Glenn Close and Me

Mel Gibson (Hamlet), Glenn Close (Gertrude) in Hamlet (1990)

Actress Glenn Close and I have some things in common:

1. We are both about the same age.

2. We both attended The College of William and Mary around the same time.

3. We both have acted on stage.

4. We both have a connection to Shakespeare's play Hamlet.

Glenn Close had a double major at W&M, anthropology and theater. She starred in several theatrical productions, displaying incredible acting abilities and an impressive stage presence, and she could also sing and dance. I attended many of her plays and was always delighted by her vibrant onstage energy. 

I was an English major planning on becoming a teacher, and later I acted in community theater. I remember my sarcasim at the time, once proclaiming to a friend that "Glenn Close is the most talented stage actor I've ever seen, and she will no doubt leave William and Mary never be seen or heard from again." 

However, Glenn Close's professional career took off almost immediately after college, and she has enjoyed a long career of tremendous success and recognition on TV, stage, and screen,  winning three Emmy Awards, three Tony Awards, and receiving six Academy Award nominations. I had to eat my cynical words, and no one has been happier about it than I.

I have never met Glenn Close. I did, however, have the pleasure to meet and talk briefly with her father, a world-renowned doctor and African missionary. He was the keynote speaker at a medical conference in Nags Head when my wife Angela was a professor at EVMS. 

I became a high school and community college English instructor and drama director. I taught Hamlet for 37 years. I showed some of my students the 1990 Franco Zeffirelli film adaptation starring Mel Gibson as Hamlet and Glenn Close as Hamlet's mother Gertrude. This version emphasizes the closeness of mother and son, suggesting they are perhaps even too close. 

Gertrude apparently had Hamlet at a young age, and Glenn Close has no trouble projecting a youthful Gertrude, especially since she is only eight years older than Mel Gibson. As a college sophomore, she was cast to play Cleopatra, and often in her early movie career, in fact, she was cast to play a woman much older than her actual age.

William and Mary recently found and restored the costumes Glenn Close had worn there as a student for productions of Brigadoon, The Seagull, and Antony and Cleopatra. W&M invited her there for a "surprise" and presented her with these costumes in the exhibit "Glenn Close: A Life in Costume." For more information, photos, plus a video, click on this link: Surprise! Costume designer restores Glenn Close's W&M costumes

Monologue: Grandmother to Grandson

 Grandmother and me in 1960 when she visited in Myrtle Beach

My grandmother was only 39 when I was born in 1948; my mother was still just 15. I lived with Grandmother until I was about 6. I spent a glorious summer with her when I was 10. Later in life I would try to visit her at least one a week. I loved listening to her talk. The following is my attempt to capture her voice from memory.


Tommy, I like sitting here on the porch in my rocker, looking over the yard. It's better outside. 

Yes, this was all farm land when we moved here in the late '30s. Elizabeth City County, now part of Hampton. You know, I'm the only one who can still have chickens and geese around here because I've always had 'em. Protected by a grandfather clause. Neighbors don't like that crowing so early, but if they don't want to hear it, they should sleep with their windows shut. Even if they get up before daylight, they won't be up before I am. 

If that neighbor across the street complains to the city again about my tree limbs touching the power lines, I'll walk over there and crush him like an insect. And I'd do it, too, Tommy. You'd better believe it. I don't like the city hacking off my tree limbs. It looks ugly. I planted all these trees here, Tommy, over 300 of 'em. Started most from just a small limb. Yes, about three-and-a-half acres. The city just grew up around me. 

You know, sometimes I think about some of the people my children have married. Ha, I didn't pick any of 'em out. And then they come to me and complain. I tell 'em, "It's your little red wagon, and you gotta pull it yourself." 

Been so much rain lately, the ground is soft. Let's walk around and check on my trees. See this little one here? It was just a twig before I stuck it in the ground, but, look, it's starting to come up crooked. I'm gonna stomp it back down in the mud. There! There! There! Grow up straight, damn you! And Tommy, I bet it will.

Meeting Muhammad Ali

                           Muhammad Ali talks to children in his Louisville home, including wife Yolanda.

I had followed the early career of boxer Cassius Clay, who is 6 years older than I, from Olympic light-heavyweight Gold Medal winner in Rome in 1960 to heavyweight contender, a period during which he would often predict--in verse--the round he would knock out his opponent, and he was usually right. 

Many today probably don't realize that in his match against champion Sony Liston he was a 7-1 underdog and that his dramatic knockout to become heavyweight boxing champion of the world is still considered one of the greatest sports upsets of all time. 

After that fight, he changed his religion and his name, becoming Muhammad Ali. I had watched all nine of his title defenses, starting with the "phantom punch" KO of Sony Liston in round one of their rematch. 

Not a strong student academically, Ali had graduated from his Louisville, Kentucky, high school 376 in a class of 391. He had registered for the military draft and had taken and failed the intelligence test. Later when the Army revised its pass/fail score, Ali's score was now a passing one, thus qualifying him for military service after all. 

Ali's championship title, boxing license, and U.S. passport were all taken from him for refusing to be drafted in the Army, and an all-white jury convicted him and sentenced him to 5 years in prison plus a $10,000 fine for draft evasion. He posted bond, remained free, and served no jail time while his case was on appeal, which stretched out over the next three years. 

These events were occurring during the time of the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War. "No Vietcong ever called me 'nigger,'" he said. His refusal to join the army was based on his religious beliefs. The Supreme Court ruled unanimously in his favor, 8-0 (Thurgood Marshall abstained). 

Because Ali was barred from boxing from ages 25 to nearly 29, he lost the prime years of his boxing career. Ali's third boxing match after reinstatement was an opportunity to win back the title against Champion Joe Fraiser, but Ali for the first time was knocked down and ended up losing an unanimous  decision. Ali was a controversial public figure, and patriotic zealots, bigots, and racists were particularly happy to see him receive a comeuppance they felt was long overdue. 

I grew up in the segregated South of Jim Crow, and it wasn't until my young adulthood that I finally acquired enough education, maturity, and humanity to reject the racism and bigotry that had been my models as a child. Aside from being a great champion boxer and showman, Ali in my eyes was even greater as a fighter for religious freedom and racial equality.

It was at this low point in Ali's life, following his loss to Joe Frasier, that I met him. On Monday, January 24, 1972, Ali, now thirty, put on a public boxing exhibition locally here at the Hampton Coliseum. He was no longer the champ. This was a just a sparring session and not an actual fight, and being held on a school night--despite all of this, still about 3,700 fans showed up on a cold night to see and cheer on their hero, Muhammad Ali, back in the ring, boxing one-at-a time against four different sparring partners, starting to work his way back to another fight and eventually another title bout that would restore "The People's Champion" to his rightful place on boxing's throne. 

However, that night the "boxing" generated little excitement from the fans. None of the fighters threw any serious punches. They mainly just danced around and avoided each other. The biggest applause of the night came when their hero once broke into his "Ali shuffle" and threw a quick volley of punches at his out-classed opponent. This bout was staged for show, publicity, a small paycheck, and perhaps a little training. Most of the crowd appeared to me to be black school children with adult family members.

When the sparring session was over, instead of leaving, I suddenly had a strong urge to go backstage and try meet Ali although I doubted it would be possible. I was almost 24 and had never done anything like this before, not even for Elvis or the Rolling Stones, when they had appeared here. No one stopped me, and I joined a group of about 16 others waiting to see if Ali would come out and see us. I remember feeling self-conscious about being the only white person in the group and only one of the few adults. I kept expecting someone from security to tell us Ali had left and we had to leave, but that did not happen, so we kept waiting.

After about 40 minutes on my watch, although it seemed a lot longer, Ali emerged, wearing an immaculate, glistening light-blue suit, looking more like a model in GQ than a heavyweight boxer. He was accompanied by a male entourage, likewise formally accoutered. He glanced over at us and seemed surprised. The entourage was obviously impatient to leave. One of them said, "Come on, Champ. We have to go." Ali paused, glanced back at them, and said, "People have been waiting for me. I didn't know they were here." 

He walked over to us, and began shaking hands with the kids and giving autographs. I wasn't prepared, had nothing on me he could sign but my tiny torn-in-half ticket sub, and with some embarrassment, I handed it to him when it got to be my turn, and he smiled and somehow managed to fit in all of "Muhammad Ali" on it. I'm 6 feet tall,  weigh over 200 pounds, and rarely feel small, but Ali seemed to tower above me majestically at 6' 3" and with his broad shoulders. 

He listened and answered everyone's questions. His voice was soft, gentle, patient, and without bravado. "Yes, I'm going to win back the title, don't worry," he promised us all. He said some other things, too, but what I remember most is what he said to a little boy who said he wanted to grow up and be a boxer just like him. Ali paused, looked at the boy, then around at all the other children, and back to him, and then said, "No, don't become a boxer. It's ugly, brutal. I didn't do well in school. You get a good education and a good job. Boxing is the only thing I'm good at. That's why I do it, and it gives me a chance to influence others and make a difference in the world. I don't want any of you be a boxer." Then he waved and was gone.

You probably know the rest of Ali's story. Yes, he kept his promise and won back his title, and he lost it, and became the only heavyweight champion ever to win it three times.  Sports Illustrated crowned him "Sportsman of the Century." He truly is "The Greatest."  

As for me, I went on to become a teacher, and somewhere along the way I gave away my autographed Ali souvenir ticket stub to a surprised and appreciative student. Ali and I are both old now. He recently turned 72, and the only opponent he's been fighting for many years is Parkinson's disease. I'm 66, retired after 37 years. 

The world is a better place now than when we were growing up. Although I did serve about 5,000 students as best I could, I'm certainly not "The Greatest." Ali has inspired millions all over the world, and he is one of the most recognizable people on earth. I feel each of us has tried to make the world a better place before we leave. That's the best any of us can do.

Muhammad Ali Theme Song Black Superman 

Kissing the Blarney Stone

                                                                                                                                                                                                  

According to Irish legend, "Whoever kisses the Blarney Stone is gifted with eloquence and persuasiveness." When my wife Angela and I traveled to Ireland many years back as part of a bus tour of the British Isles and Ireland, we made a special stop at Blarney Castle, paid the entrance fee, and made the long climb to the top so that I would have this perhaps once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kiss the Blarney Stone.

No, I'm not the man pictured here, but the photo shows how I had to do it. I lay on my back, my head hanging down. The idea was to kiss the stone upside down, preferably with someone holding onto me so that I wouldn't slip and tumble down to certain death. 

Angela wouldn't kiss it. After I did, however, I didn't notice any sudden increase in my eloquence and persuasiveness. In fact, not long after after we were all back on the bus and headed for Dublin, I began feeling queasy and the first words out of my mouth were, "I think I'm gonna barf."

Angela's a nurse and suggested that maybe I had picked up some bad germs left on the Barney Stone from all the others who had been kissing it. I then realized why she had decided not to kiss it herself. I was fortunate to see a doctor in Dublin that night yet still felt so bad the next day that I had to miss the tour of the city including the statue of Molly Malone and sites about James Joyce.

Years later when I discussed this story with a colleague who had just recently returned from a long stay in Ireland, he laughed and laughed and then shared this secret: all the local men there love to joke about how the Blarney Stone is just another silly tourist trap, and they show their scorn for it every chance they get by peeing on it. 

Although I did get sick, the good news is that I soon recovered, and in the years since I have had many people tell me in their own way that I'm indeed gifted with eloquence and persuasiveness. I have no idea whether or not the Blarney Stone had germs on it that made sick. However, to this day I do believe in its magic. Since my grandmother's grandmother emigrated from from Ireland, this land has always been a part of me, and I will always cherish my special memories of the Emerald Isle.

Welcome to My Blog! A Toast to My Granddaddy Grant on St. Patrick's Day!

John V. Grant

My "Granddaddy Grant"

I'm a retired English teacher who loves books, literature, cinema, and art of all forms and those who create it, express it, and cherish it. I'm starting this blog today to connect with others and share some of my experiences, thoughts, feelings, concerns, and dreams. 

After a long career of teaching others to express themselves in writing, I want to use what time I have left to express myself in writing, directly as well as creatively in literary formats. 

Since today is St. Patrick's Day, I'm reminded of my Irish roots. On my mother's side of the family, I come from Scotch-Irish folks who immigrated and settled in western Virginia near Big Stone Gap. My grandmother's maiden name was Thompson; she married a Bailey, and their first child would be my mother, Ruth Imogene, and they had four others including a son that died very young. 

Bailey was a produce salesman, and they relocated to what was then Elizabeth City County near Hampton in southeast Virginia. After they divorced, she married a short, slender man of Irish descent from Pennsylvania, John Vincent Grant. 

I never knew Bailey, but as a child I loved my "Granddaddy Grant," who had served in the Army in World War II in the infantry in Italy, wounded three times and awarded three Purple Hearts, returning home suffering from shell shock and alcoholism. I was not allowed to use caps in my cap guns because loud bangs upset him. 

He taught me card tricks and enjoyed having me watch "Perry Mason" with him as we tried to guess who the murderer would turn out to be. He always guessed the guilty one right before Mason had the man or woman confess at the end; my guess was always wrong until I got wise until to pick someone who seemed least likely. On weekends we would watch the baseball "Game of the Week" on TV, usually featuring the New York Yankees versus some other team that they would usually beat. 

Granddaddy had a gruesome, secret memento of the war that he kept in the icebox, wrapped in tin foil, and no one was allowed to touch it. He once took it out and showed it to me, despite angry protestations from Grandmother not to. It was a book printed in German that had been bound with human skin. He carefully put it away and tried to explain its history and significance. I never asked to see it again, and the day after his funeral, I saw Grandmother put it in the trash outside.

Granddaddy finished out his service days with a desk job in the Air Force and was stationed at Langley Air Force Base, not far from where they lived. He never rose in rank above sergeant because he was forever getting "busted" down to "buck private," losing most of his stripes because of his drinking. He loved drinking beer at bars and Four Roses mixed with Coke at home. I would have a root beer and drink along with him. 

He was known at all the local bars in Hampton as "Sergeant Grant" or simply "Sarge," even if he had been temporarily demoted. He could beat anyone in town at pool, no matter how drunk he got. I know this because he often took me with him to the bars. I once saw him so drunk that he could hardly stand up without falling over and yet somehow he managed to run the table three consecutive times. I said, "Granddaddy, that's not fair. You never gave them even a single shot." 

He once explained that anyone can make a pool shot. The trick is to make the cue ball correctly line up afterwards for the next shot. He picked up the cue ball and pointed out to me the nine different areas he might hit with the tip of his cue stick, each creating a different result. "The pros know 12 or 16," he said, "but I'm not that good." 

He often wrecked his car while driving home from a bar. That's why Grandmother would only allow him to take me with him if we walked there and back, which we often did, the closest bar being only a couple of blocks away. 

I've attached a link to a YouTube recording of Granddaddy's favorite song, "Shut Up and Drink Your Beer" by Merle Travis. He would play it over and over on the bar jukeboxes and likewise at home and would have me sing it along with him. 

I love and remember Granddaddy Grant, the only man in our household when I was a young kid living at Grandmother's. Today on St. Patrick's day I salute him and give his favorite song one more spin, "Shut Up and Drink Your Beer" by Merle Travis