrical essay; as disciplined, smooth, beautiful and triumphant as the elusive “run” her crew works to achieve.

    Missy Raterman’s personal epiphany doesn’t arrive on one of Pittsburgh’s rivers, but inside a giant puppet costume, as documented in “In Pursuit of Puppets: A Pittsburgh Romance;” proving that the city has a place for all comers, even “creative, off-kilter, exploration-bound persons.”  (Take that, Richard Florida!)
Mark Kramer’s contribution, “Immigrant Stories,” relates the efforts of Ethiopians in Pittsburgh, trying to make a place for themselves as a tiny minority in a city where they don’t fit “the romanticized immigrant mold.” It’s a highly descriptive piece, and a fantastic advertisement for Tana Ethiopian Cuisine in East Liberty.

    Finally, please take note of Jeremy Smerd’s account of his family’s industrial hardware business, M. Berger Co., in the essay of the same name.  Although it is more about fathers and sons, giving and receiving, duty and honor and sacrifice and resignation than it is about merchandising, the story of the company itself  is a good one, even without the family baggage.  It well illustrates the vision and commercial idealism typical of Jewish merchants throughout Pittsburgh’s history.  If you don’t believe me, check out Steel City Jews: A History of Pittsburgh and its Jewish Community, 1840-1915, by Barbara Burstin, which I’ll be reviewing in the spring issue of Pittsburgh Quarterly …

Obama Rules The City; Paris Gets Closer

The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

Democratic Sen. Barack Obama trounced his Republican opponent, Sen. John McCain, in Pittsburgh and won handily in Allegheny County on his way to becoming the nation’s first African American president. And election-weary souls seeking respite in a foreign land should’ve been pleased to learn last week that Paris will soon be only a nonstop flight away.

Refreshing Riverfronts & Learning To Raise Cash

The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

Pittsburgh Mayor Luke Ravenstahl says he wants to extend riverfront redevelopment to include sprucing the warehouse-and-parking-lot-infested banks of the Allegheny north from the Strip District. Meanwhile, more big bucks were earmarked for scholarships for city public school kids last week and Carnegie Mellon University set its sights on raising $1 billion.

PNC Gets Bigger; Campaign Gets Weird

The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

PNC Financial Services Group, with a hefty dose of federal support, rescued National City Corp. from the regulatory intensive care unit last week in what is likely a preview of the government financial bailout at work. Meanwhile, the presidential campaign took a turn for the weird in  Pittsburgh.

The Politics of Race Hit Home

The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

The issue of race, relatively suppressed for much of the presidential campaign, came out of the closet with a vengeance in Pennsylvania and across the nation during what was perhaps the ugliest week yet in the race for the White House.

Promise Gets Better For Those Who Stay

                                        The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

As the city public schools continued to shed students in big numbers, the Pittsburgh Promise last week sweetened the deal for those who choose to stick around and graduate.

Whistling Dixie In The 'Burgh

                                       The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

Sick of winter’s snow and ice, and fall foliage for that matter? Prefer weather more like that of Georgia and Alabama, but don’t want to leave Pittsburgh? Global warming just might be your ticket, says the Union of Concerned Scientists.

A Better Budget & Drinks Get Cheaper

The Week In Pittsburgh

By Jeffery Fraser

Pittsburgh’s mayor offered a better-than-expected budget last week – although big debt problems still loom – while Allegheny County’s chief exec says he’ll ask to drop a few points off the drink tax imposed in the winter.