Turks

I actually started writing this before I learned of the earthquake in Turkey; I mean no disrespect. Furthermore, I believe my relationship with Turks is impeccable (the least of which because I don't think I've ever consciously interacted with a Turk). Anyway, in the continuing lattice of coincidence that is my life, Turks have been on my mind lately. Over the weekend I indulged in my annual surprise Godfather marathon, courtesy of AMC. There is no better TV ritual. Among other great revelations and insights gleaned this viewing, I decided what will be, if I ever become cool enough to be able to pull it off, my signature line for leave-taking, be it a phone call, a visit with friends, or simply leaving working each day. In Part II, the great character Frank "Frankie Five Angels" Pentangeli ("the old man had too much wine") after not being treated properly at Anthony Corleone's First Communion party (Ritz crackers instead of canapes; a non-Italian band that mocks him; having to "wait on line" to see Michael, who ultimately refuses to do anything for Frankie about the Rosato brothers) signals his exit from his disappointing meeting with Michael by calling out to his number one goon, Cicci, "Cicc', a porta! (Cicci, the door!)" Now that's the way to take your leave, commanding with a flourish your flunky to get the door for you, even if, in my case, the flunky would be totally imaginary.

In Part I I was struck by the character Virgil "The Turk" Sollozzo (that's him, pictured above). He's the real bad guy here. He brings drugs onto the scene. He tries to kill Don Vito Corleone. He viciously kills the beloved heavy Luca Brasi. Eventually he gets his in Louis Restaurant, via Michael and the toilet-hidden gun. But he's "The Turk." Yes, he's part Turkish, and he deals in poppies, and supposedly in the novel his nose is like a Turkish scimitar. But he's "The Turk." There's a long history of using "Turk" as an insult, a derogatory term, for specifically lower class Turks and more generally for anyone who is brutish. Even our nation's beloved bird, the turkey, was named so out of derision (see a concise and informative discussion of the derogatory uses of the word Turk here, among other places on the web). It might be un-PC, but I think it's no coincidence that this ultimate bad guy, back in the 1940s, was called "The Turk."

So anyway, today my shift at work ran from 3 a.m. to 11 a.m. on account of our annual inventory. Nothing like setting the alarm for a 2:30 a.m. wake-up call. All through my tedious work-morning, I was subjected to somebody else's tastes in music, which can be one of the ultimate tortures: stuck at work on the graveyard shift and having no sayso in the musical selections. Luckily, the music wasn't all that bad today, just a few clunkers. The one song that stood out, though, (in addition, of course, to a dawn playing of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody," which never fails to surprise and amuse and entertain) was the old classic, "Big Rock Candy Mountain," by Harry McClintock, most famously heard on the O, Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack. A gorgeous, witty ode to a hobo's paradise (the cops have wooden legs, there are cigarette trees and lakes of stew and whiskey [Cicc', my car!]) the song's story has been told many times, and I'm sure better than I could ever do. But the line that sturck (sic, how's that for a coincidental typo?) me this time, naturally, I guess, was, "you sleep all day where they hung the Turk who invented work." Oh my god, what a line. Now some web lyrics sites render the line, "hung the jerk who invented work," which to me is either a case of bad ears (I can only hear "Turk") or PC bowdlerizing. "Turk" just is more apt, given the supposedly early 20th century composition of the song (McClintock claimed he wrote it, the courts decided it is the creation of that greatest of all songwriters, Mr. Public Domain). Despite its derogatory nature, the line is just so much more poetic with Turk rather than jerk. I love the idea of one bad guy having invented work and getting his comeuppance, ala Virgil "The Turk" Sollozzo, on, of all places, the Big Rock Candy Mountain; singing along at four in the morning while at work never felt so right.

Cicc', a porta!

Harry McClintock-Big Rock Candy Mountain