The Sandoz Collection - Sandoz Diego Cerveza (the ebook reader .txt) 📗

this new life would one day wield a literary meat cleaver to change an entire industry, and in the process, hit a nerve that would resonate with the American public reaching far deeper into the soul of the American psyche than a Texas oil well.

Sinclair, the senior, was a liquor salesman, a real booster of booze, and unfortunately fell madly in love of his own product, the product that in the long run would do him in when he expired from the cumulative effects and in the process, literally drank himself to death. Mama Sinclair was liquor free, and a drug free kind of woman. Prior to the drunken demise of Sinclair the Senior, the family bolted from Baltimore and made tracks for New York, where the literary winds blew strong all day long, and filled the young creative sails of Sinclair with magic, so much so that by the age of 15, he had already embarked on his literary voyage and was writing dime novels.

Sinclair attended NYC College, but in 1897 enrolled in Columbia University and financed his studies by writing hack fiction for pulp magazines, and lighter fare for various boys weeklies. He also began studying and mastering the French language, the language of romance. The call of the wild, or rather the call of the wild romance tugged at the hearstrings as the 20th Century dawned and bid a fond adieu to the 19th. By now, Sinclair was hooked into a marriage that was destined to fall apart by 1911. But...as all good writers who write from experience, it led to the writing and publication of "Sprintime and Harvest," about two penniless lovers. The marriage not only gave birth to the small novel, but also gave birth to a son, David.

A few weak attempts at fiction proved unsuccessful, and failure was not a stranger to Upton. He felt he was a failed writer, and a failed poet. So he decided to switch gears from romance and poetry, and by 1904 moved towards the realm of realistic fiction. He read socialist classics and literature, and socialist populists weeklies. Though never an avowed Communist, Upton was frequently pictured as a violent revolutionary.

He wrote a novel depicting the Civil War, but it was as successful as the Confederacy. Then as in all lives the fork in the road appears, and with Upton that turning point came in 1906 with the publication of the novel.."The Jungle" which was a scathing report on the conditions in the Chicago meat-packing industry.

The book was more than an "interesting read", it was a sword that cut a swath through an industry and led to the implementation of the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906. Then President, Big Stick Bullmooser, Teddy Roosevelt called Sinclair to the White House for a sit down to go over what he had seen and described. Needless to say the public was clamoring for this book and the proceeds enabled Sinclair to establish and support the socialist commune, Helicon Home Colony in Englewood, New Jersey.

It was a commune designed primarily for left wing writers, but it burnt down in 1907 and Sinclair was, once again spare change broke down on his literary luck. (There will be a separate articl on Helicon and other socialist utopias in the near future!)

Upton was no on a roll. The path he was now blazing dealt with society and it's various injustices. "Metropolis" for example, no, not the Fritz Lang film about the False Maria, this "Metropolis" stripped away the nickers and facade of fashionable New York society. "King Coal" followed in 1917 about a Colorado miners strike in 1914, and of course, "Oil!"

Then along came the book "Boston." It was a provocative book about the Sacco-Vanzetti case that caused public outrage in the 1920's for it's defense of them. Other writers who supported them were John Dos Passos and Dorothy Parker. The post war era gave the reading public "Jimmie Higgins" published in 1919. It was an introspective look at the dilema facing American Leftists during the conflict who felt temporarily obliged to support the ruling classes of England and France during WWI, affectionately known as "The Great War."

The Dustbowl Thirties saw farm foreclosures, poverty, breadlines, hobos riding the rails and of course a hallelulia chorus singing Woody Guthrie songs. Unions were on the rise and Progress politics were winning over farmers unions and industrial unions. The WPA was full tilt boogie and soup kitchens were king. The time seemed right for Upton to run as governor of California with it's plethora of produce production, farmers, workers, and immigrants who would all surely vote for him on the Socialist ticket in 1934.

He did get 900,000 votes but it was still a failed attempt. Talk about dirty politics, it was at it's heyday back in the day. He was accused by detractors as an advocate of free love.(That alone would have gotten my vote, and probably yours too!)

His pen then became a recruiting tool as witnessed by his novel the Flivver King (1937) which was used in the union organizing campaign of the Ford Motor Company. Then another war, a world wide conflagration brought about his novel "Dragons Teeth" in 1943 where he made the comment that "Adolph Hitler looks like Charlie Chaplin, except Hitler has no sense of humour." He did get the Pulitzer for this book and is the only literary award he would ever receive.)

After the hot war, the chill of the Cold War blanketed the planet in a battle of wills for the hearts and minds to join the camps of either Communism or Capitalism. Nukes poised to strike on either side of the planet to obliterate the other side of the planet, and it was during this Cold War that Sinclair started corresponding with Albert Einstein and Robert Oppenhiemer about a details for a book on the devolopment of the atomic bomb.

Upton was wearing down in the literary whirlwinds of salons and NYC, and in 1953 he went to live in a remote Arizona village called Buckeye, and devote the rest of his days to putting his memoirs to paper. As the psychedelic Sixties dawned, he published "MY LIFETIME IN LETTERS," his autobiography where he said, "In politics and economics I believe what I have believed ever since I discovered the socialist movement at the beginning of this century.

Upton died in his sleep on November 25, 1968 in a nursing home. One quote by him seems to stand out more than others, and sums up the power of his writing style. Regarding his book "The Jungle" Sinclair once said..."I aimed at the public's heart, and by accident I hit it in the stomach." Not bad for a literate lefty. <p>

Oh, Canada! Why, Canada?
Oh, Canada! More to the point, why Canada? Why the fuss? Who are these beer and moose lovers? What do they want from us...mere mortal Americans? My family has deep roots in the fertilized Canadian soils, and yes, I do own sweaters. A lot of them, and shirts too that are plaid and proud.

My family's Canuck ancestry goes back to the beaver pelt laden 1700's, before the first dribble from the leaky family faucet migrated like Canadian geese across the bi-national line of demarcation in 1875. I was raised in Detroit, Michigan, (The Rustbelt version Oz) and anyone who enjoys the sun, fun and snow in the Great Lakes kingdom, sharing the border with Canada feels the warm and fuzzy Canadian karma that races down from up north like the winter winds of the locomotive locomotion bi-polar express.

So to answer the question...Why Canada? Hell, that's an easy one. Ice cold Canadian beer and warm, fuzzy Canadian beaver! While the rest of the world yells, "Screw You, America," the strongest epithet tossed at the Canadians seems to be, "Go Fuck a Canuck," ...a much more pleasing visual and physical experience then getting fucked ourselves, don't you think?


Why Canada? It's not James Bonds' Monte Carlo, where he would be seen at the baccarat tables smoking Turkish cigs or drinking a shaken not stirred martini. Nor is it where the "beautiful people" go for the season when they plan a vacation. The dialogue usually follows a path along the lines of..."Lets winter in the Caribbean" or "Muffy and Ben say Italia is nice this time of year," or "France has wines to die for, and besides, we simply must do Paris in the Spring," Never have I, nor probably you, heard anyone (beautiful person or not) plan a vacation with the words..."I hear Manitoba rocks!" or "Saskatchewan is sexy!" or "Ontario is Orgasmic!"

Yes, Canada has unpronounceably named provinces, but worse, as you unfold a map of Canada it reveals a large tract of geography, composed of lazy, lethargic row upon row of provincial and parochial rectangles, strategically and mysteriously aligned by ancient aliens in near mystical east-west progression. A veritable Stonehenge of provinces and more frightening than crop circles created by a three-headed maritime Medusan Martian Moose from the planet New Brunswick.

The provinces do look alike, Xeroxed, hard to differentiate one from another, as was the False Maria in the dark, moody Fritz Lang "Metropolis." Except for Nova Scotia and Newfoundland hanging loose in the Atlantic trying desperately to escape to Greenland on their own. The rest of them however, are neat and austere, molded into tight formations, a rigid police line up for felonious provinces. "That's the one. Yeah, Alberta, that’s the province I saw running out of the store with a gun. He had a limp too, kind of a goofy hopping action, but, yeah, that’s the one. Alberta. I'd recognize that province anywhere."

American states are shaped for the most part with a sense of humor, except for our own Bermuda Triangle of Rectangles of the Three Stooges of Agriculture...Kansas, Iowa and Nebraska. Now, take Michigan. An imperfectly shaped mutation of a human right hand, probably belonging to a Thalidomide baby, facing outward and is used by randy Michiganders as a portable flesh and bones Rand McNally map to help others from say, Wyoming, know where Michiganians are from..."Yeah, born right there in Mackinac City" as they point out the tip of the finger mostly used for flipping off other drivers in urban areas everywhere. Then the person who says..."And over here, is the Thumb"...duh! It’s a fun game anyone can play. Hold your hand up and see if you can find Detroit. See, piece of cake.


Now, Florida. The only state shaped like a body part used in fornication or the much more private practice of masturbation. Yes, it is a familiar male body part. A penis, to be exact, that has prematurely ejaculated, emptied itself into the waiting vagina of Havana due south of it's aim, hanging limp now and scaring the hell out of Cuba because they know what will happen to her should Florida get horny again...this is where Michigan’s hand comes into play, or self foreplay in this case. They don't call it Jack-sonville for nothing. Try that Canada, just try, I dare you to get Manitoba to masturbate. It can't be done.

Why Canada? Name one Canadian that pops to the fore except for the herd of Canadian comedians that have migrated from Toronto, or Alex Trebeck and Michael J. Fox. Name a political leader? Who is the father of his country in Canada. The United States. Ok, so we were raised here and should know aout George Washington, but we also have heard of Ghandi in India, Ho Chi Minh of Vietnam, Napoleon in France, Mao in China, Queen Elizabeth in England, Crocodile Dundee from downunda, (Ok, so he's