322: Footnote to “A Note on Memory in ‘On the Road with Phil Freshman’
When I visited the former boarding house known as Dixieland in Look Homeward Angel—now officially the Thomas Wolfe Memorial—I took pictures of various objects, including one of the beds. Rereading Angel years later, I came across a description of “the old cream-colored bed, painted gaily at head and foot with round medals of clustering fruit.” A few days ago, I excitedly wrote on this blog: “I saw that bed. Sure enough, ‘round medals of clustering fruit’ are painted gaily on it.'” I even included the photographic proof.
But this morning—to adapt Max Jacob—“Now, as I looked at the photograph, I saw that what I had taken for a cluster of fruits was a medal containing a few exquisite flowers.”
Did Thomas Wolfe remember fruit where there were actually flowers? Did he consciously change flowers to fruit. Were there medals of fruit and flowers?
What is certain is that Thomas Wolfe's description altered the neurons and synapses in my cortex so that my memory of a photograph of flowers became a memory of a picture of fruits. This photoshopped memory would not be denied even as I stared at the picture with my lying eyes. Which was one of the points of the piece.
323: Little Sun, meet Snaker and Spider.
324: Whether or not we lived on the wrong side of the tracks was a close call because I could see the train from my window.
325: I didn't like tomatoes when I was nine, but there was a whole pile of them on the table alongside bagels, lox, onions, pickled herring. My father’s wisecracking friend Joe was the guest. I liked him because he always gave me ballpoint pens with the names of companies on them. I thought he worked for a lot of companies but my father explained that Joe only worked for one—a pen company. The tomatoes were so red that I decided to give them another shot. Incredible, sweet like pizza. I took another and another. Finally, Joe said, “Hey, Alan, why don't you help yourself to a tomato.” That day I learned I love two things: great tomatoes and expertly delivered sarcasm.
326: Booby, meet Trap.
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