Susie Madrak has a nice epitaph for the dearly departed Joe Bageant.
Joe Bageant, 1946-2011
After a vibrant life, Joe Bageant died yesterday following a four-month struggle with cancer. He was 64. Joe is survived by his wife, Barbara, his three children, Timothy, Patrick and Elizabeth, and thousands of friends and admirers. He is also survived by his work and ideas.
According to Joe’s wishes, he will be cremated. His family will hold a private memorial service.
Take a moment to honor one of the stronger voices in the blogosphere. If we ever have a liberal blogging hall of fame, Joe will have a prominent place in the shrine. My condolences to his family, friends, and fans.
A good review of his last book: Rainbow Pie: A Redneck Memoir.
Speaking of blogging HOF, whatever happened to Billmon? He showed up for a while at TGOS around the 2008 election and a little last year and has since disappeared again.
My friend is gone. We never met, although we tried mightily. We were always in some other city.
He died of disappointment, I think.
The doctors will say “Cancer!!!”, but what do they know? Very little, on the evidence. He died because the pain that he felt upon witnessing
the utter stupidity of what is happening on this great green earth was more than he could bear. And make no mistake, in God’s Court of Last Appeals he will be considered a truly expert witness.
He didn’t take care of himself as well as he might.
I can relate.
He was another Celtic witness.
Here’s to ya, Joe.
We were about the same age. I’m gonna keep going another 15 or 20 years, myself. Too fucking stubborn to die.
Watch out, motherfuckers.
Joe and I are comin’ after yer asses.
Bet on it.
AG
Joe sent me a message. (I just burned the broccoli.)
My father…another smart Scots-Irish working class boy…used to burn almost everything he tried to cook. Especially green vegetables. In some respects, I think that he was the founder of the whole foodie “caramelization” thing. We always ate it, and it always tasted kinda…good.
The way slightly over-grilled meat tastes good.
I am very rarely guilty of the same mistake and/or pleasure, myself. My wonderful Italian ex-grandmother-in-law cured me of that habit.
But…here I was, thinking of Joe with a plate of makeshift Franco-Italian goodies in front of me after a long day spent playing heavily Dizzy Gillespie-influenced post-bop music (I”m nothing if not multi/culti, eh?), and I left the heat on underneath the broccoli.
I can hear Joe now.
(There will be many of you who will not have a clue about what I am about to say here, but I wil carry on as if you do. As did our dear departed Joe.)
Y’see…there was at one time this great American jazz tradition that was based to a large degree on ingesting enough drugs…including alcohol…to stymie the mind and thus let the real debbils out into the sociosphere so that they could do their godly work.
One of the champeens of all time in this process was a white tenor saxophone player named Zoot Sims. The name is almost all’s you’re gonna need to get the drift of where I am going with this. Let it roll offa your tongue. “Zoot Sims.”
And then look at him.
The possessor of the entire jazz vocabulary of his time, from Louis Armstrong right through Lester Young and Charlie Parker. The author of the following famous…in some circles…riposte.
Hmmmm…
So Zoot once offered an acquaintance some cocaine and was told:
Zoot’s answer?
What has all of this got to do with Joe Bageant?
Well…people are sleeping in the U.S. now, too.
Joe offered ’em all something that would wake them the fuck up, and most of them said:
It hurt him.
It hurt Zoot, too.
They both died too soon. Along with countless others.
But not me, motherfuckers.
I’m too mean to die.
Wake the fuck UP!!!
And smell the broccoli.
You the broccoli, this time.
Wake the fuck up.
Joe’n me…
Bet on it.
S.
The likeness is not uncanny: