“Farewell, Jimmy Breslin”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-17)

I moved to Ithaca, New York in 1978.

As a boy from Columbus, Ohio, the very thought of living within the borders of New York gave me pause. Or to be more specific, it made me tremble with the fear of metropolitan environs and a political climate not given to folksy, midwestern habits. I felt trepidation from the first moment of my life at a cultural and educational crossroads like Cornell University. Yet after only a few short weeks, I realized that this seismic shift in my life was a blessed happening of circumstance.

New York was a rite of passage. Like so many before me who came from the heartland, I had arrived.

Newspaper columnist Jimmy Breslin was already a renowned figure. And, an iconic personality in the city and in the Empire State. So it was that one of my first encounters with his image came through advertisements for Piels Beer. Looking a bit ruffled, as if he had just come to a local bar after covering some sort of political or sociological mayhem, which induced rabid thirst, he offered a blue-collar opinion on the brew:

“When Piels came to me to do this, I said ‘I’m not Bert or Harry, I’m Jimmy Breslin, a writer.’ But, beer is a subject that is not exactly unknown to me. So I tried one. I liked it! It’s good beer. I tried another. It’s better than good. It’s a good drinkin’ beer. That’s how I describe Piels. It’s a good drinkin’ beer.”

My friend Paul Race, from Corning, explained the characters of Bert and Harry Piels. They were cartoon fellows, voiced by the comedy team of Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding. In a vintage series of ads they had described the quality and appeal of this brew.

I had wanted to be a newspaper columnist since the age of ten, thanks to reading Mike Royko. So Breslin immediately caught my attention. He was brash, opinionated and clearly a product of his environment. I quickly became spellbound by his work. Plus, he advertised beer. No one drowning in pretentiousness and self-worship would do a commercial for beer. It was like a USDA stamp of quality. Authenticity. What some call ‘Street Cred.’ This guy spoke my language:

“I don’t know any other columnists, and I don’t know what they do. I work the single! And nobody does what I do, anyway… Pick up any newspaper in the morning. Count the words in the lead sentences. There will be at least 25 in all of them: Guaranteed. The writers just want to tell you how many degrees they have from this college or that university.”

Friends who were active in the field seemed to naturally gravitate toward an air of gentle snobbery, which I resisted. While they read the New Yorker, I read Easyriders and Biker Lifestyle, both ‘chopper’ magazines. And I read newspaper columnists like Andy Rooney, Art Buchwald, or Erma Bombeck. Also Rock critics like Lester Bangs and Legs McNeil. Hunter S. Thompson was ever-present. But Breslin came across in the guise of a regular fellow. Someone gifted with the grasp of creative writing, but likely to be in the next row at a baseball game, or on the next stool at a local bar. His authenticity worked like a magnet. It drew me to his prose. Then, charged me with energy for my own pursuit of the craft. I was young, strong-headed and loud. He sounded like a patron saint:

“Rage is the only quality which has kept me, or anybody I have ever studied, writing columns for newspapers.”

I wrote my own first column for the ‘Learning Web’ bulletin, sponsored by Cornell, while serving an apprenticeship at the local television outlet. While clunky and lacking graceful style, it opened the door. One of those who visited the broadcast studios was an editor at a genuine local newspaper. Our friendship brought together the creative elements. Jimmy Breslin made me believe that an everyday person could write professionally. My mentor from the paper offered some useful technical details on how this could be accomplished, in real terms.

Humor also proved to be a useful tool. Not of a comic variety, but simply as a matter of personal style. Breslin wrote with the good-natured honesty of someone who was both curious and open-minded, sometimes sounding like a favorite uncle in a moment of genuine wonder:

“I intended to concentrate throughout the summer on matters of extreme urgency: ocean waves breaking in the sunlight and swirls inside oyster shells and the mystery of the sound of ice hitting the sides of a glass. In the afternoon, the ice makes only this gentle, clicking, almost tinkling sound. Yet at night it sounds like gravel being poured into a barrel. Why is ice louder at night than it is in the daytime? Let me put on my shoes and we’ll go out and investigate.”

When I left New York to rediscover family roots in Ohio, he remained somewhere in my head. Time was required to adjust back to old traditions living in what my friends colorfully described as ‘flyover country.’ I stopped seeing ads for Piels beer. And stopped thinking of myself as a wanderer seeking knowledge in a foreign land. But the dice had been cast.

Recently, I heard of his passing on the day of an ‘Author Series’ at the Ashtabula Library, where I had been invited to speak about my books. His career was a topic visited early in my remarks. When asked about my influences as a wordsmith, I named them with pride. “Harley-Davidson, Mad Magazine, Mike Royko and Jimmy Breslin.” An ad in the back of ‘Iron Horse’ soliciting motorcycle fiction stories had first caused me to consider writing in that genre. Added to these other influences, it made for a creative stew of ideas.

Breslin had appealed to the man-child I was, helping me to evolve as a writer and personality. Now, he seemed to speak from beyond the horizon as I struggled along with my cane and a reusable Giant Eagle shopping bag full of books:

“When you stop drinking, you have to deal with this marvelous personality that started you drinking in the first place.”

Perhaps my greatest lesson from him was to feel comfortable writing as myself. To follow the advice I had been given as a fledgling scribe by my ink-slinging father, “Write from your own experiences.” Breslin made that endeavor seem not only possible, but indeed, reasonable.

Rest In Piels, Jimmy B.

Questions or comments about “Words on the Loose” may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent