Today is the birthday
… of Katharine Ross. Mrs. Robinson’s daughter is 68.
… of Tom Selleck. Thomas Magnum is 63. He’s much older than me, you know.
… of Oprah Winfrey. She’s 54.
… of Judy Norton Taylor. Mary Ellen Walton is 50. (Which makes her five years older than Patricia Neal was when playing the mother in the original Walton film, The Homecoming: A Christmas Story. And a whole lot older than Michael Learned was when she became the Walton mom in the TV series. Learned was just 33.)
… of actor Edward Burns. He’s 40.
… of Sara Gilbert. Darlene Conner on “Roseanne” is 33.
… of blues singer Jonny Lang, all of 27.
Edward Abbey was born in Indiana, Pennsylvania, on this date in 1927. The Writer’s Almanac had this in 2005:
In 1956 he began working as a park ranger and a fire lookout for the National Park Service. He worked there for fifteen years, and this led him to write about the wilderness of Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah. He said, “For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses! Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!” His book Desert Solitaire (1968) is about his time working as a ranger in Arches National Park, Utah. In it he argues for, among other things, a ban on cars in wilderness preserves. In a memorial piece about Abbey, Edward Hoagland says of him, “Personally, he was a labyrinth of anger and generosity, shy but arresting because of his mixture of hillbilly and cowboy qualities, and even when silent he appeared bigger than life.”
NewMexiKen gathered these Abbey quotations:
If you’re never ridden a fast horse at a dead run across a desert valley at dawn, be of good cheer: You’ve only missed out on one half of life.
The indoor life is the next best thing to premature burial.
I have written much about many good places. But the best places of all, I have never mentioned.
In all of nature, there is no sound more pleasing than that of a hungry animal at its feed. Unless you are the food.
Phoenix, Arizona: an oasis of ugliness in the midst of a beautiful wasteland.
The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders.
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
Edward Abbey died in 1989.
William Claude Dukenfield, better known as W.C. Fields, was born in Philadelphia on this date in 1880 or 1889.
A thing worth having is a thing worth cheating for.
Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.
I always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case I see a snake–which I also keep handy.
I never vote for anyone; I always vote against.
Last week, I went to Philadelphia, but it was closed.
A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money.
A woman drove me to drink and I didn’t even have the decency to thank her.
Anyone who hates children and animals can’t be all bad.
I am an expert of electricity. My father occupied the chair of applied electricity at the state prison.
I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.
If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.
Some things are better than sex, and some are worse, but there’s nothing exactly like it.
There comes a time in the affairs of man when he must take the bull by the tail and face the situation.
(When “caught” reading a Bible) “Just looking for loopholes.”
Fields died on Christmas Day 1946.
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