Benjamin A. Railton's Blog, page 230

May 22, 2018: Nursing Histories: Molly Pitcher

[On May 21st, 1881, Clara Barton founded the American National Red Cross. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of histories and contexts related to nursing and medical aid, starting with my colleague and friend Irene’s Guest Post on Barton herself! Add your responses and thoughts for a healthy crowd-sourced weekend post, please!]On the iconic war hero who might or might not have existed, and why she matters in any case.I can think of few more AmericanStudies ways to analyze popular memory and prominence than through the eleven rest stops on the New Jersey turnpike—and by that measure, Molly Pitcher and Clara Barton are the two most famous women in New Jersey history and culture (if that last phrase isn’t an oxymoron—I kid, Jerseyites, I kid). Pitcher’s is also the only one of the eleven rest stop referents that wasn’t an actual name, and that might not even link to an individual figure—some historians believe that the name does refer to one woman, Mary Ludwig Hays, who followed her husband and the Continental Army to the Battle of Monmouth and found herself not only serving water to the soldiers but even taking over her wounded husband’s artillery job; but others have linked the name to a number of other Revolutionary-era women who performed one or another of those roles (camp followers, water carriers, and so on), including Margaret Corbin.So Molly Pitcher is as much a folkloric as a historical figure, one not unlike Paul Bunyan, John Henry, or, perhaps more accurately, Johnny Appleseed. Because like Appleseed’s inspiration John Chapman (about whom see that linked, wonderful Guest Post by William Kerrigan), women like Hays and Corbin most definitely existed; the details of their lives and experiences are as partial and uncertain as most any 18th century histories, even those of the Revolution’s most prominent leaders, but there’s plenty of information out there, such as at the various stories linked in my first paragraph’s closing sentences, and the Molly Pitcher legend provides an excellent starting point for researching and learning about these historical figures. Even absent such research, any collective memory of “Molly Pitcher” itself adds women to our narratives of these Revolutionary war battles and histories, producing a more full and accurate picture of those histories as a result.I’d take that argument one step further, however. I’ve written on multiple occasions, including in this post on Judith Sargent Murray and this one on John and Abigail Adams, about the striking cultural, social, and political voices and roles of Revolutionary-era American women (including not only Murray and Adams but also Phillis Wheatley, Annis Boudinot Stockton, and others). Indeed, it’s fair to say that such women help us to see the era’s possibilities for gender and society as likewise revolutionary, and as foreshadowing and influencing the 19th century women’s movement. That some of these women, including Adams and Stockton, achieved such success in relationship to their husbands’ lives and work—just as, that is, Hays and Corbin did in relationship to their husband’s wartime efforts—reflects some of the era’s limitations and obstacles; limitations and obstacles that all these women, like Molly Pitcher, pushed well beyond.Next nursing post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Other nursing or medical histories you’d highlight?

May 21, 2018: Irene Martyniuk’s Guest Post on Clara Barton

[On May 21st, 1881, Clara Barton founded the American National Red Cross. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of histories and contexts related to nursing and medical aid, starting with my colleague and friend Irene’s Guest Post on Barton herself! Add your responses and thoughts for a healthy crowd-sourced weekend post, please!]
“Full disclosure right from the start.  I teach British literature.  I love British literature.  One of my favorite jokes not only to Ben but to everyone in my department and our University who discusses American Studies is that we don’t need a minor in British Studies.  We already have it.  It’s called culture.  Besides, I’m not really sure what American Studies is.  However, I do have a nomination for a forgotten hero and, surprise, she’s American.
This past summer, my niece was given a high school assignment of choosing a person “who made a difference.”  Over the summer, they were supposed to read a book appropriate to their reading level about his/her chosen person and be ready to make a presentation.  On her own, my 14 year old niece chose Clara Barton.  Since I was already over-involved in her other summer reading assignments (the hover English professor Aunt), I figured I was in on this too.  I learned a lot, probably more than my niece, and certainly more than her high school expected.
First off, there are no adult books in print on Barton.  Children’s books abound, but they simplify what I discovered is a complex and important life.  So I had to buy some books on the used market (and realize that 14 year olds like fresh and new, but she was still game).
The second huge discovery, and the most common mistake that most people make when considering Clara Barton, was finding out that she was not a nurse.  Barton was a schoolteacher and then worked on the front lines during the Civil War, but she was not a trained nurse, nor did she want to be.  What she understood, and what was truly significant, was that front line care was mostly about triage—making sure clean water and clean bandages were available immediately.  She also worked tirelessly to move the wounded to safe places.  She took down names and helped soldiers write letters home so that their loved ones would know where they were and what had happened to them.  She served hot meals, even if only of soup, realizing that nourishment for a wounded soldier was vital.  These are the kinds of things that we now take for granted—when you enter a hospital or emergency room, you get a bracelet with all your info, and when you finally get treated, you are in a separated, warm room with a blanket over your and clean sheets beneath you.  Thank Clara Barton.
Barton’s realization that identifying soldiers and helping loved ones connect with them became even more important after the War.  As the horrors of Andersonville became known, Barton worked with those in government to identify the unmarked graves.  This eventually became a bit scandalous, but she realized that people needed answers and ultimately she received thousands of letters of people asking her to help them find their loved ones or at least give them any news she might know.
All of this alone would justify her fame, at least in my book, but her greatest work was yet to come.  Barton heard about a group of people who were trying to get the United States to sign on to a treaty that had been written in Geneva.  The treaty had created a group called the International Red Cross.  In the treaty, signatory countries agreed to allow Red Cross members to treat wounded soldier from both sides.  The Red Cross would be allowed to move around combat zones in safety as long as they were clearly marked.  It also set out rules for how prisoners of war would be treated.  These statutes, which have developed and changed over the years, are now commonly referred to as the Geneva Conventions.
Barton worked tirelessly to get the United States to sign on to this treaty.  It was not an easy job.  After the Civil War, America was not concerned with the wars of Europe and had no desire to get involved with them (yes, I’m simplifying).  Barton fought this—through a number of presidencies, no less.  But she eventually convinced the American government to sign on, and thus became the founder of the American Red Cross.
This became her life and boy, did she live it.  In an odd coincidence, while my older niece was at camp this summer, my sister and younger niece took a mini-break to Johnstown, PA—Flood City.  And there, at the site of the burst dam, was an array of books on Barton, including a coloring book (of course, I bought it).  Although the American Red Cross had been called into action a few times earlier, this was the first major disaster in which they became involved.  They were one of the first groups to go to Johnstown.  Barton simply packed up and went.  They were organized and they stayed, too.  They gave sensible help, also.  Barton registered families and survivors and distributed food and clothing.  As Johnstown began to slowly rebuild, they distributed furniture. 
Barton was a fascinating woman.  She was apparently not particularly tall, prone to depression and hypochondria, and perceived by many to be bossy.  And she was a hoarder, which helps us understand her now since she saved so much.  Frankly, I think she was an educated, savvy woman who had no time for those who would judge her on her height or her gender.  Sadly, not too much has changed on that front—how many educated, savvy woman are immediately seen as threats?  In the end, Barton was too much of a threat, and she was forced out of her own organization.  Whenever there was a disaster, Barton was first in with the American Red Cross.  She didn’t fill out travel requisitions or other forms—she used her own money and the organizations in a mix and did the bookkeeping later.  When the Board wanted her out, this is where they got her.  Later, an audit showed no wrongdoing, but her pride had been (understandably) damaged and she resigned.  Of course, Barton was right again.  The Red Cross is still first in.  They don’t wait for the paper work or the approval forms.
When I was growing up, one family favorite show to watch was Hogan’s Heroes.  I’m sure that’s another American Studies topic, not only for the depiction of American POWs, but also for the personal story of its star, Bob Crane.  However, more pertinent to this story is that in every episode, Hogan or one of his cabin mates would yell out about how Klink was violating their rights under the “Geneva Conventions.”  The fact that Hogan could say that is thanks to Clara Barton.  And now, when we are discussing the rights of enemy combatants, we should remember the Geneva Conventions, and the work of Clara Barton.
I could go on and on.  I ended up reading the two volume biography of Barton written by her nephew, and I visited her childhood home and her gravesite (which I found terribly moving, but I’m rather a crybaby).  But I’ll spare you all the details.  In the end, my niece got 25 out of 25 on her report and showed me how two girls in the class presented on Princess Diana and one on Bono.  All that for 25 points.  At least I learned something.”Next nursing post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Other nursing or medical histories you’d highlight?

May 19-20, 2018: Summer and Fall Previews

[As another semester concludes, this week’s series has recapped some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to this preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!]On three classes I’m looking forward to in the months to come.1)      Literature and Work for MAVA: As I’ve discussed a few times in this space, I’ve now taught three sections of Intro to Speech for FSU’s BA program for vocational educators. But this summer I’ll have the chance to teach a lit course for them for the first time, and have decided to focus this hybrid summer class on Literature and Work. I know some texts I’ll definitely include—Elizabeth Stuart Phelps’s “The Tenth of January,” Martín Espada’s “Who Burns for the Perfection of Paper”—but there’s a lot of room on the syllabus still, so I’d love any suggestions for short-ish literary texts that engage with themes of work. Thanks!2)      Grad Ethnic Literature: I’ll also be teaching an FSU Graduate English course this summer per usual, this time one that’s been on the books for a long while but hasn’t been taught since I came to FSU: Three Ethnic Literatures: African American, Asian American, Native American. I’m not yet sure what I’ll be teaching, but our grad students can read novels for weekly in-person meetings (this class is also hybrid), so I’ll likely pick one longer work for each tradition and then do shorter works and some criticism for the hybrid/online meetings in between. Leaning toward Native Son, Typical American, and Ceremony for the longer works, but I’m open to suggestions!3)      Major American Authors of the 20thCentury: This undergrad lit seminar is an old friend, although it’s been a couple years. I should probably shake up the reading list at least a bit, although I know for sure I’ll stick with the two-week units on Langston Hughes and Sylvia Plath (reading many of a poet’s collected works over two weeks is a profoundly different experience from reading a poem or two).  Sister Carrie and Native Son make for a great one-two punch to begin the class, so those will likely stick as well. But I’m not as sure about the final three: Love Medicine, American Pastoral, and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. All wonderful books, but it might be time to shake things up a bit. One more time, I’m open to suggestions!Next series starts Monday,BenPS. What have you been or are you working on?

May 18, 2018: Spring Semester Recaps: My Saturday Evening Post Gig

[As another semester concludes, a series recapping some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to a preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!]On two things I’ve learned in my first few months at a new online gig.Starting this past January, I’ve been writing pieces every two weeks for the Saturday Evening Post online . My editor Jennifer Bortel has been wonderful to work with, and to be honest it’s been a dream come true to write for the same magazine that featured all those wonderful Norman Rockwell covers (among many other important pieces across nearly three centuries of publication). All of my pieces to date are collected at the first hyperlink above, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on any of them or anything else I might cover in this gig.As with any new writing opportunity, there have been adjustments and takeaways as I’ve figured out and started to navigate this new space and community. My other two longstanding online writing gigs were for overtly progressive websites—first Talking Points Memo, and then the HuffPost—and so by far the biggest shift for this community has been writing for an audience that does not have such a clear political perspective or affiliation (and skews at least a bit older). For my first piece in particular, on immigration laws and exclusions in American history, my early drafts connected those histories to contemporary issues and debates a bit too blatantly, and Jen and I worked hard to craft a version that focuses on the histories themselves, and mostly allows readers to consider for themselves the applications of those histories to 2018 America.I’ve also learned a second, related thing about topics. For those other two gigs, the vast majority of my pieces began with timeliness, with something specific in the news or contemporary society to which I was responding. That’s happened occasionally for the Post; but in truth since I’m not focusing on those contemporary connections in the pieces, there’s less need to worry about particular such connections as starting points. Which has freed me up to think about other kinds of pieces: responses to historical anniversaries, engagements with commemorations like Black History Month and Women’s History Month, figures or events I just want to make the case for adding to our collective memories, and more. I believe this new perspective has led to some of my most unique online pieces to date, and I look forward to seeing where the next months and pieces take me!Summer/Fall preview this weekend,BenPS. What have you been or are you working on?

May 17, 2018: Spring Semester Recaps: American Literature II Online

[As another semester concludes, a series recapping some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to a preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!]I wrote in my preview post for this class about my choice to focus entirely on short works, rather than the novels I usually use. To my surprise and delight, that allowed the students to really dive into those shorter works, with some in particular receiving far more thoughtful readings than I have generally found when they’re included alongside longer works. Here are three examples:1)      Stephen Crane, “The Open Boat”: When I include Crane’s story alongside a novel, I usually excerpt it, and perhaps that’s part of the problem; the story’s slow build to a gripping conclusion is certainly part of its appeal. In any case, students had a number of really compelling things to say about identity and community in the story, and about how Crane pits his four protagonists against both the sea and their own minds and fears. I came away with a newfound appreciation for this story, which is a pretty rare and wonderful thing in a class I’ve taught as many times as I have American Lit II.2)      Sarah Piatt, “The Palace-Burner” and “A Pique at Parting”: Longtime readers of this blog know how much I love Piatt, and believe we should all read her dense, dialogic, wonderful poems. So I include them on my American Lit II syllabus every time I teach the class; but the truth is that when they’re located alongside a novel we have only a few minutes to discuss each of these two poems, and that’s just not enough time to do them justice. In extended Blackboard post analyses, however, the online students could really delve into these poems and their speakers, styles, and themes of gender and identity, and the result were the best student readings of Piatt I’ve yet encountered. 3)      William Faulkner, “Barn Burning”: “Barn Burning” isn’t Faulkner at his toughest (not by a long shot), but it’s still Faulkner, still a modified stream of consciousness narration, still a tough read to be sure. Once again, in my regular sections I excerpt the first few pages of the story, giving students even less time to get into that narration and the world it guides us through. But in this online section, students read the whole story, and really thought through both the narration and the cultural and historical themes, analyzing how the story’s form and content work together to create an immersive reading experience. One more way, like all these, that this online teaching experience will help me further strengthen my in-person classes as well.Last recap tomorrow,BenPS. What have you been or are you working on?

May 16, 2018: Spring Semester Recaps: English Studies Capstone

[As another semester concludes, a series recapping some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to a preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!]On the two education-focused texts I’ve used in this class, and the quest for a new one.When I teach our English Studies Senior Capstone course, I include one reading for each of our departmental tracks: Literature, Professional Writing, Theater, and Secondary Education (English). For my first few sections of the class, the Secondary Education text we read was Diane Ravitch’s The Death and Life of the Great American School System: How Testing and Choice are Undermining Education (2000). I like Ravitch’s book a lot (not least because she was a former advocate of standardized testing and policymaker behind No Child Left Behind who then examined the evidence and changed her perspective, which is a rare and important thing to model for us all), and if anything her topics and arguments are even more salient in 2018 than they were a decade ago. But the book is super long, and a bit more in-depth than what this Capstone setting calls for, so after those first few sections I decided to switch things up.When I did so I went with Douglas Thomas and John Seely Brown’s A New Culture of Learning: Cultivating the Imagination for a World of Constant Change (2011). Thomas and Brown’s book is as concise and overarching as Ravitch’s is lengthy and in-depth, and touches briefly but thoughtfully on a number of interesting and important educational and cultural topics. I’ve found that it inspires lots of student reflections on their own educational experiences as well as communal conversation about our 21st century society and culture; while none of us agree entirely with Thomas and Brown’s diagnoses or recommendations, we’re always inspired to keep talking about these and other related topics through their book. So it’s been a good text to feature in this Capstone mini-unit, and I’d recommend it to anyone as a very teachable way in to conversations about education, learning, and 21st century identities and communities.But at the same time, Thomas and Brown’s book is from 2011, and while of course I have nothing against older works, it does seem to me that for a class like Capstone (especially given how much I focus my version of it on next step kinds of questions and materials for the students), there’s significant value to featuring works that engage with particularly current and pressing questions and issues. So I’m looking for a new text for this Education portion of the class, something from the last couple of years that addresses issues in education (secondary, higher ed, overall, you name it) in ways that could engage students and get us talking. I’d love your nominations!Next recap tomorrow,BenPS. Any education texts you’d nominate? And again, what have you been or are you working on?

May 15, 2018: Spring Semester Recaps: American Literature I

[As another semester concludes, a series recapping some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to a preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!][NOTE: This is a repeat of a post from my Spring 2016 recap series—but it’s still all true, if not indeed more true still.]On a long overdue, vital first step.Ever since my first American Literature I syllabus, in the fall of my first year at Fitchburg State (2005-6), I’ve focused on the same central idea: complementing more familiar authors/texts and communities (what I call the Story of America) with less well-known and just as significant ones (other American Stories). While I’ve added or substracted individual authors and works over those eleven years, that core philosophy and structure for the course have remained constant, and I’ve been pretty happy with the results. (Not least because students have often been particularly drawn to and inspired by the unfamiliar authors and works, from Cabeza de Vaca to Annis Stockton and Judith Sargent Murray, William Apess to Fanny Fern.) But there’s been one noticeable problem across all those sections—my course’s version of early American diversity has featured almost entirely voices from the Native, African, and European American cultures and perspectives.There’s something to be said for extending beyond the Anglo/Puritan focused narratives of America’s origin points, of course. But as I wrote at length in my third book, even the more multicultural narrative of American history and identity has tended to elide the many other communities and cultures that have also been part of America throughout its history: from the Moroccan Muslims (Moors) in Revolutionary South Carolina to the Filippino villagers in 18th century Louisiana, the longstanding Mexican communities throughout the Southwest and West to the Chinese arrivals to turn of the 19th century Alta California, among others. And leaving those communities out of our collective memories doesn’t just make our histories less accurate—it also makes possible arguments that these cultures (Muslim Americans, Asian Americans, Latin Americans) represent late 20th and early 21st century shifts in American identity, an image of a changing America that can all too easily play into “Make America Great Again” style mythmaking and bigotry.The question I’ve faced, then, has been how to add these cultures—many of whom did not, as far as I know (and please correct my knowledge in comments!), produce written texts in their early periods—into my American Lit I syllabus. For this semester’s section, I decided to cheat slightly, and to include excerpts from Yung Wing’s autobiography My Life in China and America (1909, and thus well outside our class chronology although it begins with events from our last focal time period) as the course’s final reading. It couldn’t have gone better—the students really got into Yung’s portrayals of his arrival to the United States and his preparatory school and college days, as well as his evolving idea for the Chinese Educational Mission; and I was able to frame that specific discussion by presenting some of these precise ideas of expanding and deepening our understanding of American diversity and identity. Just one small step in that direction (and again, I welcome ideas for other authors and texts I might include to continue that work), but it felt like a really significant one nonetheless.Next recap tomorrow,BenPS. What have you been or are you working on?

May 14, 2018: Spring Semester Recaps: 19th Century African American Literature

[As another semester concludes, a series recapping some of the wonderful texts we read in my classes, along with some other Spring work of mine. Leading up to a preview of coming attractions for the Summer and Fall semesters. I’d love to hear about your work, past, present, or future, in comments!]On three texts I had never read until I had the chance to teach this class for the first time.1)      Victor Séjour, “The Mulatto” (1837): Séjour’s short story, one of the first published works of fiction by an African American author, is far from perfect; many of my students objected in particular to the highly melodramatic ending. But from its multi-layered narration that anticipates later local color writing (a white outside narrator visits an older slave who then tells him the story that forms the bulk of the text) to its complex psychological depiction of a trio of slave characters, and even to that shocking and controversial but compelling final scene, Séjour’s story is both ground-breaking and highly readable. 2)      Henry Highland Garnet, “An Address to the Slaves of the United States of America” (1843): I wrote about Garnet’s stunning and stirring speech in my preview post, and when we finally had a chance to discuss it in class, I wasn’t disappointed. Students found that whole week, which also featured David Walker and Martin Delany, to be one of the most interesting and inspiring of the semester, and I’d have to agree. And Garnet’s speech, which more or less directly calls for slave revolts and the violent overthrow of the system of slavery in America, was particularly arresting and compelling for both the students and me (having never read the whole thing until I was required to for this class). 3)      Elizabeth Keckley, Behind the Scenes; or Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House (1868): Like too many of us I suspect, I only began to learn about Keckley through her small but important role(played by Gloria Reuben) in Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln (2012). So I was very glad to have the chance to read excerpts from her autobiography/slave narrative for this class, and to learn a great deal more about both her perspective and her activist work (which the movie frustratingly omits entirely). The first half or so of our class featured a large number of slave narratives, and I worried at times about repetition; but in truth, each and every one of them was unique and compelling in its own distinct ways. Keckley’s was no exception, and I look forward to reading the whole of her book soon.Next recap tomorrow,BenPS. What have you been or are you working on?

May 12-13, 2018: A Tribute to Michael K. Williams

[One of the best parts of my 2018 so far has been discovering SundanceTV’s Hap & Leonard. Based on the series of novels by Joe Lansdale, and starring James Purefoy and Michael K. Williams, the series has completed two wonderful 6-episode seasons and as I write this is in the midst of Season 3. So this week I’ve AmericanStudied a handful of Hap & Leonardcontexts, leading to this special weekend post on the unique career to date of Michael K. Williams!]Revisiting three stages in the evolution of the great Michael Kenneth Williams.1)      Dancing: Because he became famous as Omar Little, one of the great criminal outlaws in American pop culture history, Williams’s professional origins as a touring and music video background dancer for artists such as Kym Sims, George Michael, and Madonna can seem surprising. But I would argue the opposite, and not only because Williams defied his family’s wishes and lived on the streets of New York in order to pursue his dream (although that is very Omar of him). I would also note that Williams brings a physicality and passion to every performance that are quite similar to dancing, and that the juxtaposition of the fine art of dance with the brutal violence of which his characters are so often capable is likewise very present in every multi-layered character Williams creates.2)      Omar Little: Once a character has been named as a favorite by a sitting president, it might seem that there’s very little left to say about him. And I can’t pretend that I have some radical new insight on one of TV’s all-time great characters. But I will say that amidst all the justified love for Omar, I’m not sure anyone has sufficiently grappled with the very reasonable critiques Bunk Moreland levels at him during this charged Season 3 conversation. They’re the same critiques we can and should level at any popular outlaw, but it’s perhaps even harder to do so with Omar, both because he’s gay (making him a far more marginalized character) and because Williams is so damn charismatic. But he’s still profiting off of death, drugs, and violence, in a way that as Bunk notes is hardly communally minded—and I think the single tear on Omar’s cheek at the end of that scene suggests he knows Bunk is right.3)      Chalky White: In many ways Chalky, the Atlantic City gangster whom Williams played for all five seasons of Boardwalk Empire, could be seen as parallel to Omar. Certainly he’s just as smart and ruthless, and just as willing to use violence to achieve his goals. But by the time we meet Chalky, he is also powerful and even (in Atlantic City terms at least) respectable—married with children, living in a grand house, in charge of an extensive operation and in league with some of the city’s other most powerful figures. Whether those things make him more or less sympathetic than Omar are a matter for each viewer to decide, but to this viewer Omar’s more marginalized and constantly endangered status makes him more sympathetic than the kingpin Chalky. As ever, Williams brings a depth and humanity to Chalky that makes it impossible to take our eyes off of him—but I can’t say I much like him. Which is the exact opposite of how I feel about the unique and wonderful actor behind him and so many other great characters.Next context tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on H&L, or other shows you’d highlight?

May 11, 2018: Hap & Leonard Studying: Interracial Friendship

[One of the best parts of my 2018 so far has been discovering SundanceTV’s Hap & Leonard. Based on the series of novels by Joe Lansdale, and starring James Purefoy and Michael K. Williams, the series has completed two wonderful 6-episode seasons and as I write this is in the midst of Season 3. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of Hap & Leonardcontexts, leading to a special weekend post on the unique career to date of Michael K. Williams!]On adding the title characters to a fun and important list.I’ve focused on some pretty heavy and dark sides to Hap & Leonard this week, and might not have given folks who don’t know the show enough of a sense of just how fun and funny the show is (while still engaging with all those histories and themes). There are lots of factors that make it so, including consistently wonderful dialogue (some drawn from Lansdale’s novels, and some provided by the great showrunning team of Nick Damici and Jim Mickle and their writers). But I would say that the most consistent source of entertainment is the relationship between Hap and Leonard—apparently Purefoy and Williams are very close friends in their private lives, and they bring that dynamic to these characters (who have themselves been very close since they were pretty young boys) perfectly.Friendship is friendship, and of course transcends (or at least should transcend) any identity categories. But Hap and Leonard themselves recognize the unique nature of an interracial friendship in their time and place, and are also constantly reminded of the fact of their different races (never more so than in the opening episodes of Season 3). So I don’t feel it’s inappropriate for me to note it as well, and moreover to say that I now have to add a new entry to this long-ago post’s list of five inspiring American interracial friendships. Granted, those were pairs of real-life historical and cultural figures, as inspired by the post’s main topic (Clarence Clemons and his forty-year friendship with Bruce Springsteen). But to quote (well, paraphrase) George C. Scott’s Ebeneezer Scrooge, “Not real? Hap and Leonard, not real???” They’re real all right, and have a really inspiring friendship.When I say “inspiring” I mean it. Of course there are many more interracial relationships (personal, romantic, professional, you name it) and dynamics on TV and in popular culture than ever before, and that’s a good and important trend. But as brought to life so wonderfully by Purefoy and Williams, there’s a depth and potency to Hap and Leonard’s lifelong friendship, and to just how much the two men care and look out for each other, that—especially coupled with the show’s time and place and its many themes of racial prejudice and violence—makes this one of the most inspiring cultural depictions of an interracial friendship I’ve ever seen. Judging by the first two episodes of Season 3, that friendship will be tested by this season’s events—but I’ve never been surer of anything in a cultural text than I am that Hap and Leonard will remain Hap & Leonard, come what may.Special post this weekend,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on H&L, or other shows you’d highlight?