“Child Star: An Autobiography”, by Shirley Temple Black

 

546 pages, McGraw-Hill, ISBN-13: 978-0070055322

Shirley Jane Temple Black was born on April 23^rd, 1928, in Santa Monica, California, the third child of homemaker Gertrude Amelia Crieger Temple and bank employee George Francis Temple after their boys, Jack and George. Black was an American patriot and had a diverse career in public service, first as a delegate to the 24^th United Nations General Assembly from September to December 1969, then as the 9^th United States Ambassador to Ghana from December 6^th, 1974 to July 13^th, 1976 before becoming 18^th Chief of Protocol of the United States from July 1^st, 1976 to January 21^st, 1977, then the President of the Commonwealth Club of California from February to August 1984 before becoming the 27^th United States Ambassador to Czechoslovakia from August 23^rd, 1989 to July 12^th, 1992. In this last role she witnessed first-hand The Velvet Revolution and the end of 41 years of one-party Communist rule in Czechoslovakia that ended peacefully, whence a parliamentary republic was established and the command economy dismantled…

Ah, who am I foolin’? You and I know Shirley Temple as an American child actress, dancer and singer who began her film career in 1931 and continued successfully through 1949. Over that time she starred in over 40 films for Fox (saving the studio from bankruptcy during the Great Depression), Paramount, MGM and Warner Brothers, said films ranking number One at the box office from 1935 through 1938, in addition to her work in television and radio. Temple danced in her films with some of the most famous and accomplished entertainers of her era, such as Buddy Ebsen, Jack Haley, Alice Faye, George Murphy, Jimmy Durante, Charlotte Greenwood, Jack Oakie and Bill “Bojangles” Robinson (whom she said was her favorite partner). At the 7^th Academy Awards in 1935, Temple was honored with the first Academy Juvenile Award., while later that same year her hand and foot prints were immortalized in cement at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. She received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on February 8^th, 1960.

Much of this and more we learn from Shirley herself in Child Star: An Autobiography – and make no mistake: this is an authentic autobiography written by the woman herself with nary a coauthor or ghostwriter in sight. Technically, this is her second autobiography, the first being My Young Life from 1945, but Shirley has stated before that that book was actually cribbed from past published quotes; this work is the real deal, written by herself alone and ending in about 1954, when she was just 26 years old. And what an autobiography; Shirley’s personality shines through with every sentence, whether describing her family, famous costars, directors, producers or studio heads. Her intelligence, verve and wisdom are all on display and, mores the point, described in her own words. I had never before been a fan of Shirley; oh, I had nothing against her but, under Mom’s influence, had rather drifted towards Margaret O’Brien, instead. But that changed upon completion of Child Star; I can now be counted among the legion of Templeholics.

But if Shirley’s book has any overarching thread it is the relationship she had with her mother and how “[s]he was not only my best friend, but we had a partnership”. I suppose that it’s a good thing that Shirley thought so well of her Mother (and her Father, although George Temple’s influence on his daughter pales next to his wife’s). But it is hard not to realize just how manipulated our little curly-top dynamo was by the parents she so obviously loved and adored, her Mother especially. That Shirley made a great deal of money cannot be disputed; that she could have made so much more if only she had proper representatives who knew how to negotiate and read a contract likewise cannot be disputed. Her parents just weren’t up to the task. Also, Shirley’s adored parents took advantage of their child to advance their worldly ways and ignored others who misused her as well if it boosted her monetary value; but judging by our author’s words, she either didn’t or couldn’t face this fact (the last words of her autobiography are “Thanks, Mom”).

But this is about the worse thing I can say about this book, as Shirley wrote a rambling recounting of her extraordinary life in which the sun seemed to always shine and nothing ever went wrong – well, not exactly. She mentions plenty – the discrimination suffered by Bill “Bojangles” Robinson because he was black, the exploitation of actors of every stripe by the studios, the sexual harassment of female stars and starlets that was rampant under the “studio system” (like her own, when Arthur Freed exposed himself to Shirley when she was 12-years-old; or when she was raped by another, unnamed producer) – but all of it told from her viewpoint and in her own words, with nothing spared us. But she managed it all in ways that newer stars today can’t, because she had a strong, supportive family to back her up. While her parents pocketed much of the money she made over the years, it was used to support the family and not some lavish lifestyle – a small concession, perhaps, but meaningful nonetheless.

Upon coming to the end of Child Star I was a fan and admirer of this cultural icon who, upon the end of her career, did not pine for a life that was over, but instead launched a new career as wife, mother and, later, diplomat (if only other stars would follow her lead, rather than cling to fame like grim death). But I was also left a little vacant, for Shirley had intended this work to be the first of many volumes that would have recorded her service in the State Department, books that were never written. Which is a damn shame, for I would love to have read what she thought of Republican power brokers and foreign statesmen, especially Václav Havel, the leader of the Czech Velvet Revolution with whom she interacted with during the same. But it was not to be. Shirley Jane Temple Black lived an extraordinary life, most of it in the public eye, and she always carried herself with dignity, charm, intelligence and vigor. Would that all stars these days would do the same while showing a basic respect for the nation that made them rich.

God Bless You, Shirley.

“Scotty Bowman: A Life in Hockey”, by Douglas Hunter

 

408 pages, Triumph Books, ISBN-13: 978-1572433502

William Scott “Scotty” Bowman is the winningest coach in NHL history, with 14 Stanley Cups as a coach and/or executive (behind only Jean Béliveau’s 17) to go along with his 1244 regular season wins and 223 wins in the Stanley Cup playoffs. We here in the Motor City will always be grateful to him for ending our 42 year Cup drought in 1997 and winning 3 Stanley Cups to give the Detroit Red Wings 10 total (upped to 11 after Mike Babcock won in 2008). But in many ways the man is a cypher whom few can ever get close to, especially those of us in the cheap seats. And so when I discovered Scotty Bowman: A Life in Hockey by Douglas Hunter…somewhere, I picked it up to see what could be learned about this fascinating and maddening hockey guru.

Be warned, however, for this book was written without any input from Bowman at all; indeed, it would appear that several of his past and current players also refused to cooperate, seeing as the book did not have Bowman’s authorization and thus, did not have his blessing (I, for one, would not want to be on Scotty’s bad side, and I don’t even know how to skate). For all that, Hunter still manages to dig deep and uncover all sorts of gems from the life of this most private and inscrutable man, partially by providing such density of information – over 46 years of coaching, Bowman crossed paths with damn near everyone in the NHL – that one can, at times, feel rather buried in hockey tales, statistics, player bios and so on and so forth.

But it is still Scotty who is the subject of this work and, in spite of his subject’s noncooperation, Hunter managers to uncover several hidden gems. Such as Hunter’s idea that Bowman’s playing days were not cut short when that sonovabitch of a Frenchman Jean-Guy Talbot cracked his skull with a flailing stick; rather, it was the impetus Scotty needed to hang up the skates on a mediocre career at best and instead move behind the bench – a fact Bowman new all too well. This revelation says a lot about our subject and his clear-eyed, unsentimental view of things, especially of All Things Hockey. Since he could see that he would never prosper as a player he segued into coaching without muss or fuss; if anything, the frog Talbot did him a favor.

And it was as a coach that the legend of Bowman would take root and grow. While coaches come and go in the league, Bowman thrived and survived when so many around him faltered and fell. As to how he managed to last and succeed for so long, Hunter posits that Bowman, almost alone amongst his peers, could adapt faster than a chameleon to the fluctuating world of professional sports, be it changing tactics, adapting strategies, or massaging the egos of all of those big-name millionaire athletes who have killed many a coaching career. All this, as well as his ability to take advantage of other teams and their struggles on-and-off the ice to advance the cause of whatever club he happens to be with at the time.

I don’t know about other leagues, but hockey is rather notorious for the revolving-door appearance of so many coaching positions, something that not even the Legendary Bowman has been immune to. That he has achieved the success and longevity despite not having a playing career worth talking about makes his many achievements so much more extraordinary. And to think, when this book was published in 1998, Bowman still had one more Stanley Cup to win as the Red Wings Coach, along with three others as senior advisor of hockey operations to the Chicago Black Hawks. While at times rather dense and turgid, Scotty Bowman: A Life in Hockey goes far in capturing the personality and drive of this man as traditional trailblazer.

“The Watchmaker of Filigree Street”, by Natasha Pulley

318 pages, Bloomsbury, ISBN-13: 978-1620408339

The Books on Tap bookclub that I run for the Fraser Public Library is an opportunity for me to introduce the Reading Public at large to all sorts of different books and subjects that are, perhaps, outside of their typical experience – like Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time by Dava Sobel (reviewed on June 13^th, 2012), for example – only the members of the bookclub had no interest AT ALL in reading about longitude, so I substituted it for The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley, instead. Ah, well; their loss. Not that I really minded, in the end, for The Watchmaker was as interesting and intriguing book as any I’ve read – that it was also Natasha Pulley’s first ever novel makes her accomplishment that much more triumphant.

So, what’s it all about? Set in 1883, we follow one Thaniel Steepleton who, after returning to his tiny London apartment after a day of work as a Telegraphist, finds a golden pocket watch on his pillow, its provenance unknown. Six months later, the mysterious timepiece alarm function goes off as he is in a pub – minutes before a hidden bomb explodes, thus saving his life while destroying Scotland Yard. This prompts Thaniel to go off in search of its maker, one Keita Mori, a genius who creates ingenious clockwork creations who informs Thaniel that the watch had been stolen months before. A whole chain of unexplainable events soon suggests he must be hiding something, and when Grace Carrow, an Oxford physicist, unwittingly interferes, Thaniel is torn between opposing loyalties.

The Watchmaker kept me interested the whole time I was reading it. Pulley pulled out just enough facts to keep the story moving while hiding her Big Reveals in such a way as to make them intriguing rather than irritating. The main characters – Thaniel, Mori and Grace – were interesting enough to keep me intrigued, while the motivations of all concerned were clear-cut – well, except for Mori, whose decisions were decidedly opaque. Until, that is, we discover more about the man and what he is all about, whence all those strange things he said and did make perfect sense. There is a plot hole or two I could mention. But won’t. For The Watchmaker of Filigree Street kept me engrossed in its tale and its characters enough for me to overlook much, and to look forward to the continuing adventures of Mori et. al

 

“A Wrinkle in Time”, by Madeleine L’Engle

 

248 pages, Dell, ISBN-13: 9780812422917

A Wrinkle in Time is yet another book that Mrs. Roberts read to us in the 4^th Grade that came to mind while perusing the children’s shelves at the Fraser Public Library. In a nutshell, Meg Murry, Charles Wallace Murry and Calvin O’Keefe embark on a journey through space and time and from galaxy to galaxy as they endeavor to rescue the Murry’s father and fight back The Black Thing that has intruded into several worlds. It also offers a glimpse into the war between good and evil as the young characters mature into adolescents on their journey. Pretty heady stuff for 10-year-olds to stomach but, hey, after surviving Old Yeller (reviewed on February 5^th, 2025) I think we found we could survive anything. It also turns out that A Wrinkle in Time is but the first in a series of seven other books (and one short story) in which all sorts of themes are explored and discussed.

A Wrinkle in Time begins when 13-year-old Meg Murry meets the family’s eccentric new neighbor, Mrs. Whatsit, who refers to something called a tesseract (if you’ve seen a Marvel movie lately you know what that is). Meg finds out that it is a scientific concept her father was working on before his mysterious disappearance. The following day, Meg, her genius brother Charles and classmate Calvin visit Mrs. Whatsit’s home, where the equally strange Mrs. Who and the voice of the unseen Mrs. Which promise to help Meg find and rescue her father. From there the game is afoot as the kids and their mysterious benefactors teleport by “tessering”, a fifth-dimensional phenomenon explained as folding the fabric of space and time, and – well, read the book, will ya? What I remember as a kid was being spellbound by the tale and where it would take us next.

There are several themes throughout the book that L’Engle brings up in a subtle manner, which, to my mind, made them that more powerful. One is religion (just not in the organized sense), in which divine intervention plays a part in many of the passages of the book. Madeleine L’Engle has made no secret of her (rather liberal) Christianity, and it shows in the many instances in which the kids are subject to a spiritual intervention they don’t necessarily understand, but which signals the presence of God in the everyday world, to say nothing of the reach of His power and love (well, according to L’Engle, it is His universe in which all of this action is taking place). This religious viewpoint is also evident in the fight against The Black Thing, which represents Evil, and the desire for Light, which is shorthand for God and the love he spreads.

Another theme touched on in the books is the fight against conformity, which has been read as an allegory over the fight against Communism. In the novel this takes the form of IT, the dominate power on the planet of Camazotz, in which the phrase “created equal” is warped to mean that everyone is uniform in appearance, attitudes and abilities; even Charles Wallace Murry conforms to the dictates of IT and is only rescued by his sister Meg. But there’s more to this concept as, in a three-page passage that was cut before publication, L’Engle understood that all totalitarian regimes of the Left or the Right needed to press conformity on their populaces in order to maintain their grip on power – while in democratic societies the desire for security led to the same impulses, as the passage of the Patriot Act in the US has demonstrated.

Besides all that, L’Engle’s books are important for young readers because, amongst children’s authors at least, she was one of the first to expose them to deep, dark subjects that other authors were unwilling to broach, like the meaning of truth, the perils of choosing individuality over conformity, and death. But for all of these Deep Thoughts, L’Engle still managed to be positive and uplifting. In true Christian fashion she managed to delve deep, underneath the surface values that most people can see, and perceive them in a manner more complete than other authors; at both light and dark, good and bad, joy and pain. Her faith allowed her to see all of this and to transcend mere mundane qualities and instead uncover the absolute nature of human experience that we all share – something I think I grasped at the time, even if I couldn’t express it.

So A Wrinkle in Time is many things, but it is especially brilliant, hopeful, dynamic and a worthy way in which to introduce the young to concepts they must learn about eventually.

“The Dante Club”, by Matthew Pearl

 

372 pages, Random House, ISBN-13: 978-0375505294

The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl was the first book he wrote and concerns a club of poets who are translating the Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri into English in 1865, only to discover parallels between a recent spate of brutal murders and the punishments described in Dante’s Inferno. The poets in question are in fact historical personages, as was their club: James T. Fields, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and James Russell Lowell. These men set out to solve the murders, fearing as they do that, seeing as they are among a handful of Americans who are familiar with the work, that they would also be the only suspects should the police discover their interest; also, scholars that they are, they worry that the truth of the murders would ruin Dante’s still-burgeoning reputation in America, thus damning the Italian poet in the minds of their countrymen while also dooming their translation.

While the first corpse is discovered quickly in the book – and a more gruesome description one would be hard-pressed to find (not a complaint; merely an observation) – the second takes much longer to turn up, as does the third. Meanwhile, the stage is set by Pearl as Old Boston comes back to life, these long-gone poets are resurrected and their quest to translate and bring Dante to the benighted masses of their countrymen – as the Civil War winds down, mind you – is given life once more. For Pearl is in no hurry to get the story going as he rebuilds this lost world and makes it real. While at times the depth of detail can make one wish to skip ahead to the good stuff, don’t do it; Pearl’s writing is a masterclass is descriptive detail and world-building. When the story begins to take off and the poets follow the clues (oh, and the police too, as they carry on their investigations independently of Fields, Holmes, Longfellow and Lowell) the game is afoot.

Pearl’s strength is his descriptive prowess, with seemingly inconsequential details coming forth and men and places breathing once more. The mystery surrounding the murders unravels slowly as the poets piece together what is going on without help from the police – well, there is Sergeant Rey, the first (half) black officer on the Boston police force, but the higher ups are AWOL through most of the book. As mysteries go it’s alright; while one is ever wondering who is going to die horribly next and discover just how Dante’s Inferno fits into everything, there was never any real suspense through the book. Rather, this is an intellectual story in which a bunch of Long Hairs play detective and delve into the mysteries of medieval poetry in the Modern (to them) world. All good stuff if that’s your bag (and it is mine), but if a mystery filled with suspense and red herrings and craven criminals is your thing then The Dante Club isn’t for you.

After finishing I had learned a good deal about Dante Alighieri – to say nothing of James T. Fields, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and James Russell Lowell. In an “Historical Note” at the end of the book, Pearl helpfully tells us that he recreated the speech of his protagonists from the “poems, essays, novels, journals, and letters of the Dante Club members and those closest to them”, so perhaps in reading of their exploits we are again hearing the voices of Fields, Holmes, Longfellow and Lowell after having been silenced by time. Perhaps that is enough reason to read The Dante Club.

“Island of the Blue Dolphins”, by Scott O’Dell

 

177 pages, Houghton Mifflin, ISBN-13: 978-395069629

Hey, you remember me mentioning Mrs. Roberts 4^th Grade class? And how she’d read us stories now and then, like Old Yeller, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, James and the Giant Peach, and a bunch of others I have yet to remember? ‘member that? Well, as I was walking the shelves of the Fraser Public Library the other day I came across Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell and was once more transported back to the Glorious 80s and the 4^th Grade. And once more I was listening to Mrs. Roberts tell the tale of Won-a-pa-lei (secret name Karana) after she and her little brother are left stranded on an island off the coast of California for years when her tribe is relocated, and how this young girl managed to survive on nothing but wits and grit.

Turns out this story was based on a tale told by the inhabitants of San Nicholas Island about one Juana Maria, the last of the Nicoleño Indians, who lived all alone for twenty years. In 1939 her hut, made of whalebones, was discovered, and in 2009 several more artifacts of Juana Maria and the Nicoleño were uncovered, as well, giving credence to the tales told about the Lone Woman and making O’Dell’s story so much more believable (it just goes to show that the best tales ever told really happened). So just like that this tale of a Native American answer to Robinson Crusoe (which was likewise based on a true story) gains credibility. I knew none of this back in the day as Mrs. Roberts regaled us with the adventures of Karana, only that I was engrossed and couldn’t wait for the tale to continue.

And what a tale, too. Island of the Blue Dolphins was published in 1960, when adventure tales starring Indian girls taking on traditional male roles weren’t a thing. But it is told with verve and motion as we follow Karana and her quest just to live. From finding food, to building canoes, to fending off the wild dogs of the island, to just survive being alone all the time, we root for Karana and wonder what we would have done in her place. And none of it is condescending, either; O’Dell was a white man who crafted an engrossing story starring an Indian girl who is as alive, forthright, engaging and inspiring as any Eurocentric story one could mention. And O’Dell shows us just how she does it, too; through intelligence, guile, and sheer stick-to-itiveness, not because Karana is some unstoppable girlboss who can do no wrong.

Island of the Blue Dolphins is yet another story from my youth that has stayed with me because it was an excellent tale expertly told without ulterior motives or personal politics involved. Imagine that: a story about a strong woman that neither denigrates others nor makes its protagonist into a super-being. Would we had more such stories today.

“Driving Like Crazy: Thirty Years of Vehicular Hell-Bending, Celebrating America the Way It’s Supposed to Be – With an Oil Well in Every Backyard, a Cadillac Escalade in Every Carport, and the Chairman of the Federal Reserve Mowing Our Lawn”, by P.J. O’Rourke

 

267 pages, Grove Press, ISBN-13: 978-0802144799

Patrick Jake “P.J.” O’Rourke passed away from lung cancer on February 15^th, 2022, and the Conservative movement in particular and American humor in general lost one of the most original and acerbic voices ever to breath air. I have read and reviewed several of his books, such as Age and Guile Beat Youth, Innocence, and a Bad Haircut: 25 Years of P.J. O’Rourke (reviewed on August 10^th, 2016), Parliament of Whores: A Lone Humorist Attempts to Explain the Entire U.S. Government (reviewed on January 25^th, 2019), Give War a Chance: Eyewitness Accounts of Mankind’s Struggle against Tyranny, Injustice and Alcohol-Free Beer (reviewed on April 20^th, 2021) and All the Trouble in the World: The Lighter Side of Overpopulation, Famine, Ecological Disaster, Ethnic Hatred, Plague, and Poverty (reviewed on July 16^th, 2021). I will now have to hunt down the rest of his books, for the only way in which we can still enjoy P.J. is by reading and honoring and laughing at all he left behind.

Like Driving Like Crazy (you can read the full title above) which was published in 2009 and collects his many articles featuring cars, driving and fighting the good fight against the regulatory Man. While driving cars and enjoying cars and wrecking cars and celebrating cars is notionally what this book is about, it is also as politically subversive as anything O’Rourke wrote. With tongue firmly in cheek, he recounts many escapades of his wild youth, middle-aged fantasies and crazy trips in a strange mash-up of adolescent political incorrectness, childish silliness and near-religious reverence for American chrome, steel and horsepower. In O’Rourke’s telling, cars are quintessentially American because cars equal freedom: freedom to go where you want and when you want without some busybody central planner telling you NO. Which is why busybody central planners love public transportation and want to kill the oil industry, just so that we all can be more easily under their green totalitarian thumbs.

All of which is recounted across 18 articles and one interview. Driving Like Crazy is, like all of the Late Great P.J.’s work, subversive, entertaining, enlightening and energetic, and makes one miss the man all the more.