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H.B., A.A.

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Today is the actor Alan Alda‘s birthday. He’s 77.

He was born with a name that was much more of a mouthful – Alphonso Joseph D’Abruzzo. You might be able to get away with a name like that in showbiz today, but in the middle of the last century they wanted things to be simple and catchy. Wikipedia tells me that the name Alda is a portmanteu, a word created from two or more other words, or in this case, two other names. Alphonso Joseph D‘Abruzzo.

Of course you should take a moment here to think about what your Portmanteu name would be if you followed the Alan Alda template. I’d be Dale Dalco, which sounds like a good name for a NASCAR driver, although I would be the worst race car driver ever and would certainly wind up disqualified or dead or both in the first lap.

R.I.P. Dale Dalco. We hardly knew ye.

Fortunately for the rest of us, Alan Alda turned out to be a very effective name for making it big in the entertainment industry, and many are the lives that have been enriched by Alda’s work as Hawkeye Pierce on the long-running TV series M.A.S.H. Apparently he is the only person who appeared in every single episode. My recollection is that in many of them, he is talking almost constantly.

Not all actors are comfortable facing an audience without a script, but Alda seems at ease and is quite the storyteller. He has written a couple of volumes of memoir – “Never Have Your Dog Stuffed“, and “Things I Overheard While Talking To Myself.”

A guy who likes the spotlight and is a natural raconteur should need no prompting at all to churn out a couple of books, but Alda claims the inspiration for these volumes came only after a near-death experience.

When has a single experience changed the course of your life?

58 thoughts on “H.B., A.A.”

  1. Good morning. When I think about singular experiences that changed the course of my life, I think there are many. Deciding to get married, decisions about entering educational programs, and deciding to take various jobs are among some of the kinds of decisions I have made that changed the course of my life.

    When I was in high school I decided I wanted to study insects. My Dad took this decision seriously and we went together to Michigan State University to visit the Department of Entomology. I ended up going to MSU and studying entomology. This actually lead to spending the rest of my life working in agriculture because almost all entomologists are employed in agriculture. Entomology was in the school of agriculture at MSU as it is at all the other universities that have a department of entomology.

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  2. Rise and Shine Baboons!

    I will have to write about the singular experience later in the day–too wrenching to pull it out now, and I am due at the gym, then I have AN AUDIT at work today. I am not taking myself apart before that!

    I am still stuck on the Portmanteu name Jacqueline JacStra. It sounds Dutch. Or it sounds like a User Name.

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    1. If I understand the rules for making a portmanteau name, my name would be Jim Jimtjep. I think I would leave out the t and make it Jim Jimjep which which is still not that good, but better than Jim Jimtjep. Maybe it should be Jim Jimjet.

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    2. I wind up with Anna Anbl – not exactly easier to pronounce than the name I started with in life. Thought it might be a good name if i wanted to become a sharp-shooter in an Old West show.

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  3. Once again Bother Dale (can the church say Amen?) has found the moment in my heart.
    I have always been convinced that life depends more on small incidents, single moments, a string of small decisions than it does on planning. The result is that I have lived a more zenish gestaltish stupidish sort of life. Hollywood likes to make movies about that; saw one on TV this weekend, (can the church say Amen?) about a man who is transported to his other life by a momentary event.
    And my life has has been for the most part driven by the swing moments. I should have done more planning for this moment. But I expect more swing moments to come. Right now I am in a decision moment driven by all those swing moments. I keep delaying the decision, hoping for the swing. Ain’ a’gonna happ’n. Gotta decide.
    Some swing moments: 1) playing chess at U of Chi on a Saturday evening on in my dorm, and in that moment faced what I had avoided facing for a few weeks: I had to drastically lower my evaluation of my own academic abilities and knew I had to leave. 2) Sitting in back of a wonderful teacher’s classroom, a woman who taught very well and to whom the kids responded: I knew that like her classroom my classroom would be based on very strong classroom control, so strong would have to be my control that I could dare let go of it and yet get it back instantly when I needed it. 3) Standing in front of her class student teaching when the visiting evaluating teacher sent me a note at an exciting moment for me and the class. The note told me that the girl in the third seat in the row by the windows was chewing gum. (can the church say Amen?) All my life I have remembered that note, wish I would have kept it, and promised myself that I would never anywhere in my life pay attention to the gum-chewers and not the gestalt of the moment. I have not always done so, but in key moments I have remembered that note. 4) In the trough between my U of Chi dropout and entering the U, I was working at the U in a stupid level job which was telling me I had not the mind of science, I, a mere 20-year-old strapping lad, who had been joking in poetic form with the department budget clerk, a much older woman of 25, was telling her that I was going to be gone on Friday to go back to the U of Chi for the weekend. She said jokingly that she liked Chi and thought maybe she should come along. I told her that I was going by bus. She said she had a good car. I said jokingly that she could drive me. She said, not joking, well she would but she would find her own things to do while I was with my friends. Somehow in 16 seconds it was agreed, weirdly, oddly that we were going to Chi together each with separate plans, but our plans evaporate somewhere about Eau Claire. (can the church say Amen?)

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    3. amen,
      clyde you do such a nice job of recalling these moments.your preacher past reminds em so much of the robert fulghum collection wf stories i assume he crafted in a similar fashon to those you have done. there are never enough stories that have a good moral at the end welll told and well thought out. consider putting together a collection. your stories are wonderful and would take the place in my life for the missing fulghum collections that stopped 20 years ago after he got enough money from everything i needed to know i learned in kindergarten sent him down his road to fame and glory.

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  4. This is slightly embarrassing. I would bet that every frequent reader of these pages could answer this question for me, for I have written often (too often?) about the most shattering and transformative experience of my life.

    So I’ll go a different direction, if only to be less predictable. When my daughter was born, I was terrified of her. As a man, I had zero experience with infants. I just thought of her as a ticking time bomb that might erupt in tears at any moment. I was afraid to hold her. A baby is like a water balloon, and if you hold the middle the ends sag or if you hold the end the middle droops. I was afraid I’d drop or break her. I was painfully aware of the fact Molly’s mom had wonderful treats in store for her child under her blouse and I did not. Baby’s scared the hell out of me, and this one no less than any other.

    One day we were fooling around in the basement and Kathe took a phone call. She chatted with someone while holding Molly right beside her face. I snapped a picture of the two of them on TriX, the fast black and white film. A bit later, I developed that roll of film and disappeared into my darkroom to produce prints. That used to be such a mystical process, moving in near gloom to manipulate prints. And there was always that magic moment when a white sheet of print paper begins to darken and then form an image.

    I was rhythmically sloshing the print paper for that image of Kathe and Molly on the phone. And then the image began to form: the smiling faces of the two people I loved above all. In the red light darkness of my darkroom, I was stunned by what I saw. I gazed into the beaming, loving face of my daughter and told myself, “I like this kid! I LIKE this kid!” The print went into the fixer as I gently rocked it. Molly continued to beam at me, full of love and confidence. “God,” I said, “I LIKE this kid!”

    When I came out of the darkroom I was no longer afraid of my daughter. I held her and chatted with her, and the most positive adventure of my life began that moment.

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    1. I guess I was sort of afraid of babies as you were, Steve. I did, some how or the other, know that I needed to help care for our babies. With practice I learned how to hold a baby and even became good at comforting them when they were very upset.

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      1. That took me by surprise, too, Steve. I’m not surprised when many people misuse apostrophes, but I thought you knew better. I’m glad to see that you do know better.

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    4. I have been thinking on this story Steve off and on this morning. It’s lovely. Like you, my husband had to be told a few times that our daughter wouldn’t break, that he didn’t have to be afraid of holding her, and that he would be just fine. And darned if once he figured out he was better at walking with her in her colicky state he didn’t want to give her back unless he had to…

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      1. Thanks, Anna. One of the worst favors anyone ever did for me was to tell me about the fontanelle, the “soft spot” in a baby’s skull. That just increased my terror, thinking I might accidentally poke a finger through the fontanelle!

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  5. First grade. I met my childhood best friend Lisa. We spent pretty much every afternoon together after school and as much of the weekends as we could manage. Because I was friends with Lisa, when she started taking theater classes after school, I started taking theater classes after school. Because I took that first class, I wound up playing Peter in, “The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe” (I was tall and there weren’t enough boys in the class for Peter to be played by a boy). After a brief few years treading the boards I turned in my costumes for a paint brush and a drill. A major in theater and 4 years of work-study in the scenic and costume shops and off I went into the world to design sets. A couple of those shows led to me finding (adult) life-long friends. (Oh, I missed the side trip through the Renaissance Festival, also spurred by my interest in theater – had I not done that I wouldn’t have met my grown-up best friend.) The theater train was derailed a bit when I realized at a tear-filled midnight hour that i really didn’t want to move to Normal, IL to go to grad school for an MFA in Scenic Design, and I especially didn’t want to live in a double-wide mobile home with a bunch of smokers while I did that. So I stayed here. Got a different master’s. And somehow found myself working in web site-related jobs instead of teaching theater (where I thought I wanted to be until that fateful midnight hour). Staying here meant I met my husband, settled in a house a mile away from my childhood home, and had a charming, wonderful kid. It all started with Lisa. The end.

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    1. i remember you annoying people who didnt like to sit in smoke filled rooms. what was the matter with you. oh wait… thats the whole world now
      great story anna

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  6. i was living in brainerd and i wanted to go see the area. we lived along the river and i really enjoyed the missisippi and the way it meandered down below the hill in the back yard. it was a nice enough day and i was ready and the neighbors basset appeared to be ready to go too so i extended an invitation and off we went. down the river bank enjoying the view and continuing on. it was very enjoyeable and when i knew it was time to be getting back it was difficult because the river kept calling me to go on. the next turn the next and the next. i gave in and on my return found i had wandered quite a bit further than i had expected. when we got back there was a welcoming committee awaiting us and they were very upset we had been gone so long. i explained that i had taken the dog along and that obviously there was no need to worry but they were having none of that. its hard to get away with an adventure when you are two. everyone is always cramping your style. a few years later i made my escape for real and the vw bus provided me with the means to follow my hearts desire. stories and experiences that would lead me to a life of trying new things and letting go of some i would rather not. i did have an excursion once in ireland i found remarkably like the trip with the neighbors dog. i was with my wife the hypocondriac who had stomach and back problems that kept her from participating in the hikes on the irish coast and so she sat in the car as i left with the camera and told her i would return in a short while. it was the west coast of the island the rocky craggy side where the waves smash into the rocks below. reminds you a bit of the north shore of lake superior but the cliffs feel a bit more exotic never having seen blacklock calendars of these. i crawled up one rock face and down another and each led to a better and better photo session and the click click click of the shutter was mezmorizing. the minds eye can see the pictures more clearly than the darkroom results ever can and i was burning up roll after roll of film and knowing i was gone too long to be considerate but not near long enough in light of the fantastic spot i had happened upon. i was stuck. i took another roll and then another and when i returned i was informed i had been gone for 1 hr 45 minutes. i said i hoped she hadnt just been sitting in the car but had at least gotten out to enjoy the beautiful view from the side of the road where we had parked, she had not and this was the story of that marrage in a nutshell. these incidents are totally unrelated and i had not put the two together before but my brain connected them today and i suspect the trip to ireland and the others i have taken were outgrowths of that moment in brainerd years ago when i realized others would not be getting it but that i had to go on regardless. it is always a joy when i meet someone who does get it and i usually find they have run into similar situations but have persisted in spite of them too.

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      1. yes . its my first memory. i hear about lots of other tales of going out on my own at age 2 wandering in on sunday services in the area to check out what the other religions had to offer. riding my tractor to the neighbors houses and beyond to meet new poeple and see the sights but i really remember the occasion and the circumstances on this one . the parents were a little upset this time because i was gone hours instead of just the usual short little jaunt.

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  8. I remember having a pretty hard time in Grades 5 and 6 achievieng what I wanted to on my clarinet. When I was in Grade 7, the director suggested I try the Bass clarinet, and I found I could play it well and get a really great sound out of it. It kept me in band until I graduated from college. My portmanteu name would be Renee Reboo. Prety silly, but so is my actual last name.

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    1. I would be Anna Williamsdottir – so then I’d be Anna Anwi, which sounds like I would wind up being a listless overly serious bored (and probably boring) poet.

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  11. alphonso changed his first name to alan too. i could be milo mijo. i like that one. ty mijo is pretty good too if i want to bring tim in. anu anwi sounds like an exotic poet. rena reboo is ready for prime time

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  13. 20 years ago I had to come up with a nom de plume so to speak (too long a story for small purpose). I used Clay Lewis, Clay from Clyde, and Lewis is my middle name and my father’s name, my son’s middle name, and Mr. Tuxedo’s middle name.
    My sister Cleo’s daughter gave birth today to her third child. Brace yourself for this name: Margaret Cleo.

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  14. For starters, words cannot adequately express my admiration of the work of Alan Alda (and I refuse to believe he is as old as my mother!)

    I am going to take a leaf from Steve’s book and not state the obvious, that becoming a mother was a huge turning point in my life-you all know that.

    The event that is closely related to that (and would in all likelihood not have happened without the arrival of the s&h) is that I became a homeowner.

    As a preacher’s kid, I grew up in a series of parsonages. If I wanted my room painted, it had to be approved by the church council. Lucy van Pelt states in the Charlie Brown Christmas special that no one ever gives her what she really wants for Christmas, real estate. I whole-heartedly agree. Land, Katie Scarlett, it’s the only thing that matters. Of course, I realize that we never really “own” land, but having the custody of it for a time goes a long way in the direction of validation for me.

    I beam with pride every time I get to check the “Own” box, when there is a question about my domicile.

    and yes, with ownership comes responsibility. To state this as briefly as possible to those Baboons who were vocal in their admiration of such pillars of society as furnace repair persons, I can only say, your adulation pales in comparison to the deep and abiding gratitude I have for the sewer guy with whom I just spent an entertaining afternoon.

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    1. i too have become all too familiar with the land of sewer guys and have become out of necessity an overly hand sewer guy myself. as a matter of fact i just lst night told m son that it may not be a dumb idea to look into the sewer business. after yesterdays discussion of dung beetles the emergence of sewer guys today seem appropriate. ed nortons got nuttin on me. the dollars you get to charge to deal with an everyday fact of life are mind boggling. cable goes out. be there next tuesday. sewer backs up… we need to get that out of here now or you will have to smell bad smells and have terrible toxic stuff in your air. 500 dollars please to get it doen in 30 minutes and then 1000 more to finish it up so it doesnt happen again. star and trib had an interesting piece in the oped section sunday about how the northern part of the state is in big trouble because of the freeze with no snow that is happening every every every year now with no snow and the cost of pumping out the cespool to keep it out of the basement. thereis no answer. interesting read on the dung beetle trail . as for appliance repair. sign up for centerpoint energy home service plus for every damn thing they will let you. it pays 1 000 times over. and the guys who help are good hearted if nothing else. thanksgiving dinner this year. fridge out at 8 am didnt realize it till 2 guy out at 4 no charge, furnace went wacky and i called on new years eve or christmas eve and the guy was out in 45 minutes and the part arrived on the next morning at 7 am. unbelievable. my kid who is 19 cant believe all the stuff you come into contact with in this life and all the stuff you are expected to know something about. reminds me of clydes book and how far removed we are form chores and learning tools and stuff.

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  16. Evening–

    I have a couple. Once when I was about 13 Dad and I visited a neighbors new milking system. I stood in the milkhouse with the glass receiver jar (a glass jar about 2′ diameter. Milk would come in two sides and pump out the bottom) and I knew I wanted one of those jars!.

    And when we upgraded our milking system the dealer wanted us to put in a stainless steel receiver jar and I said ‘No Way!’ I want that glass jar!

    Another example; Kelly and I were up at some theater on Hennepin Ave. Seeing ‘Kiss of the Spider Woman’. It’s a musical but it’s a dark show, literally and figuratively. And at intermission we stood in the lobby and I thought ‘I’m tired of doing theater. I don’t want to do this anymore.’ How much of a reflection on the show that was I’m not sure! But I stopped doing theater for awhile after that.
    So when I came back to theater it was on different terms and I knew I really wanted it.

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  17. Great stories today, baboons!

    You may have heard this one before, but finding int’l folk dancing at age 29 really did change my life. For one thing, I finally realized I was coordinated, not clumsy. It gave me a piece of my identity when I needed it – when I was an at-home mom, I was also teaching folk dance, so the answer to “what do you do?” had a little more depth to it. I love everything about it – the music, the rhythms, the colorful costumes at parties, the easy dances, the difficult dances, the people. It’s like learning anthropology from the inside out. And it keeps me on my toes – I’ll get to teach at end of February at a regional workshop called SNOPA! with a couple of other teachers… The gift that keeps on giving.

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