… of Katharine Ross. Mrs. Robinson’s daughter is 67.
… of Tom Selleck. Thomas Magnum is 62.
… of Oprah Winfrey. She’s 53.
… of Judy Norton Taylor. Mary Ellen Walton is 49. (Which makes her four years older than Patricia Neal was when playing the mother in the original Walton film, The Homecoming: A Christmas Story.)
… of diver Greg Louganis. He’s 47.
… of actor Edward Burns. He’s 39.
… of Sara Gilbert. Darlene Conner on “Roseanne” is 32.
… of blues singer Jonny Lang, all of 26.
Thomas Paine was born in England on this date in 1737.
These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
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.
One of my favorite Abbey quotes these days:
Anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others.
“The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country”
every day, upon reading of the slaughter of iraquis who have thrown their lot with the invaders, i wonder what were they expecting. and i know that every man has his reasons for becoming a collaborator, and not one of us can know how he might man himself or disgrace himself under similar circumstances, with hungry mouths to feed at home, babies tugging at his sleeve.