Some lives are just more tragic than others and the tragedy seems only greater with those who are blessed with great talent. F. Scott Fitzgerald was one of those people; both blessed and cursed it seems. His marriage to Zelda Sayre was tempestuous, full of acrimony from jealousy, alcohol, resentment and her increasing mental instability. They lived the uproarious life of their time - the 1920's, drank and fought heavily. Scott's burden was his drinking -he'd been an alcoholic since college - and eventually it contributed to his death at the age of 44. By 1936, Zelda had become so difficult to handle that Scott had her institutionalized (not for the first time) in hospital in Asheville, NC and afterwards told friends that Zelda believed she was in direct contact with Apollo, William the Conqueror and Christ. He met and moved in with Sheilah Graham, a Hollywood gossip columnist the next year, in 1937. He collapsed and died in her apartment three years later in 1940. Among those who attended the funeral services in Los Angeles was Dorothy Parker who is reported to have quoted the line from Fitzgerald's, The Great Gatsby:"...the poor son of a bitch." Even in death, tragedy seemed to follow Scott. His friend and fellow writer, Nathanael West and his wife were killed in an auto accident on their way to Scott's funeral. And in 1948, Zelda died when a fire swept through the mental hospital she was a patient in. Scott's life seems to me a novel that only he could have written.
Stuff that happened on this day in history:
Lord Byron died of fever while helping the Greeks fight the Turks which just goes to prove that poets shouldn't get into fights with big burly men.
Charles Darwin died taking his flimsy theory that men evolved from apes and women from turtles with him. Nothing is yet proved as far as I'm concerned. Call me naive, but if we evolved from apes, then why are there still apes? But then too, one has to wonder over the opposing theories that include invisible people leading a believer to invisible places, some of which have streets paved with gold and others of which have 72 virgins awaiting. All these years and I'm still confused.
The Beatles sign a contract to stay together for 10 years, which of course they did not. It only goes to prove you can't trust guys with long hair.
And of course there was other stuff going on too, but it is all boring.
And now children, it's time for another poem from little Billy Brooks:
Brain Circus
I had a happy childhood
The crazy woman said to
The doctor: My parents were
Circus performers: one ate
Fire and the other fooled
With tigers and lions.
My brother swallowed
Swords and I fed the Fat Lady;
She ate an awful lot and
Kept me busy day and night.
Sometimes I listen to cats
Fighting in the dark and
Wonder if it isn’t the Gods
Quarreling over who gets
The Sea and who the Land.
Did you bring my lithium
Or those little blue pills, dear?
I had a happy childhood
The crazy woman said to
The doctor: My parents were
Circus performers: one ate
Fire and the other fooled
With tigers and lions.
My brother swallowed
Swords and I fed the Fat Lady;
She ate an awful lot and
Kept me busy day and night.
Sometimes I listen to cats
Fighting in the dark and
Wonder if it isn’t the Gods
Quarreling over who gets
The Sea and who the Land.
Did you bring my lithium
Or those little blue pills, dear?
