Dear Mr. Keillor
My 9-year-old daughter came back from a trip into Hollywood one
day and said she had seen Guy Noir's star on the Walk of Fame.
Has Guy been branching out into Hollywood productions? Or was
she mistaken?
Irene Sanders
Irene, you have a talented daughter.
It's rare to find a 9-year-old who can invent a story and make
it believable to adults. No, Guy Noir is not in the movies, though
he dearly wishes he were. Don't we all? And I'll bet your daughter
will have a star on the sidewalk before too long. As soon as the
snow melts in Lake Wobegon, I'll draw it myself with a piece of
chalk in front of the Chatterbox Café, and as long as you
don't say what her first name is, how about we refer to her as
Angelique?.
Dear Mr. Keillor,
I've been watching the show on the Internet and have noticed
that you are looking especially svelte lately. I've been having
a terrible time trying to diet and was wondering if you have any
suggestions for us who are struggling with the Demon of Adipose,
any particular diet or exercise routine that works for you.
Martha
Connecticut
Martha, the secret of weight loss is,
first, to rediscover hunger. Most Americans are never hungry,
ever, and for them, eating has lost any connection to hunger.
It is purely recreational. One needs to find hunger and then eat
in order to satisfy it. When you get to my age, it's astonishing
how little one needs to eat and accomplish the purpose. A handful
of carrots, or a bowl of bran flakes, will do it. Second, you
stay away from anything that's white. Third, refuse to eat standing
up. Sit down, and use a knife and fork. And then too, it helped
to take a vacation from alcohol. Mine has gone on for six months
now, and it's interesting how much easier it is to eliminate alcohol
than to toy with moderation. I abhor the idea of abstinence, which
I associate with rigid and self-righteous people, but the reality
of abstinence is rather pleasant, frankly. And finally, you have
to avoid things you like a lot, so I've given up steak and potatoes,
grilled cheese sandwiches, and ice cream. I tell myself, "You're
sixty, you did that already, you have memories of great gluttonous
meat-snarfing whiskey-downing pie-loading evenings, so enjoy your
memories, and please pass the broccoli."
Mr. Keillor:
Don't get me wrong - I enjoy your show, but I am offended by
your repeated broadcast of Christian songs and themes. Aren't
you in violation of the constitutional principle separating church
and state, since you are broadcasting on PUBLIC radio? Shouldn't
you at least give equal time to other religions, as well as atheism
and agnostism?
Earl M. Kenvin
Alamogordo, New Mexico
You may be right, Earl, but the truth
is that I come with baggage, and the gospel is in my bags. I try
not to preach, but I do sing the music I grew up with and tell
stories about the Christian people of Lake Wobegon, and I do this
simply because it's who I am and that's where any writer has to
start. I am a fallen, sinful Christian, but wouldn't know how
to be a fallen non-Christian. All radio is public, in the sense
that the airwaves belong to the public and broadcasting is licensed
by the government in the name of the public, but as you know,
the airwaves are a bazaar of religion and political ranting and
chicanery of all kinds. There's a weekly show for atheists and
agnostics on WBAI in New York, which I've listened to on occasion
and which is interesting, but atheists tend to be a little dry,
like actuaries, and we Christians have better stories to tell.
If you want to start an agnostic/atheist show, you should go ahead
and do it and God bless you. Or if you want to pursue the question
of constitutional principles regarding religious expression on
public radio, you could contact your local A.C.L.U. or any attorney
who is interested in these issues.
MC Keillor
I have a moderate to severe stutter, and I would like to run for
political office. But I realize in our media-saturated culture
today that a person with a stutter would be portrayed as "mental",
and would be cast aside. I happen to believe that I can communicate
intelligently, eloquently, and passionately in the written medium.
In your opinion, could a candidate pull off a victory in this
manner? I'm afraid I know what the answer is, but just a fellow
writer's opinion would be appreciated.
Nathan Benn
Des Moines, IA
Nathan, I imagine a person could conceivably
be elected to public office and never stand up in public and speak,
but probably you wouldn't want to be: you'd be a poor public servant
if you were so self-conscious about verbal communication that
you couldn't take part in the normal give and take of discussion.
Stutterers bother people because they excite our pity and they
slow down the tempo. But the problem does seem to ease up considerably
later in life, it seems to me, and so maybe you can save this
for your fifties and sixties.
Dear Mr. Keillor,
I live in Santa Cruz, CA and I'm 6 years old. I want to know,
do you ever surf?
I listen to the special birthdays and poems every night before
I go to sleep. (I ask to hear them every night) My mom loves your
show.
From,
Emily Anna and her mom Jodi
Emily Anna, I'm a man who loves woods
and fields, I'm not a beach person. Surfing is not so good here
on the Mississippi River, or on Lake Superior, which is so cold
that a surfer would turn into a statue. And I'm afraid of water.
But trees have never hurt me.
Dear Mr. Keillor:
Could you tell me a little bit about the shy-sounding fellow with
the sweet voice who sings the "Ketchup" song on Prairie
Home Companion? Thanks.
Donna Holmes Parks
Donna, that's our music director and piano-player,
Mr. Rich Dworsky, seated at the Steinway grand, a talented fellow
who composes, arranges, and accompanies, and improvises all the
underscore for the scripts. He's been with us full-time for about
ten years and made his first appearance on the show about twenty
years ago. A CD of his original compositions for PHC, "So
Near And Dear To Me," came out in the fall. His musical tastes
cover most of the waterfront and he can fake anything at the drop
of a hat, but he's particularly fond of Latin music (he's a salsa
dancer and fluent in Spanish) and he's got a great feel for gospel
music.
Dear Mr. Keillor:
What do you say to other famous writers when you meet them? Do
you discuss publishing statistics or point out that the last novel
had a weak ending? Perhaps just general topics? Are others jealous
of your commercial success and the fact that you sing so well?
Ruth Morss
Boston, MA
Ruth, my contacts with the great
and famous are few indeed, but inevitably pleasant. You just have
to get over the fear that the big cheese might turn to you and
ask you to discuss his work. In fact, large cheeses don't care
if you've read their work: they just want people to stop genuflecting
and mumbling and start being themselves. I met Garry Wills, one
of America's most prolific scholars, and he and I talked about
politics, and when I met Norman Mailer, I simply listened to him
talk about what he'd done that day (he'd portrayed Hemingway in
a play). George Plimpton is an elegant raconteur, and Calvin Trillin
is as affable as they come, especially if you inquire about his
granddaughter Isabel the Wonder Tot. Arthur Schlesinger and I
talked about the Democratic Farmer Labor party of Minnesota, and
Russell Baker talked about his children and I wrote a limerick
for his wife Mimi that rhymed her with "dreamy" and
"sashimi". Dave Barry had not yet written a novel when
I met him, so I couldn't harp on his ending, which I'm sure is
weak. We'd never discuss sales or other statistics, of course.
Much too well-bred. Other writers are envious of my singing, of
course, and also of my limpid prose style. My commercial success,
however, was a long time ago and didn't last long.
Dear Mr. Keillor,
I currently attend Embry Riddle Aeronautical University in Florida;
however I am Minnesota born and raised. My friends down here do
not understand why I am so proud of my state. I like to tell them
how great it is to live and be from Minnesota. My question for
you is whether it is normal to be so proud of being from Minnesota?
I have met some other Minnesotans here and they feel the same
way.
Matt Fussy
Daytona Beach, FL and St. Paul, MN
Matt, I feel exactly the same way,
though of course I don't talk about it. I try to blend in and
pretend to be interested in other states and their people and
hardly ever mention Minnesota, but when I come across a fellow
Minnesotan ---- and we have our distinguishing characteristics,
and our handshake, our little trademarks, our loon call, etc.
---- I just feel better, that's all. Like the stream that bends
to sea, like the pine that seeks the blue, Minnesota still for
thee, thy sons and daughters true. That's how I see it anyway.
Dear Mr. Keillor,
I'm a 20-year-old college student. My boyfriend just moved 1200
miles away and we've been giving the long-distance thing a shot.
I really miss him terribly because he was my best friend and helped
me take care of myself, something I don't do so well sometimes.
Both he and my dad have been telling me that I should learn to
be so independent that, if I had to spend the rest of my life
alone, I can be happy. While I can see the practical value in
this sort of independence, I doubt if it's completely necessary;
it might even hamper really meaningful emotional bonds. I belong
to the class of romantics for whom, to paraphrase a Cary Grant
movie, the reason they sing in their baths is that they know they
will be having breakfast with their loved one. My question is
this: is this sort of romanticism really a sugar-coated type of
emotional disability, or are my boyfriend and dad heartless cynics?
Yours,
Di
I'm with you, Di. The independent life
of monastic discipline, cold baths, bran flakes, 20-mile runs,
seems a little dry compared to singing in the (warm) bath and
waiting for your lover to bring you breakfast (eggs over easy).
Even sitting in a chair and reading a book and looking across
the room at your lover reading her book is pretty rich stuff.
I think your boyfriend is recommending independence to you simply
because he's 1200 miles away and he's afraid you might meet Cary
Grant.
Dear Garrison -
I am a 22-year-old English major, and I have always had a soft
spot for your show because of your appreciation for English majors.
I am currently living in Berlin, where, when they see me staring
out the window for hours with a cup of coffee, they assume I'm
French.
But what I wanted to ask you is - What do you think is the place
of English majors today? Are we a dying breed, and rightly so?
What should I tell people when they ask me why I am an English
major, and how do I plan to make use of my education?
Sincerely,
Julia McConnell
Julia, you will make use of your education
by living your life as an educated woman, pursuing the pleasures
of art and knowledge and the broader life that college put your
in sight of. You'll be good company for yourself. I can tell from
your brief letter that you're funny and kind and your being in
Berlin suggests you're adventurous. We're all of a dying breed,
called the human race, and as we old English majors die off, young
people are pushing forward to take our place, including you. I
wish I could see what you'll do in your life, but whatever it
is, it'll come from the same things that moved me, namely the
wonders of the English language, the pleasures of having it roll
around in your mouth and working it onto the page, walking around
Berlin and hearing fragments of our tongue in theirs and on the
signs and in the newspaper.. Enjoy your kaffee, dear.
