Context Matters

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I have enjoyed reading as long as I can remember.

My mother encouraged it, first by reading stories to my brother and me, then by urging us to read on our own as we developed that skill. As I say, it has been a lifelong passion for me, and two of my favorite books are Mark Twain's "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird." I have read them both several times.

I can't remember now, but I believe I read both books for the first time in school. I know they were required reading when I was in high school, but I can't remember if that was the first time I ever read them. It may not have been, but I know it was the first time for many of my classmates.

Unfortunately, those books — and others — are no longer required reading in Duluth, Minn., schools because they contain the N–word. This is not new. It has happened before.

What is new, I suppose, is that Duluth won't be taking these books off the shelves entirely. The schools just won't require the students to read them.

Thus I assume there will be no book burnings in Duluth.

I understand the reasoning behind this move — but I believe it is faulty and dangerous.

School districts feel they are showing sensitivity by not requiring students to read words they may find offensive.

But I think they are doing more harm than good.

You can't protect people from things that are offensive. The world is a messy place. And if kids are anything like they were when I was in high school, it's too late to protect them. They've been exposed to far worse than the N–word already.

Besides, you have to keep in mind the context in which the offensive word was used.

Twain wrote about 19th–century America. My grandparents were born in 19th–century America, and they used that word as an adjective, no different for them than describing the color of someone's hair. When I read "Huckleberry Finn" — and I have read it several times and plan to do so again soon — I can see and hear my grandparents.

Twenty–first–century readers see a racial slur, a noun, when they see the word nigger, and that is consistent with their times and conditioning. But people of the 19th century frequently used it as an adjective, a modifier — which was consistent with their times and conditioning.

And I'm certain they would have been appalled if anyone had suggested that they were racists. The N–word was simply a word that was in common use in the world in which they grew up.

I grew up in a different world. And in hindsight, by modern standards, perhaps my grandparents were racists.

But if they were, they were products of the world in which they were raised. I believe it is wrong to hold people from a different time to modern standards — and isn't that what school districts are doing when they take this kind of step?

As for Harper Lee's book — she wrote about the American South in the '30s. She told an important story that couldn't be told without that word. The people who used it in the book were, without a doubt, racists, but the book taught a valuable lesson and is regarded as perhaps the finest example of 20th–century American literature. If you scrub it clean of the N–word, you rob it of its impact.

I believe writers use words for specific purposes. In this case, the N–word provided insight into the reality of times and places the reader would never see. But I think it also was used by these writers — and others — to make readers feel a little uncomfortable. Before any significant change of any kind can come, people must feel uncomfortable.

I have heard of at least one publisher that has published an alternative version of "Huckleberry Finn" in which the N–word was replaced by the word slave. But if the issue is racism, that substitution is meaningless. Anyone can be a slave. Historically, it is not a condition that has been defined by race.

So let's stop tap dancing around the real issue. Let's have a long overdue conversation about race in this country. Let's be blunt and talk about the things that we have avoided talking about. Let's face facts, however unpleasant those facts may be. I'm not an advocate of rewriting history — and I am certainly not in favor of rewriting Twain (as if anyone could).

I love history for many reasons, but one of the most important is summed up in the words of philosopher George Santayana: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

Twain and Lee and similar writers help us remember our messy past so we don't have to make the same mistakes.

Scenes From the Swamp

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This pearl of wisdom comes, as so many do, from the Bible. It is from Ecclesiastes: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun."

Truer words were never spoken, especially in connection with the American political culture. Rabid voters who exhorted Donald Trump to "drain the swamp" may not have realized that the swamp really isn't new. Heck, you put that many politicians into a single building, and you're bound to have some pretty unsavory things going on.

And there have been at least 100 elected lawmakers in the Capitol since George Washington's day.

For as long as I can remember, I have been drawn to political fiction — maybe because there is so little of it and even less that is truly good. That really shouldn't be the case. After all, politicians are still people like you and me — motivated by the same virtues and vices. And a good political novel is about those strengths and weaknesses that we all possess. The people in it just happen to be in political professions.

You'd think there would be more good political fiction than there is. Or at least I would. I mean, they say that prostitution is the world's oldest profession — but the practice of politics has to be a close second. Some people would say there is no difference between the two.

Let's be clear here. I am not referring to novels that explore political themes — I would include such books as "The Grapes of Wrath" and "The Manchurian Candidate" in that category. I'm talking about books that examine the political process from behind the scenes, the legislative maneuverings, that sort of thing.

I recall when I was in college I took a political science course, and my teacher spoke about the Allen Drury series. I was pleased to participate in the conversation, having read all five volumes of the series less than a year before. But then my teacher told us of a 19th–century trilogy by Benjamin Disraeli that essentially did the same thing with the British Parliament. I have wanted to read those books ever since, but I have never found them, not in a bookstore, not even in a library.

If I had been able to read them, I am certain I would have found that they were much like Drury's books. The issues would have been different, but the legislative tactics would have been much the same.

Drury's books were rich in detail and full of compelling portraits of the men and women who walked Washington's corridors of power. The stories and the characters are as relevant today as they were when they were written. I would expect the same of Disraeli's trilogy.

But anyway ...

My mother was the most well–read person I ever knew, and she was aware of my interest in political fiction. As I have observed here before, she introduced me to "Advise and Consent," the first in Drury's series of political novels. Published in 1959, it was about the Senate maneuverings — on both sides — over the president's nomination of a particular individual for secretary of State.

It was a cutthroat atmosphere, one in which a senator's youthful indiscretion — a homosexual relationship — was exploited via blackmail. If that seems implausible today, it wasn't more than 50 years ago.

In the book, the senator (who represented Utah — then, as now, a conservative state) committed suicide in his office.

Drury had extensive experience covering national politics, which lent credibility to his stories. His political novels were fictional, but the plot of "Advise and Consent" was inspired by a true, tragic tale. Five years before "Advise and Consent" was published, Lester Hunt, a Democrat senator from Wyoming, committed suicide in his office.

Some Republican colleagues wanted Hunt to announce that he would not seek re–election and threatened to reveal that his 24–year–old son had been arrested for soliciting sex from an undercover male police officer — first such offenses typically were handled quietly in those days. Hunt's son was convicted and fined in 1953, and the story barely made it back to Wyoming; in April 1954 Hunt announced he would seek re–election. The threat to use his son's arrest and conviction against him in the campaign prompted him to abruptly announce that he would not seek re–election after all, ostensibly because he was worried about the impact this would have on his wife's health, then Hunt committed suicide shortly thereafter.

Hunt wasn't the only real–life personality that could be seen in the pages of "Advise and Consent." Many book reviewers observed that the nominee for secretary of State bore a strong resemblance to Alger Hiss.

I don't know if Drury covered the Hunt tragedy or not, but I do know that he was part of the Washington press at the time. Thus he was able to write a story inspired by observations of actual events.

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But when he began writing his sequels — the first of which, "A Shade of Difference," was published 55 years ago — Drury started to incorporate more and more supposition. In his books, Drury was constantly asking, "What if?" His answers usually conformed to his conservative philosophy.

"A Shade of Difference" examined the maneuverings between delegations to the United Nations (and, consequently, the problems they caused for the U.S. in its Cold War struggle with the Soviet Union) rather than the Congress and racial tension surrounding school integration in the American South. As in real life, issues overlapped in the "Advise and Consent" series.

In that sense, the "Advise and Consent" series was truly the forerunner to the West Wing TV series — especially in its early seasons.

For awhile — largely due to issues with Drury's estate — the books went out of print after his death in 1998. But in recent years the books have been reissued in paperback and eBook editions.

Read 'em while you can. They may become scarce again someday.

Nothing new under the sun.

R.I.P., Harper Lee, I Wish I Had Known You

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"You see, more than a simple matter of putting down words, writing is a process of self–discipline you must learn before you can call yourself a writer."

Harper Lee, 1964 interview with Roy Newquist, Counterpoints

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There haven't been many famous people I have really wanted to meet — and, in my career as a journalist and journalism professor, I have met some famous people. Most I have met in the course of my work — and probably wouldn't have wanted to meet otherwise.

If I had to compile a list of the famous people I did want to meet, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that they are (or were) writers all. Even if they were famous for doing something else, they wrote about whatever it was that they did.

I would have liked to meet Mark Twain or H.L. Mencken.

You know those conversations people often want to start, the ones in which you're asked to identify the four — or six or eight or however many — people from throughout recorded history you would want to have over for dinner? Many people would probably say Jesus or Mahatma Gandhi, but I would start my list with Twain and Mencken. I know they would have something clever to say, and the conversation — whatever it was about — would be lively.

I guess it would depend on the kind of dinner conversation I wanted to have, though. If I wanted it to be theological, Jesus and Gandhi would be obvious choices, but I have a feeling that would be a rather somber conversation.

But taking dinner out of the equation, nearly all the famous people I would want to meet, as I say, would be writers — and not necessarily the obvious ones, either, like Shakespeare.

I'm a journalist, and I have always wanted to meet Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. In fact, I have achieved half of that goal. When I was teaching journalism at the University of Oklahoma, Bernstein came and delivered a lecture one evening. I attended — with my hardback copy of "The Final Days" — and introduced myself to him when his lecture was done. I even got him to autograph the book.

Well, Woodward is still alive so there is still a chance I could meet him and get him to autograph that book, too, but so many of the writers I would have liked to meet — Ernest Hemingway, James Michener, Theodore H. White, J.R.R. Tolkien, Allen Drury — are gone, and I will never get to meet them.

Add one more to the list. Harper Lee died today. She wrote "To Kill a Mockingbird," which earned her the Pulitzer Prize of 1961. She spent the next half–century largely avoiding the spotlight, rarely giving interviews.

When she died, she apparently died quietly — in her sleep. If we could have our druthers, as Li'l Abner used to say, I expect most of us would like to go that way.

That's how my grandfather died. I assume he went quietly. My grandmother wasn't awakened and had no idea anything was wrong until she tried to rouse Grandpa the next morning.

I always wanted to meet Harper Lee. It would have been great to interview her if I could, but I would have been happy just to sit down and have a conversation with her about writing.

I've kept a copy of "To Kill a Mockingbird" on my desk for years. Last summer I purchased and read her second (and, as it turns out, final) book, "Go Set a Watchman." It, too, rests on my desk; I keep them both handy because there are times when I want to refer to them.

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I grew up in a Southern town that, I suspect, was much like the one in which Harper Lee grew up in Alabama — and I found a lot of country wisdom in the pages of her books.

If I substituted some of the names, I probably could have told the story of my hometown in "To Kill a Mockingbird." Not necessarily word for word or event for event but certainly with some relatively minor changes. Perhaps that is why "To Kill a Mockingbird" has always had such a hold on me.

I would have liked to have had a conversation with her about the people and the culture of the South. I'm sure she would have some intriguing insights to share.

The Maker of Middle Earth

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"I am, in fact, a Hobbit (in all but size). I like gardens, trees and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe and like good plain food (unrefrigerated) but detest French cooking; I like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humor (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much."

J.R.R. Tolkien

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When J.R.R. Tolkien died 40 years ago tomorrow, I had not yet read "The Hobbit" or the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy.

"The Hobbit" might have been about my speed at that time in my life. The "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, though, definitely would have been beyond my years.

I read those books later when I was in high school. And I learned what all the cool kids had learned long before. I'd seen those kids carrying around their copies of whichever volumes of "Lord of the Rings" they happened to be reading at the time like emblems of some kind of exclusive club, a club to which I did not belong until later.

By then, though, they had moved on to other things.

When I finally joined that club, I was filled with admiration for the things Tolkien wrote. To put things in perspective, I had been doing a lot of writing by that time in my life, and I felt a great appreciation for well–written pieces, be they articles or books. Still do.

But on this day in 1973, I'm not sure I even knew who Tolkien was.

Consequently, I often feel as if I missed out on something special that everyone else got. Not permanently, of course. I finally got it, but I didn't get to experience it along with everyone else in my peer group. I felt out of step, somehow.

That was really kind of the story of my life when I was growing up. My family lived in the country, and there were many times when I felt isolated from my friends in town. When the school day ended, I got on the school bus and it took me home. A few kids my age lived in the general vicinity of my house, but most of my friends lived in town, and it always seemed to me that they experienced things as a group before I experienced them.

Tolkien was like everything else.

I was really isolated from my friends when Tolkien died. My father was a college professor, and he was on a four–month sabbatical in another state (with my mother, my brother and me). But, at that time, I doubt that many (if any) of my friends had read Tolkien yet.

Now that I think of it, I don't recall seeing any of my friends with their copies of volumes of the "Rings" trilogy until years later.

When I finally read "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, I kept thinking it would make a wonderful movie. As it turned out, it inspired three great movies.

But I also kept thinking that it wouldn't be possible technically to put Tolkien's vision on film. And that was true — at that time.

But 30 years after Tolkien's death, the film trilogy based on his books was being honored in every possible way.

I've often wondered what Tolkien would have thought of that.

Projected moving pictures made their debut when he was small, and the medium was evolving through most of his adult life, which was largely devoted to writing, either doing it or teaching it. My guess is he gave little thought to movies — and probably less to whether anything he wrote would be made into one.

There are times when I think that Tolkien, with his knack for story telling, must have mused about the possibility that his works would be preserved on film — even if filmmaking was primitive at that time.

But then I think that his devotion to the fantasy world that he had created — as well as his scholarly interest in language — would not permit him to tolerate anything less than perfection in its film representation. And filmmaking was decidedly imperfect during his lifetime.

Of course, that's just an educated guess — and, perhaps, some wishful thinking.

As I say, he probably never gave it a thought.

Maurice Sendak Dies

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"Certainly we want to protect our children from new and painful experiences that are beyond their emotional comprehension and that intensify anxiety; and to a point we can prevent premature exposure to such experiences. That is obvious. But what is just as obvious — and what is too often overlooked — is the fact that from their earliest years children live on familiar terms with disrupting emotions, fear and anxiety are an intrinsic part of their everyday lives, they continually cope with frustrations as best they can. And it is through fantasy that children achieve catharsis. It is the best means they have for taming Wild Things."

Maurice Sendak

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Both of my parents — but especially my mother — encouraged me to read when I was a child.

And I did. I read many books by many writers, and I will always be grateful to my parents for opening that world to me by reading to me before I could read on my own.

I don't remember most of the authors' names now. They've been pushed from the top spots in my memory bank by authors whose works I discovered as I got older.

But there are a few writers from my childhood whose names I will never forget. The most noteworthy, I suppose, are Dr. Seuss (born Theodor Seuss Geisel) and Maurice Sendak.

I guess nearly everyone remembers something by Dr. Seuss whenever his name is mentioned, whether it is green eggs and ham or Horton hearing a Who or the Grinch who stole Christmas. But Sendak's name may not be as familiar.

Sendak wrote and illustrated "Where the Wild Things Are," a book that most of the people from my generation — and succeeding generations — knew and loved. And so did the adults who introduced them to it. That's what I remember more than anything else about that book. My parents got such a kick out of reading it to me — so did my grandmothers — and the pleasure was infectious.

"A 7–year–old hearing this story couldn't have more fun than a 70–year–old reading it," said Bill Moyers in 2004. "Where the Wild Things Are is ageless and timeless."

Indeed it is — but not so Sendak. He suffered a stroke last week and died today from its complications. He was 83.

Sendak's death stands in stark contrast with the message of his most famous book, which was that, no matter how scary the obstacles in one's life may be, there is always a way to overcome them — a way to tame the wild things.

But you can't sugarcoat everything for children. You can't shield them indefinitely from the unpleasant parts of life.

"Grownups always say they protect their children," Sendak once said, "but they're really protecting themselves.

"Besides, you can't protect children. They know everything."

Maybe that would be Sendak's parting advice. Somehow, the Wild Things will eventually prevail — for isn't the fear of death (more than the fear of pain) at the center of one's anxieties? Accept that fact, and live your life.

Don't fear the reaper, the wildest thing of all. You can't escape him.

Even if you live to be 83.

J.D. Salinger Dies

Given his reclusive nature, perhaps it was appropriate that writer J.D. Salinger died yesterday — and word of his death didn't get out until today.

He was an enigma to many and for good reason.

As a teenager, I read his iconic novel, "The Catcher in the Rye," which was published nearly 60 years ago. It still had a lot to say to people who were in the grip of the alienation and rebellion that are hallmarks of that age, and it helped me to realize that what I was experiencing at that stage of my life was precisely what other generations had faced and what future generations would face.

Salinger reassured me that I certainly wasn't the first — nor would I be the last — to have those feelings.

In December 1980, when ex–Beatle John Lennon was murdered by a twisted fan who had a copy of the book in his possession — and, apparently, had modeled himself after the narrator/protagonist of the book, Holden Caulfield — I retrieved my dog–eared copy of the book from my bookshelf and read it again, hoping to find some clue that might explain what had happened.

I never found what I was looking for — although I did gain a fresh appreciation and my respect was renewed for Salinger's work.

Salinger was 91. His birthday was nearly four weeks ago, on January 1. He broke his hip last May, but, according to his literary agent, he had been doing fine "until a rather sudden decline after the new year."

I guess those things are bound to happen when one has reached an advanced age.

We may never know the reason for the "rather sudden decline" in his health. But, today, I — and, no doubt, many who read and appreciated his works over the years — can't help wondering if there are manuscripts of his that will be published posthumously. Time will tell.

For now, rest in peace, Mr. Salinger.

Literary Inspiration

Playwright Neil Simon has written many funny plays in his life with many memorable characters and many memorable lines.

It would be hard to pinpoint which play — or which character or which line — would be his best (it's a matter of taste, I suppose), but there is one line from one of his plays that always makes me smile. It's from "The Odd Couple," Simon's play about a pair of divorced, mismatched roommates. At one point, they are entertaining a couple of British siblings, Cecily and Gwendolyn Pigeon.

One of the sisters (I forget which one) asks Felix, who is a newswriter in the play (and the movie version as well), "Where do you get your ideas from?"

With a bewildered look on his face, Felix replies, "From ... the news."

In Felix's defense, it does seem like a rather obvious thing. Especially to me, because I worked for newspapers for many years.

But I've been writing since I was a child, and inspiration is an important topic for me. Like Ms. Pigeon, I am curious about what inspires other writers.

And today provides an answer — in one case, anyway. It was an event that inspired Herman Melville to write his classic "Moby–Dick."

On this day in 1820, a whaling ship, the Essex, was attacked and sunk by an 80–ton sperm whale in the south Pacific Ocean. The sailors on board the ship got into lifeboats and managed to get to an uninhabited island in the modern British territory of the Pitcairn Islands, where they found food and water, but, after a week, they had just about consumed the island's resources and decided it could no longer support their needs.

Once again, most of the sailors boarded the lifeboats and left the island, although three of the crew members chose to remain.

From that point, the story of the sailors who left the island resembles the Donner Party of the American West a quarter of a century later. Some of the sailors did survive until they were rescued by another whaling ship about three months after the Essex was sunk — but only after they resorted to cannibalism.

Eventually, the sailors who had stayed on the island were rescued as well, but they were almost dead when they were picked up.

The first mate of the Essex wrote an account of the sinking, which, in turn, inspired Melville.

It's worth noting that Melville was born a little more than a year before the Essex was sunk, and he didn't publish "Moby–Dick" until 1851.

Remembering Allen Drury

Today is the anniversary of both the birth and the death of one of my favorite writers.

His name was Allen Drury and he was born on this day in 1918. He died on this day in 1998.

In 1959, Drury — making use of his experience as a Senate correspondent for United Press — published his first novel, "Advise and Consent," which was a fictionalized treatment of a controversial nomination for secretary of state.

I say "fictionalized" because many of the elements of the story apparently were based on actual events during Drury's tenure as a Senate correspondent. As political novels go, "It may be a long time before a better one comes along," Saturday Review wrote. The novel won the Pulitzer Prize in 1960 and inspired a top–notch film in 1962. The screen adaptation was directed by Otto Preminger and starred Henry Fonda, Charles Laughton, Walter Pidgeon, Peter Lawford, Don Murray and Gene Tierney. Burgess Meredith and Betty White also appeared in relatively small roles.

My mother loved "Advise and Consent," and, as I recall, she gave me a paperback copy of it. It might have been a little beyond my years, but I read it, anyway — devoured it, really — and when I was done, I immediately wanted to read the sequels. He wrote five of them:

• The first sequel, "A Shade of Difference," was set a year after the events in the first book,


• the next two, "Capable of Honor" and "Preserve and Protect," continued the story into the next presidential election, and


• the last two, "Come Nineveh, Come Tyre" and "The Promise of Joy," were alternate endings to the narrative. "Preserve and Protect" ended with an assassination attempt, but the readers didn't know who (if anyone) had been killed. The last two books were written as if different politicians had survived.

I remember that, one summer, I read them all, in order. I had found them at our local bookstore — in fact, I still have them, which is good because you can't find them in bookstores anymore.

Lately, I've been thinking about reading them again. And, while it's possible my opinion of them will be different, I'm inclined to think that my assessment of them will be the same as it was then. I thought they were very well written, although politically they seemed to lean pretty hard to the right, especially the farther I got into the "Advise and Consent" series. That should come as no surprise, really. Drury wrapped up the series more than 15 years before the collapse of the Soviet Union.

I do recall being aware, as I worked my way through the last couple of books, of Drury's dependence on the word "sardonic." I don't remember when I first noticed it, but once I did, it seemed to be popping up in every other paragraph. I finally looked it up in the dictionary and discovered that I had come close to figuring out (based on the context) what it meant.

Also, with the Cold War as its backdrop, it shouldn't be too surprising that Drury's stories began to take on a decidedly anti–communist, anti–progressive flavor.

Drury wrote some other books that played on his experiences in journalism and as a reporter covering politics. One was called "Anna Hastings," the fictional account of a pioneering female journalist. He continued that timeline with a book about a senator, "Mark Coffin U.S.S.," but it really isn't much of a sequel. Anna Hastings, the focus of the earlier book, was reduced to something of a supporting character in the second tale.

"Mark Coffin U.S.S." was followed by two sequels, "The Hill of Summer" and "The Roads of Earth."

Other books stood by themselves. "The Throne of Saturn," written in 1970, was about the first manned mission to Mars. Drury also wrote a novel about the Supreme Court ("Decision") and the military ("Pentagon").

He wrote 21 novels between 1959 and 1998, and he also wrote three works of non–fiction.

Allen Drury would have been 91 years old today. I can't help but wonder what sort of story he might have written in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks.

If You Can Find It, Read 'FDR's Last Year'

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"Time magazine, alert to the importance of Roosevelt's state of health, published an article ... and opened by quoting the New York Sun: 'Let's not be squeamish. It is convention not the constitution which forbids open comment on the possibility that a President may be succeeded by his Vice President. Six Presidents have died in office.' The New York Daily News stated it for the subway readers: 'Dewey is 42; Roosevelt is 62.'"

Jim Bishop
"FDR's Last Year: April 1944-April 1945"

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When I was about 12, I discovered the writings of Jim Bishop.

My father was a professor at a small liberal arts college in central Arkansas. From time to time, I would walk from my middle school or my junior high school (both of which were only a short distance from the college campus) to his office and ride home with him.

And, on some of those occasions, I stopped off at the small on-campus bookstore to browse before continuing to my father's office.

The bookstore carried all the textbooks that were required in each class that was being offered, of course, as well as a fairly wide selection of mass market hardback and paperback books — all crammed into a small store/office in what was called the "student union," although I guess, on most campuses these days, it would be called a "student commons" or "student activity center."

Small it was, but it was large enough to serve the relatively small student body.

Anyway, that was where I discovered Jim Bishop. A lone copy of his "The Day Lincoln Was Shot" was hidden behind copies of "Sounder," "Portnoy's Complaint" and "Slaughterhouse-Five." I don't recall how I found it. I just did.

I took it to the cashier, paid for it and left with my newly acquired treasure.

(I still have that book, by the way, and the price on the cover — 85 cents — testifies to how much times have changed.)

The book told the story, hour by hour, of the day that Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. Originally, it was published in 1955, and it paved the way for similar narratives — "The Day Christ Died" and "The Day Kennedy Was Shot" — that I read after I finished the book on Lincoln.

But those books were old news in the publishing world by the mid-1970s. You could still find them in bookstores, but they were becoming increasingly difficult to locate.

Then, in 1974, Bishop published a book that took a similar approach to historical storytelling as his books on the Lincoln and Kennedy assassinations and the crucifixion — but it followed the developments of an entire year instead of a single 24-hour period.

It was called "FDR's Last Year: April 1944-April 1945," and it was a huge success, a nationwide bestseller.

I bought it when it came out in paperback the following year. (I had to pay more for it than I paid for the Lincoln book — $2.45 — but that would still be a bargain compared to the price of books today.)

The book is relevant in the modern political climate, if only because, in both presidential election campaigns, the nominee of the party in power was significantly older than the nominee of the challenging party. Health was a mostly unmentioned issue.

In Roosevelt's case, health questions simply took a backseat to the role he played in leading the allied war effort. In that final year, of course, the Allies began the liberation of Europe with the invasion of Normandy in June.

But, even though big and important things were happening in the world, there were people who insisted on giving events an election-year spin.

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"There were some men in high places who, ignoring the provisions of the Constitution of the United States, said that there would be no election in 1944. It is not an accident that most of the rumormongers were members of the Republican Party. Politics, a national pastime in democracies, would continue as usual. The Republican Party had been out of executive power for 12 years. Some were embittered to the point where they accused the president of staging D-Day to coincide with the Republican convention in June, and the Democratic in July. Others counseled that, as the argument against a third term had borne no elective fruit, it would be witless to fight against a fourth. The target, if FDR ran again, should be that the government was in the hands of 'tired, quarrelsome old men.'"

Jim Bishop
"FDR's Last Year: April 1944-April 1945"

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In John McCain's case, the subject of his health hasn't been mentioned frequently primarily because of the media's apparent assumption that it doesn't matter because he won't win.

But if McCain surprises observers and wins the election, his health will suddenly take center stage. And it will be too late to ask questions about his vice president's experience and qualifications.

As you read Bishop's book, you become more aware of how Roosevelt's 1944 running mate, Harry Truman, was nothing more than an afterthought. Few, if any, of the voters who preferred FDR gave any thought to the possibility that Truman might become president.

The book is nothing if not a cautionary tale, although it doesn't explore the successes or failures of Truman's presidency. It only tells us, in the course of telling the story of those fateful 12 months, in which the war was won and the president died, how Truman came to be chosen for Roosevelt's ticket — and, consequently, was elected vice president.

Truman had been vice president for less than three months when he was summoned to the White House in April 1945 — and was told that Roosevelt had died.

As someone who has earned a degree in graduate school, I can tell you that Bishop's writing is not perfect — from the perspective of historical research, his books lack the kind of footnotes and bibliography that would be required of a graduate school history student.

Yet, The New York Times Book Review said, in its review of "FDR's Last Year," that Bishop possessed "the gifts of a born storyteller," and it called the book "absorbing."

That is when history is most "absorbing," in my opinion — when, as Andy Griffith (speaking as TV's Sheriff Andy Taylor) said, a gifted storyteller "puts a little jam on the bread."

Even without footnotes and bibliography that would be considered adequate by academic journals, Bishop provides a lot of "jam" in "FDR's Last Year."

His book was probably more absorbing in 1974, though. The book was published nearly 30 years after Franklin Roosevelt's death, and many of the people who read it at that time were old enough to remember FDR and his presidency.

Today, Roosevelt has been gone for more than 60 years, and the majority of the people who were old enough to remember even the wartime FDR (never mind the younger FDR who guided America through the Depression) are no longer with us. For most of the people who would read Bishop's book today, FDR is an historical figure, someone from the history books, like Lincoln and George Washington.

As I understand it, "FDR's Last Year," like most of Bishop's books, is out of print now. Some bookstores may be able to locate and special-order a copy for you. And you might be able to find a copy at a used book store.

If you find a copy, get it and read it.