Garrison: You asked "Which side are you on?" and you have received answers. It seems that despite a true catastrophe occurring in Ukraine, some cannot suspend their local grievance and support the international efforts to make aggression unprofitable and, more importantly, unsustainable. It's hard travellin', but better than the hard rain that could fall. With a bow to Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan.
Michael, what Russia is doing in Ukraine is obscene and unforgivable and when people try to rationalize it, I don't know what to say. There aren't words.
Garrison,thank you for your answers to those who disagree with you comments. If those who disagree would write in the same manner a dialogue could possibly take place.
Don't admire my courage, I've been lacking it all my life going back to the Benson School playground. I knew how to make myself invisible, that's the secret.
Hang in there,lad! All will be well, we’re told, and I largely believe it. For what I don’t know what to believe or do, that old quip often carries me through:”Run to the roundhouse, Nellie! They’ll never corner you there.” Wise folks and politicians are often found there.
I’m flummoxed by the number of bitter, ill-informed, harshly negative people who attack you in print, but I admire you for your gutsy and patient responses.
I live with the happy memory of PHC broadcast on Saturday evenings. There's no way to say thank you enough for all the music and stories.
You mentioned Ostroushko and I looked him up and found his playing a mandolin at the Concert for Ukraine. He spoke, OO-cry-EEN-uh, and that's what I hear when I recall the picture of the family killed on their way out. But more. When he plays his mandolin, I see an old man sitting on a homemade bench as he leans against a garden wall and creates the traditional sounds of that tortured country--tears of love and pain come out of his mandolin.
Sometimes I think the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse are always coming around the clubhouse turn.
Regarding the upcoming sunset for the Writer's Almanac, I'm sad, but not disappointed. At 30+ years, that's a good run. Also, I think I was there for all of it, since, back in the 1990's, my public station always played it when we woke up, about 630 every morning. A pleasant way to start a day. Now, I use the podcast to do my stretches so thanks for keeping all the old poems available. It's not like I memorized 30 years of poetry, so it will still be fresh when I listen to them again. Anyway, like that old philosopher George Harrison said once, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWV4pFV5nX4
They are, I agree. Interesting about Mary Oliver. My daughter gave me her dog song poetry book for Christmas and it is a delight; we aped TWA and read our dog Molly one poem a day until we were done.
Garrison, I needed now at last to tell you that your voice is sorely needed in this world of gathering Woe! And add a bit of history here as well.
Now, at 95, I look back to many years of our “relationship.” Coming to northern Michigan in 1975 at age 50 for a “back to the land” beginning, we soon discovered your newly begun PHC on Interllochen Public Radio, which became our major source of recreation and entertainment in the little “hut” we built on our “promised land.” You opened your show with a polka (the Clarinet?) and we danced you into our Saturday Night each week.
Now that you are entering the stage of what Utah Phillips (another of our favorites,) called a Crusty Old Farthood, I still consider you, in my widowhood of 12 years, among my most beloved friends; and someone who has gained the wisdom of an aging soul. I honor you in many ways, not the least of which is your appreciation of and devotion to your beloved partner. You are indeed a lucky man, and I wish you many more years of basking in her lovely spirit while still bringing to the world your own inimitable wisdom and humor. Keep on Keeping on!
One thing she taught me, Julia, is the transforming beauty of forgiveness, something I'd not experienced before, and those who never sin badly miss out on this great blessing.
It's Pi Day, and I just turned 39. I'm on the right side of 40 but the wrong side of 200 pounds. As many have pointed out to you, I grew up listening to your show. My Saturdays were spent traveling across the James River to Williamsburg, VA as a way of getting out of the house -we lived in Surry, which didn't have much to offer.
So much of my memory of your voice and stories are while staring out the window in the back seat, or teetering on a ferry, which lends itself to zoning out, and an overall pondering state, a state I've been stuck in since 1993! My mother passed away in August of 2020, and I found myself listening to your backlog of shows on your site, getting lost in them as I did as a kid and teen. I've come to realize that so much of my way of thinking and voice has come from the way you carve a meaningful story of everyday occurrences from a stone that most would only see as a dull piece of rock. Thanks for that.
When my mom divorced in the early 90's, there were little bumper stickers and framed signs, half hidden where only she could see them, that read things like "Sometimes I miss my ex, but my aim is improving." It's safe to say, you were the only man who's voice was allowed inside the house. Her take on life was very similar to yours, but I don't know if she absorbed it from you as much as she felt the need to keep good company around, even if it only came around once a week on the radio.
Thank you so much for your “Post from the Host.” I am 77 and limping along with a cane…but still limping. Please come to the Chicago area. My husband and I heard/saw you at Ravinia. It was probably the best stage show/monologue ever.
Writing as a decidedly non-comedic Jew, I am offended by the people who are offended by your description of Zelensky as a Jewish comedian. Both sobriquets are informative and odd enough to deserve mention, pace Krauthammer's Law.
Nothing can (or should) detract from the gravity and tragedy of Mr. Keillor's recent observations of the war (and war crimes) being committed in the Ukraine. I trust it will bring the ruination of Mr. Putin AND his Gang Of Oligarchs. BUT: it must be said that on the subject of BAGELS, you can look and look for the "best bagel in NYC"...fill your boots...but the BEST BAGEL will be found in Montreal. Yup: both boiled, but in Montreal boiled in honey water, smaller (size IS important and biggest is not best), denser (maybe because it's Canadian?) and crispier.
My sister, my husband, his daughter and I went on a wonderful music-oriented tour to Ukraine (mainly Kyiv), St. Petersburg and Moscow in June of 2001, so the war is especially upsetting to us. I have many postcards and pictures that I need to scan and post. My husband took a video of a street musician and bought a CD from him. I will try to find them and post the music on YouTube.
I recently found a recipe for Montreal Bagels and this makes me want to try it. I have made NY ones before. (It takes quite a while, but it isn't that difficult.) I like them with lots of sesame seeds.
Lovely, and thanks. I've made them but I cheat and use bread machines for the dough part. Not a true purist, and not Garrison's crotchety old lady. Old man, perhaps. Yes, on the Ukraine - I discovered Air B&B has waived all fees and charges for Ukrainian hosts, so we can "book" a place so that they get instant $$$. I've done it and sent a message of support to the host. She replied, and translated it was very touching: thanked me, with heart emojiis and then said "I don't know if we will survive with the children". We've put ourselves down to host if any refugees make it half way around the world to BC. I hope some can. All the best.
I need to hear from you more often, Mr. Baker. There's too much flattery and solemnity and righteousness in PTTH and not enough useless information like the existence of better bagels in Montreal. I wouldn't go to BROOKLYN for a better bagel. I'm an old evangelical and toast-and-jelly is a great delicacy to me, though I did win plaudits for writing a limerick that rhymed bagel with Hegel. Put some Canadian bacon on your bagel and see if you don't like it even more.
Apparently hard-core purists, Garrison, in Montreal do not permit even the slicing of the bagel. Must be eaten AS IS, perhaps dipped. Now, THAT'S beyond evangelical in my book i.e. The Book of Bagels. What do you think - can we start an internet debate on Montreal vs. NYC? Might rival the current (very important) debate: are there more doors or wheels in the world. And don't go there, Garrison - nothing good can come of that. It's wheels, anyway, as everyone knows in their hearts.
Before we talk about doors and wheels, I need to know what a person does with the nickname Junior as you get older, say, fifty or sixty? Doesn't it become a problem? Or does it keep you young?
No: it depends on the survival of my older brother ("Senior"); it goes back to our UBC Forestry days - two brothers, same small faculty, 2 years apart. So he got Sr and I got Jr. Thankfully he's still with us so a diminutive name is a small price to pay for that.
But seriously: doors or wheels? The people want to know.
Thank you for being one of the stable people. I, at age 83 next month, am unstable. I love saying g it that way to get a reaction from my wife of 57 years.
In recent years I have began seeing the work of engineers and craftsmen in bridges, skyscrapers, etc., with awe. I didn't have time to notice before while hitchhiking and wandering through about fifty countries and all fifty states and being self employed as a private investigator, Alaskan bush pilot-flight instructor. I am also awed by what stable people accomplish. You have brightened the hours and days of millions of people. I salute you as a fellow octogenarian.
I will happily get back to you within a few hours with some real memories to see if they jog the right synapse for you. I will also follow up in the next few weeks as ideas come to me. My brain still works, just more slowly.
Here is the link to a story (true) I recently wrote which might have the seeds of some good exchanges between Guy and an Alaskan PI or a friend who tried prospecting for gold.
The founders of Chicken wanted to name it Ptarmigan but didn't know how to spell it.
The story spawned many ideas for Guy. He could converse with someone attempting to become a pilot. What makes airplanes fly? They float on slower moving air.
Thanks for asking. I have many other ideas but don't want to be like the over enthusiastic new minister who gave a two hour sermon to the single person who came to church that day.
Here is my attempt after some thought to provide a Guy Noir spark.
****
Guy is asked by someone (anyone) about his manner of speech. This conversation could be with an attorney and it would give you a chance to tells some of the 700,000 attorney jokes. Anyway, he is asked why he always seems to hesitate before he responds when asked the question. As a private eye he should be quick and be ability to make quick comeback remarks and say amusing things like 50’s era radio PIs?. His response could go:
“I’ve wondered about that myself. When I was a young lad I was very quick with my responses. I think my father liked my quick responses and the possibility of having good man-to-man conversations with me as I got older. Unfortunately that never happened because my mother didn’t let my father and I talked to one another. I guess you could say I was raised in a matriarchy. The only time I remember my dad talking to me was when my mother couldn’t muster the energy to punish me herself and would say “I’m in tell your dad and he’s going to punish you when he gets home from work.” After he got home I would see my mother talking to him (This conversation could be acted out) and then he would approach me when we were both out of earshot of my mother. He would explain he was supposed to punish me and I was supposed to yell and make noise like I was being hurt. It was sort of like auditioning for a part in a play and it was stressful for me because I could tell my father was afraid if I didn’t yell loud enough he would be the one on the receiving end. I don’t remember him ever striking me in any way or punishing me in thinking back on it I realize he was a nice guy. I wish you would’ve had a chance to get to know him.
Questioner: Well that’s interesting but how did that cause you to change from a quick wit when you talked to sounding like a halfwit?
Response: “It’s funny you mention “halfwit”. That was what my mother called me just before I saw stars. I frequently saw stars after she or someone else had said something I could interpret any way other than how it was intended. I tried to avoid getting smacked up alongside the head by biting my tongue and not saying what came into my mind but that didn’t help. Maybe that is how I got good enough at reading what people were thinking to become a PI. It only took the look on my face or some other non-verbal communication of my thoughts to get smacked. For example after I had learned to talk slower my older brother was telling my mother about the western movie we wanted to go see. He said it was about cow punchers and I giggled. I wasn’t even in the conversation and “Bam”. Stars!
At some point, a conversation between mother and teenage sounding son can explore all kinds of exchanges with appropriate sound effects for getting smacked alongside the head with an open hand. During this conversation some other teenage friends with 1950s vocabularies and mannerisms could show up to join the conversation. Double entendres with no stars could be demonstrated and Guy could have a coughing fit to avoid stars.
The above conversation could remind Guy of why he had to spend quite a lot of money with a psychiatrist after he grew up to get rid of the jerking motion that he had without knowing why. The psychiatrist determined his head would jerk in anticipation of a smack alongside the head whenever he heard a double entendre by anyone or what could be considered an impertinent or clever response between a youngster and an older person.
Unfathomable that your work draws such wrath from people of our age and circumstance. But strong whiffs of selfish, anti-social behavior blew through the summers of love and anti-war protests of the 60s/70s.
Thank you for showing multiple ways to respond to negative commenters.
Garrison: You asked "Which side are you on?" and you have received answers. It seems that despite a true catastrophe occurring in Ukraine, some cannot suspend their local grievance and support the international efforts to make aggression unprofitable and, more importantly, unsustainable. It's hard travellin', but better than the hard rain that could fall. With a bow to Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan.
Michael, what Russia is doing in Ukraine is obscene and unforgivable and when people try to rationalize it, I don't know what to say. There aren't words.
Garrison,thank you for your answers to those who disagree with you comments. If those who disagree would write in the same manner a dialogue could possibly take place.
My hubby always knows when I am reading your newsletter. He can hear me laugh out loud or exclaim, "Wow!" from the other room.
You're like our very own Mark Twain.
I admire not only your mind, buy your courage and confidence! Thank you. Thank you!
Don't admire my courage, I've been lacking it all my life going back to the Benson School playground. I knew how to make myself invisible, that's the secret.
Hang in there,lad! All will be well, we’re told, and I largely believe it. For what I don’t know what to believe or do, that old quip often carries me through:”Run to the roundhouse, Nellie! They’ll never corner you there.” Wise folks and politicians are often found there.
I’m flummoxed by the number of bitter, ill-informed, harshly negative people who attack you in print, but I admire you for your gutsy and patient responses.
Dear Mr. Keillor,
I live with the happy memory of PHC broadcast on Saturday evenings. There's no way to say thank you enough for all the music and stories.
You mentioned Ostroushko and I looked him up and found his playing a mandolin at the Concert for Ukraine. He spoke, OO-cry-EEN-uh, and that's what I hear when I recall the picture of the family killed on their way out. But more. When he plays his mandolin, I see an old man sitting on a homemade bench as he leans against a garden wall and creates the traditional sounds of that tortured country--tears of love and pain come out of his mandolin.
Sometimes I think the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse are always coming around the clubhouse turn.
Regarding the upcoming sunset for the Writer's Almanac, I'm sad, but not disappointed. At 30+ years, that's a good run. Also, I think I was there for all of it, since, back in the 1990's, my public station always played it when we woke up, about 630 every morning. A pleasant way to start a day. Now, I use the podcast to do my stretches so thanks for keeping all the old poems available. It's not like I memorized 30 years of poetry, so it will still be fresh when I listen to them again. Anyway, like that old philosopher George Harrison said once, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWV4pFV5nX4
The poems I read were awfully good and worth the attention and the almanac stuff was just throat-clearing, to give listeners the chance to focus.
It's how I discovered Mary Oliver, doing TWA.
They are, I agree. Interesting about Mary Oliver. My daughter gave me her dog song poetry book for Christmas and it is a delight; we aped TWA and read our dog Molly one poem a day until we were done.
One of your very best! Keep it (Trump bashing) up. Tell those who take issue with your view that the truth only hurts when it shuld!
Mack Stewart in CT
Garrison, I needed now at last to tell you that your voice is sorely needed in this world of gathering Woe! And add a bit of history here as well.
Now, at 95, I look back to many years of our “relationship.” Coming to northern Michigan in 1975 at age 50 for a “back to the land” beginning, we soon discovered your newly begun PHC on Interllochen Public Radio, which became our major source of recreation and entertainment in the little “hut” we built on our “promised land.” You opened your show with a polka (the Clarinet?) and we danced you into our Saturday Night each week.
Now that you are entering the stage of what Utah Phillips (another of our favorites,) called a Crusty Old Farthood, I still consider you, in my widowhood of 12 years, among my most beloved friends; and someone who has gained the wisdom of an aging soul. I honor you in many ways, not the least of which is your appreciation of and devotion to your beloved partner. You are indeed a lucky man, and I wish you many more years of basking in her lovely spirit while still bringing to the world your own inimitable wisdom and humor. Keep on Keeping on!
Julia Brabenec
Northport, MI.
One thing she taught me, Julia, is the transforming beauty of forgiveness, something I'd not experienced before, and those who never sin badly miss out on this great blessing.
Garrison,
It's Pi Day, and I just turned 39. I'm on the right side of 40 but the wrong side of 200 pounds. As many have pointed out to you, I grew up listening to your show. My Saturdays were spent traveling across the James River to Williamsburg, VA as a way of getting out of the house -we lived in Surry, which didn't have much to offer.
So much of my memory of your voice and stories are while staring out the window in the back seat, or teetering on a ferry, which lends itself to zoning out, and an overall pondering state, a state I've been stuck in since 1993! My mother passed away in August of 2020, and I found myself listening to your backlog of shows on your site, getting lost in them as I did as a kid and teen. I've come to realize that so much of my way of thinking and voice has come from the way you carve a meaningful story of everyday occurrences from a stone that most would only see as a dull piece of rock. Thanks for that.
When my mom divorced in the early 90's, there were little bumper stickers and framed signs, half hidden where only she could see them, that read things like "Sometimes I miss my ex, but my aim is improving." It's safe to say, you were the only man who's voice was allowed inside the house. Her take on life was very similar to yours, but I don't know if she absorbed it from you as much as she felt the need to keep good company around, even if it only came around once a week on the radio.
Seth
Charlottesville, VA
If your mom knew my previous history with women, she might've felt differently. Thank goodness for secrecy.
Thank you so much for your “Post from the Host.” I am 77 and limping along with a cane…but still limping. Please come to the Chicago area. My husband and I heard/saw you at Ravinia. It was probably the best stage show/monologue ever.
We send our love from Illinois.
KA
I'd love to go but I think Ravinia is under new management and wouldn't know me from Garson Kanin or Gigi King.
Writing as a decidedly non-comedic Jew, I am offended by the people who are offended by your description of Zelensky as a Jewish comedian. Both sobriquets are informative and odd enough to deserve mention, pace Krauthammer's Law.
Nothing can (or should) detract from the gravity and tragedy of Mr. Keillor's recent observations of the war (and war crimes) being committed in the Ukraine. I trust it will bring the ruination of Mr. Putin AND his Gang Of Oligarchs. BUT: it must be said that on the subject of BAGELS, you can look and look for the "best bagel in NYC"...fill your boots...but the BEST BAGEL will be found in Montreal. Yup: both boiled, but in Montreal boiled in honey water, smaller (size IS important and biggest is not best), denser (maybe because it's Canadian?) and crispier.
I'll show myself out.
My sister, my husband, his daughter and I went on a wonderful music-oriented tour to Ukraine (mainly Kyiv), St. Petersburg and Moscow in June of 2001, so the war is especially upsetting to us. I have many postcards and pictures that I need to scan and post. My husband took a video of a street musician and bought a CD from him. I will try to find them and post the music on YouTube.
I recently found a recipe for Montreal Bagels and this makes me want to try it. I have made NY ones before. (It takes quite a while, but it isn't that difficult.) I like them with lots of sesame seeds.
Lovely, and thanks. I've made them but I cheat and use bread machines for the dough part. Not a true purist, and not Garrison's crotchety old lady. Old man, perhaps. Yes, on the Ukraine - I discovered Air B&B has waived all fees and charges for Ukrainian hosts, so we can "book" a place so that they get instant $$$. I've done it and sent a message of support to the host. She replied, and translated it was very touching: thanked me, with heart emojiis and then said "I don't know if we will survive with the children". We've put ourselves down to host if any refugees make it half way around the world to BC. I hope some can. All the best.
PS: I've resolved in my own mind (even at my 70+ age) to go to the Ukraine when they've won this damned war and bring some $$$ with me. Take care.
I need to hear from you more often, Mr. Baker. There's too much flattery and solemnity and righteousness in PTTH and not enough useless information like the existence of better bagels in Montreal. I wouldn't go to BROOKLYN for a better bagel. I'm an old evangelical and toast-and-jelly is a great delicacy to me, though I did win plaudits for writing a limerick that rhymed bagel with Hegel. Put some Canadian bacon on your bagel and see if you don't like it even more.
Apparently hard-core purists, Garrison, in Montreal do not permit even the slicing of the bagel. Must be eaten AS IS, perhaps dipped. Now, THAT'S beyond evangelical in my book i.e. The Book of Bagels. What do you think - can we start an internet debate on Montreal vs. NYC? Might rival the current (very important) debate: are there more doors or wheels in the world. And don't go there, Garrison - nothing good can come of that. It's wheels, anyway, as everyone knows in their hearts.
Before we talk about doors and wheels, I need to know what a person does with the nickname Junior as you get older, say, fifty or sixty? Doesn't it become a problem? Or does it keep you young?
No: it depends on the survival of my older brother ("Senior"); it goes back to our UBC Forestry days - two brothers, same small faculty, 2 years apart. So he got Sr and I got Jr. Thankfully he's still with us so a diminutive name is a small price to pay for that.
But seriously: doors or wheels? The people want to know.
Windows. Windows and shelves.
Thank you for being one of the stable people. I, at age 83 next month, am unstable. I love saying g it that way to get a reaction from my wife of 57 years.
In recent years I have began seeing the work of engineers and craftsmen in bridges, skyscrapers, etc., with awe. I didn't have time to notice before while hitchhiking and wandering through about fifty countries and all fifty states and being self employed as a private investigator, Alaskan bush pilot-flight instructor. I am also awed by what stable people accomplish. You have brightened the hours and days of millions of people. I salute you as a fellow octogenarian.
I salute you as a p.i., probably the only one who reads this column. I need some ideas for a Guy Noir sketch in May. Any ideas?
I will happily get back to you within a few hours with some real memories to see if they jog the right synapse for you. I will also follow up in the next few weeks as ideas come to me. My brain still works, just more slowly.
Here is the link to a story (true) I recently wrote which might have the seeds of some good exchanges between Guy and an Alaskan PI or a friend who tried prospecting for gold.
https://interviewsanddeclarations.com/chicken-alaska/
Chicken Alaska is a few miles from Eagle AK
The founders of Chicken wanted to name it Ptarmigan but didn't know how to spell it.
The story spawned many ideas for Guy. He could converse with someone attempting to become a pilot. What makes airplanes fly? They float on slower moving air.
Thanks for asking. I have many other ideas but don't want to be like the over enthusiastic new minister who gave a two hour sermon to the single person who came to church that day.
Here is my attempt after some thought to provide a Guy Noir spark.
****
Guy is asked by someone (anyone) about his manner of speech. This conversation could be with an attorney and it would give you a chance to tells some of the 700,000 attorney jokes. Anyway, he is asked why he always seems to hesitate before he responds when asked the question. As a private eye he should be quick and be ability to make quick comeback remarks and say amusing things like 50’s era radio PIs?. His response could go:
“I’ve wondered about that myself. When I was a young lad I was very quick with my responses. I think my father liked my quick responses and the possibility of having good man-to-man conversations with me as I got older. Unfortunately that never happened because my mother didn’t let my father and I talked to one another. I guess you could say I was raised in a matriarchy. The only time I remember my dad talking to me was when my mother couldn’t muster the energy to punish me herself and would say “I’m in tell your dad and he’s going to punish you when he gets home from work.” After he got home I would see my mother talking to him (This conversation could be acted out) and then he would approach me when we were both out of earshot of my mother. He would explain he was supposed to punish me and I was supposed to yell and make noise like I was being hurt. It was sort of like auditioning for a part in a play and it was stressful for me because I could tell my father was afraid if I didn’t yell loud enough he would be the one on the receiving end. I don’t remember him ever striking me in any way or punishing me in thinking back on it I realize he was a nice guy. I wish you would’ve had a chance to get to know him.
Questioner: Well that’s interesting but how did that cause you to change from a quick wit when you talked to sounding like a halfwit?
Response: “It’s funny you mention “halfwit”. That was what my mother called me just before I saw stars. I frequently saw stars after she or someone else had said something I could interpret any way other than how it was intended. I tried to avoid getting smacked up alongside the head by biting my tongue and not saying what came into my mind but that didn’t help. Maybe that is how I got good enough at reading what people were thinking to become a PI. It only took the look on my face or some other non-verbal communication of my thoughts to get smacked. For example after I had learned to talk slower my older brother was telling my mother about the western movie we wanted to go see. He said it was about cow punchers and I giggled. I wasn’t even in the conversation and “Bam”. Stars!
At some point, a conversation between mother and teenage sounding son can explore all kinds of exchanges with appropriate sound effects for getting smacked alongside the head with an open hand. During this conversation some other teenage friends with 1950s vocabularies and mannerisms could show up to join the conversation. Double entendres with no stars could be demonstrated and Guy could have a coughing fit to avoid stars.
The above conversation could remind Guy of why he had to spend quite a lot of money with a psychiatrist after he grew up to get rid of the jerking motion that he had without knowing why. The psychiatrist determined his head would jerk in anticipation of a smack alongside the head whenever he heard a double entendre by anyone or what could be considered an impertinent or clever response between a youngster and an older person.
That’s enough. You get the idea good luck
****
Unfathomable that your work draws such wrath from people of our age and circumstance. But strong whiffs of selfish, anti-social behavior blew through the summers of love and anti-war protests of the 60s/70s.