A literary interlude.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that no one heard him, or perhaps it was to make a sort of amends for his former fear, or simply the hope that if they should tune him in now, at the top of his form, they would forget who it was that had driven them away from their sets in the first place and would place a new and stronger confidence in him. At any rate, using the name Dick Gibson, he spoke during this respite with a silver tongue, lips that were sweeter than wine, a golden throat. He was in a state of grace, of classic second chances. The more it galled him that no one heard him, the better he was. The weather had turned bad and there was a thin film of unseasonable ice along Route 33; yet he hoped that someone passing through might be listening. It could make a difference between one concept of the place and another. Such a stranger might think, for as long as the signal lasted, that he had entered a Shangri-La, crossed a border more telling than the Iowa-Nebraska one, and come into—despite the flatness stretching beyond and before him—a sort of valley, still unspoiled, unmarked perhaps on maps. To stay within range of the signal—never strong and now damaged further by the involuntary surges and slackenings of an inconstant electricity—the stranger might slow down (it would have nothing to do with the ice) and Dick would guide him, preserving him on the treacherous road as art preserves, as God does work in mysterious ways. The stranger might even pull over to the side. Dick pictured the fellow, his salesman's wares piled high in the space from which he had removed the back seat, sitting there, his appointments forgotten, time itself forgotten, preoccupied, listening with a recovered wonder unfamiliar with childhood, in a state of grace himself.

—Stanely Elkin, The Dick Gibson Show, 1970

Comments

[Richard Porton]

Dear Glenn,

Since a note reminding you of the deadline for responses to Cineaste's symposium on "Film Criticism in the Age of the Internet" bounced back to me (guess you've changed your email address), this is the only way I know of getting in touch with you. In any case, I suppose the readers of this site might be interested in our upcoming feature. Perhaps you could also forward your current email address to me.

Thanks, Richard

[Dan]

My, Glenn, you're a busy, busy man. And here I thought all you film critics did was sit on your duffs and watch movies. :-)