Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Golden Plunger Awards (43 page)

In the end, Coppola’s hard-won film was a triumph:

The 1970s will forever be remembered for being
the
classic decade for virtually every genre of film:

Romantic comedy
(
Annie Hall
,
The Goodbye Girl
)

Scary movie
(
Jaws
,
The Exorcist
)

Raucous comedy
(
Animal House
,
Blazing Saddles
)

Thriller
(
Chinatown
,
The French Connection
)

Disaster flick
(
Airport
,
The Towering Inferno
)

Westerns
(
The Outlaw Josey Wales
,
Straw Dogs
)

Political and social commentary
(
All the President’s Men
,
The Deer Hunter
)

Tearjerker
(
Love Story
,
The Champ
)

Sci-fi
(
Star Wars
,
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
)

Musical
(
Cabaret
,
Grease
,
Saturday Night Fever
)

Satire
(
MASH
,
Network
)

Psychological drama
(
Taxi Driver
,
A Clockwork Orange
,
Apocalypse Now
)

And where would modern movies be without the car chase? Although 1968’s
Bullitt
established the modern high-octane car chase scene in movies,
The French Connection
(1971)—the first R-rated movie to win the Best Picture Academy Award—set a new standard with multiple camera angles used on real New York streets, actual collisions, and the movie’s star, Gene Hackman,
really driving his car at high speeds . . . all of which translated to the most thrilling car chase scene ever shown in theaters. As for the maverick filmmakers of the ’70s, they’ve produced some of the most important and relevant movies of the last three decades. But their roots will always be planted in the greatest decade there ever was for American cinema.

“Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son.”

—
Animal House

“You’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”

—
Dirty Harry

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

—
The Godfather

“Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”

—
The Godfather Part II

“Yo, Adrian! I did it!”

—
Rocky

“Come up to the lab, and see what’s on the slab! I see you shiver with antici . . . pation!”

—
The Rocky Horror Picture Show

“You talkin’ to me?”

—
Taxi Driver

“Soylent Green is people!”

—
Soylent Green

“May the Force be with you.”

—
Star Wars

“I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

—
Network

A Sampling of Favorite Treats

Spam became popular in Hawaii when military personnel introduced it there during World War II. One of the most popular takeout and street foods in Hawaii is the Spam musubi. It’s sort of like sushi, but with Spam instead of fish. On top of a block of sticky rice is a thick slice of grilled spam. It’s all then wrapped and held together with a strip of seaweed. You can even buy a cheap kitchen gadget to make them (essentially a plastic box and a presser) called the Spam Musubi Maker. The food is available in convenience stores, school cafeterias, fast-food restaurants, and snack bars.

In 1849, Hangtown (now Placerville), California, was a supply stop for Gold Rush miners. One day, a miner who struck gold went into the El Dorado Hotel and asked for the most expensive meal available. The cook told him his priciest ingredients were eggs (because of how hard they were to transport), bacon (because it had to be shipped from Chicago), and oysters (because they had to be taken on ice live from San Francisco Bay in barrels of saltwater). The cook combined them into the Hangtown fry, which cost $6 (about $140 today). It’s still a popular breakfast item on diner menus in California and the Pacific Northwest.

Popular only in Rhode Island, this is similar to chocolate milk, but made with thick, coffee-flavored syrup (nearly impossible to find
outside of the state) instead of chocolate syrup. A now-unknown drugstore soda fountain operator in the 1930s was trying to attract new customers with new drinks, so he added milk and sugar to leftover coffee grounds. It created a thick syrup, which the soda jerk thought tasted great in a glass of cold milk. The drink grew in popularity until it became standard soda fountain fare. In 1932, a New England company named Silmo started bottling the syrup. Coffee milk is the official state beverage of Rhode Island.

Roadside stands in Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and the Caroli-nas sell boiled peanuts (also known as “bald” peanuts owing to the pronunciation in a Southern drawl). Raw peanuts still in the shell are boiled in saltwater for hours. The shells get soggy, and the peanuts taste like freshly roasted beans. They’re hard to open to get to the nut inside, so most people use their teeth. One popular way of eating boiled peanuts: drop the nut into a soda or sweet iced tea and gulp it down. It’s traditional to then toss the shells on the ground. No one knows when boiled peanuts started, but they date back at least to the Civil War, when starving Confederate troops had little to eat besides salt and peanuts, which are widely grown in the South.

In the rest of the country, lobster is an expensive delicacy. But in Maine, where most lobster comes from, it’s so plentiful that it’s just an ingredient in a cheap sandwich at a roadside stand. A lobster roll is a long sandwich, usually made in a grilled hot dog bun or hoagie roll. It’s then filled with celery, scallions, a few huge dollops of mayonnaise, and as much lobster meat as will fit.

It’s a fish dish that originated with the Vikings and came to the United States with Norwegian immigrants, who settled in Minnesota and Wisconsin in large numbers. Lutefisk is dried cod soaked in lye for several days. Then it’s baked or boiled and seasoned with butter, salt, and pepper. The final product is a salty fish with the consistency of Jell-O.

This originated in Springfield, but is popular throughout Illinois. It’s a heart-stopping sandwich that begins with two slices of thickly sliced toast. On top of that is either a ham steak or two hamburger patties. Then, a plate of French fries are dumped on top, followed by a large portion of cheddar cheese sauce. Supposedly, the sandwich suggests a horseshoe: the beef is supposed to resemble an anvil and the fries represent horseshoe nails. It was created in Springfield’s Leland Hotel in 1928 by chefs Joe Schweska and Steve Tomko, who went on to work at a number of other restaurants where they cooked up the Horseshoe. (A half portion—one slice of bread with one hamburger patty or small ham steak—is called a “Pony Shoe.”)

“Real” chili doesn’t necessarily come from Texas. Cincinnati has its own chili-making tradition. Whereas Texas chili is slow-cooked until the raw beef gets tender, Cincinnati chili starts with the meat already cooked. It’s much thinner than the thick, hearty Texas brand and is spiced differently. Cincinnati chili is savory, not spicy, because it’s made with cinnamon, chocolate, allspice, and Worcestershire sauce. The concoction is then served over spaghetti and traditionally topped with onions, shredded cheddar cheese, kidney beans, and oyster crackers. (A bowl with all five toppings is called “Five-Way Chili.”)

Many of Louisiana’s settlers were French Canadian, and they brought with them a dish called galantine, which consisted of veal, poultry, fish, vegetables, and bread crumbs all finely ground and stuffed into a large bird like a turkey, duck, or chicken. Galantine gave way to an invention claimed by Louisiana chef Paul Prudhomme: turducken. The dish—and the name—combine turkey, duck, and chicken. A turkey is stuffed with a duck, and the duck is stuffed with a chicken. In between each bird is a layer of sausage stuffing. Also claiming inventor’s rights is Herbert’s Specialty Meats in Maurice, Louisiana, which has been making and shipping turduckens since 1985. In recent years, it’s caught on nationally as an alternate Thanksgiving entree.

Walt Kelly’s
Pogo
Comic Strip

Pogo possum lived in the Okeefenokee Swamp, where he and his critter friends commented satirically on American culture and politics. Wonderfully drawn animal characters, great art, slapstick humor, and clever nonsense talk helped creator Walt Kelly tackle serious subjects without alienating readers.

The strip was published between 1948 and 1975, and at its peak in the late 1960s, more than 600 papers carried it (though
Pogo
’s increased political commentary during the 1968 presidential campaign cost it some subscribers). When Walt Kelly passed away in October 1973, his widow, also a cartoonist, kept the strip alive until July 1975. (
Pogo
was revived from 1989 to 1993 with several different creative teams.) In addition, 31 paperbacks were published along with 33 collections (two posthumous) of the strip. Quite a legacy for a bunch of swamp critters.

Pogo had more than 700 individually named characters, along with hundreds of unnamed ones. All were vehicles for Kelly’s whimsical wordplay and political views. The major players were:

Kelly began
Pogo
in 1943, after a career that included a stint drawing cells for animated movies like
Snow White
and
Pinocchio
. The Walt Disney work gave him a discipline that he applied to his own finely drawn strip.

Kelly seemed to have an innate knowledge of which frames required shading, which frames could go borderless (one of his innovations), and which scenes needed details like tree stumps and kudzu. He also had an eye for critter caricature—Pogo’s nose, Albert’s tale, Howland’s feathery “ears.” Kelly’s characters have expressions that range from consternation to confusion to glee with just a curve of an “eyebrow” or a “mouth’s” downturned corners.

Reading a
Pogo
strip or book requires that the audience pay attention—not because the dialogue is difficult, but because it’s fast paced and full of puns, coined words, dialects from French to Elizabethan English, unusual typefaces, and general wackiness. Swamp speak was richer than Cajun roux and more ambiguous than leftover gumbo, including part real dialect (“Choose yo’ weapons”), part made-up patter (“What an ignoram-bumptious youth!”), and part invented words (like Pogo’s “Rowrbazzle!”).

Kelly’s love of made-up language and nonsense talk had a popular culmination in his fractured Christmas carol “Deck Us All with Boston Charlie.” He was never afraid to be silly and smart in the same strip, making Pogo a hit with kids and adults alike.

Literary critic Jonathan Yardley of the
Washington Post
remembers one particularly fun Kelly bit: “Howland Owl and Churchy-la-Femme hatch a plot to build ‘Adam bombs,’ which involves crossing ‘a gee-ranium plant an’ a li’l baby yew tree,’ at the end of which, as the wise owl puts it, ‘you gits a yew-ranium bush!’”