Richard Sherman died two weeks ago. He and his brother Robert were composers for a bunch of Disney hits particularly Mary Poppins. I was in Los Angeles when that doc about them premiered, maybe fifteen years ago. Amazing Los Angeles experience. The brother who served in World War Two was memorable for being troubled. He stood out very differently. One brother couldn’t understand the darker side of the other brother, his needing to walk away from the music business, pursue visual art and start over in England. He was already in his 50s or 60s. I heard he wrote a memoir and I ordered a copy through the university which coincidentally just came to me three weeks ago. It is called Moose. A very amazing account of WW2 up there with The Seven Beauties by Lina Wertm\u00fcller, The Pianist by Roman Polanski, The Last Witnesses by Svetlana Alexievich and the French Serial Un Village Francais. Here is an excerpt:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(by Robert Sherman)
Randy enjoyed comic books. Naturally, just the pictures. He once received a letter and carried it in his pocket, unopened, for a week. He thought it was from his girl back in the hills. He smelled the perfume in which it was drenched. He held it up to my nose: \u201cSmells like her little pussy,\u201d he said. He asked me to read it to him. When I opened it, out fell a snapshot of a pretty little barefoot girl about thirteen years of age. It looked as though she was carrying a little doll in her arms. I asked Randy if this was his kid sister. I saw him laugh for the very first time.
“Hee-ell no, Jew boy, that\u2019s my girl friend Mary-Louise and our baby boy, Ted!\u201d Her pitiful little letter expressed her loneliness for him and told of the tough life she had, working for the farmer. She couldn\u2019t wait until the stupid war was all over so Randy could come home to take care of her and their child. He dictated a reply and I wrote it down for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From then on I thought that Randy and I were friends. But one night, when he was desperately drunk and I tried to quiet him so he wouldn\u2019t be arrested by the MPs, he began swinging at me and shouting abusive remarks. It seemed strange coming out of that really innocent big oaf\u2019s mouth because he had once confessed that I was the first and only Jew bastard he had ever seen and he thought I didn\u2019t look a hell of a lot different than anyone else. The next day he was deeply sorry. He remembered how poorly he had behaved. He begged me to slug him hard in the face a couple of times in order to get even. Of course I refused. He said:
\u201cWell, buddy, any ol\u2019time ya got the feelin\u2019 fer it, I owe ya a coupla punches in my pan. That seemed to make him feel better. I said
\u201cThanks, buddy, I\u2019ll remember that, so watch out.\u201d From then on our friendship did continue. He confessed many things to me. He told me that his two pairs of GI boots were the first shoes he had ever owned. He wondered if we got to take them home after the war. He guessed that you could if they looked beat up enough. He told me that he was going to marry Mary-Louise when he came home. She was twelve years old when she gave birth to their son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Several months later the eighty-eights were incessantly landing on our position, and it appeared as if the enemy knew that their \u201cnow or never\u201d had finally arrived. The hellish explosions, the noise, the screams of agony rivaled anything that Dante had ever conceived. Randy was crouched in a shallow, root bound hole next to mine. We were kneeling there, motionless and silent. Then, close to my ear I heard what sounded like soft whimpering. I turned toward Randy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Hey, buddy, you\u201c
“No, Sherman, I ain\u2019t.\u201d
\u201cYahit?\u201d
\u201cNo, goddammit, I\u2019m not hit!\u201d
\u201cThen what?\u201d Between louder sobs, he said:\u201cOh Jesus\u2014JESUS, I ain\u2019t hit!\u201d
\u201cSo what the hell is it?\u201d
\u201cOh God, Sherman, I shouldn\u2019t be here! I shouldn\u2019t be here at all!\u201d He was really panicked.
\u201cNone of us should, Randy!\u201d He shouted for the world to hear over the explosions:
\u201cI mean it! Be-lieve me, I Goddamn mean it! Don\u2019t joke with me!\u201d \u201cHey, buddy, what\u2019s buggin\u2019 ya?\u201d
\u201cToday is my fuckin\u2018 birthday!\u201d
\u201cYeah? So happy birthday. We\u2019ll celebrate next Tuesday.\u201d
\u201cIt\u2019s my fifteenth birthday. I\u2019m fifteen years old! I\u2019m too young to die like this. I got a baby boy back home!\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re fifteen! My God, what are you doing here, Randy?\u201d This remark from an ancient eighteen year old. OK?”
“Fifteen? No sh*t!” He radioed the Captain. \u201cCaptain says to send the son of a bitch to the battalion command post. They’ll probably send him back to division on an empty ammo truck. Cap’n’ll radio ahead. Says the son of a bitch better not be shitting me. If he\u2019s just running away in the face of the damn enemy then it\u2019ll be his ass and a court martial!\u201d I crawled back to Randy and told him what he had to do. The last I saw of him was his large, lumbering shadow, wiping his tears away on his sleeve. He was crouched over, jogging through the explosions, jogging toward the west, jogging toward West Virginia, jogging toward Mary-Louise and his baby boy, jogging toward life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Softly, I whispered \u201cHappy birthday, Randy.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"