>>> AFTER SHARIN' MY ZITI LAST NIGHT (I had NO IDEA what I'd do today):
But first, the one thing I forgot to mention last night in discussing Science as the logical, empirical pursuit of understanding the physical nature of God, was one of the MANY contributions of Kenan Scientists, these two being Psychiatrists, an admittedly more subjective science. Neither of them were surnamed Kenan, but both, although distant relatives and I doubt they knew they were related at the time, descended from the emigrating-about-1730 Thomas Kenan, so both of the "wealthy branch" now headed by Thomas S. Kenan III of Chapel Hill.
And it was in 2010, while I was a "house-guest" of some mostly Mexican but one white Canadian woman Narco-Traffickers on Calle Bolivia (I think), close to Theatro Vallarta, that SHE found this information in the 1999 edition of the book THE KENAN FAMILY. Both the doctor who headed the American Psychiatric Association and the doctor who coordinated the information leading to the decision to REMOVE Homosexuality from the DSM (Diagnositc and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), IN 1973, were Kenans.
And the IRONIC THING is that in the 1970s and 80s, Tom Kenan was the TOAST OF GAY NORTH CAROLINA. His long-term boyfriend, Curtis "Robbie" Anderson, whom I dated coincidentally in 1985 after they broke up, went to ALL the High-Falutin' Society parties with Tom, and said many asked him for the favor of a piano or organ for their organizations (Henry Flagler had a policy of giving any church, synagogue, school, or philosophical society, a tract of land in Florida to build on and choice of piano or organ -- usually simple ones -- and the Kenans always followed this policy too).
Now, Tom is either deep back in the closet to satisfy his Republican friends -- or ashamed of being 75 now with a twenty-something boyfriend, whose friends I met in Wilmington were nothing but silly, high-end drug trash. I hope I am wrong about that.
So if you don't like Homosexuality no longer being considered a mental illness in Western Society -- blame the KENAN FAMILY!!!
But this is what I am actually here to write about this afternoon -- inspired by key search words leading to my blog: "Tennessee Ernie Williams". This hasn't turned up in Key Search Words in three years, but in the early 1980s when I worked for Tennessee Williams I was often SHOCKED by how many confused them.
Even "Yahoo Answers" has a page devoted to it (although no one has posted there in eight years): https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070227232651AA2rzoC
Tennessee Williams or Tennessee Ernie Ford?
Best Answer
Tennessee Williams --
Other Answers (10)
Relevance
>>> SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, THIS FROM MY MEMOIR:
From Chapter 16: Christmas and the Real World: http://laterdaysoftennesseewilliams.blogspot.mx/2013/10/chapter-16-christmas-and-real-world.html
“Complimentary Caribbean Punch . . . or Mimosa?” the stewardess asked, passing out cocktail napkins as we unsnapped our trays.
Most airlines offered a free drink en route to Miami —a restorative for pale fugitives from the North. They hailed from Manhattan , Toledo —and Charlotte . Stuffed into southbound planes, heads filled with palm trees and flamingos, they watched through windows as the earth greened below.
You did not have to be a snowbird to get the drink, however. “Mimosa,” I said.
The woman next to me hesitated.
“Oh . . .”
“Go ahead, Shirley,” her husband said.
Even Baptists partake of earthly pleasures when away from the pack, but Shirley was in a stall.
“Mimosas are delicious,” I said, “—orange juice and champagne. The punch is bug juice.”
The stewardess coughed a small laugh.
Shirley ordered a mimosa. Her husband asked for punch.
“I’m Shirley, and this is my husband, Earl.”
I reached across to shake Earl’s hand.
“We’re going to Miami Beach ,” she said. “A full week!” She smiled and looked over at Earl. “We haven’t been to Florida since our honeymoon—twenty-nine years ago.”
Earl took her hand.
“Are you on vacation too?” he asked.
“No, returning from Christmas with family. It’s back to work for me.”
“Oh! Shirley said. “In Florida
“What do you do?” asked Earl.
I always wondered what Baptists—presumed Baptists—thought of Tennessee and his plays—characters struggling with alcoholism, mental illness, homosexuality, and more. Did Baptists have only sin in their eyes, or did they cheer the struggle of life?
This was a chance to find out—and possibly too, to impress.
“I work for Tennessee Williams.”
Earl leaned forward. “Really! What do you do?”
“Well, whatever is needed—manage the household, travel with him, deal with his agent, lawyers, accountant.”
“Oh!” said Shirley, grabbing my arm, “We saw him once . . . with Minnie Pearl! We—Earl and me,” she grabbed Earl’s arm too, “just love country music—the real kind.”
Of course.
These people were sprinkled throughout the population, and I ran into them even in the most unlikely places—dinner parties, bars, and even one at the Kennedy Center. To them, “Tennessee ” could only be Tennessee Ernie Ford. They never failed to surprise me.
“Tennessee Ernie Ford,” I said. “So easy to confuse with Tennessee Williams—the playwright. Glass Menagerie.” I always stopped right there with certain people, not wanting to over-stimulate them.
“Ohhhhh . . .” Earl said, as he leaned back. Shirley stared into her mimosa.
It would be a quiet hour to Miami . I looked out the window and watched the horizon tilt as the pilot adjusted our course.
"I'm hired??? You really like my SINGING???
.
