Sometimes I sense that to put real confidence in my memory I have to get to the end of all rememberings. That seems to say that I forego remembering. And now that strikes me as an accurate description of what it is to have confidence in one's memory.
          --Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason

I remember Buddy Ebsen, so well. Reading his obituary today, I was surprised he'd been still alive. He was, of course, Jed Clampett, on The Beverly Hillbillies, whom I always think about whenver I read Amy Clampitt. He was the easy-going father, always harasssed by Granny -- herself a combination of Whistler's Mother and Grandma Moses in her attitude -- but always serenely unconcerned about it. But I remember one particular scene when Jed has decided that it's time to do something about some trouble she's caused, instead of practicing his usual amused detachment. He asks Mr. Drysdale (like the pitcher! I would always think later) to do something for him; Mr. Drysdale righteously refuses, till Jed pulls out a roll of money, like a gambler, and casually tosses it into the air several times. This was so interestingly out of character that it spoke volumes about his intelligence and secret competence. At that point he reminded me of my own uptown grandfather, also serenely phlegmatic and detached, but with hidden resources of canniness and know-how, and command of money and its uses. I loved that moment, and loved TV, or loved the show, for giving it to me. RIP, both Jed Clampett and my grandfather.

posted by william 11:06 AM
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