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<\/a><\/p>\nI had already pictured my students in the same room with Vonnegut, hearing him read, seeing him in the flesh, being with him. I\u2019ve always thought that there is something to the idea of sharing space with greatness. That\u2019s a hard sell, though. So I said, \u201cSay\u2014\u201d and I pointed to a paragraph on the Vonnegut brochure, one that indicated that he was touring in support of a new book of essays to be published, Fates Worse than Death \u201c\u2014with a new book out, we might break box office records. Think of all the other colleges and universities in the area that will wish they had signed him.\u201d We booked Vonnegut.<\/p>\n
We had a window of five months in which to encourage other English professors to teach Vonnegut\u2019s works, and to have their students attend the lecture. Across campus there were fliers, and a tremendous anticipation over his visit had built up within the community. There would be a reception for Vonnegut with the president and English faculty in attendance; a private dinner with the committee and Liberal Arts dean\u2014and I had inherited the responsibility of being his guide, chauffeur, and MC.<\/p>\n
October 19, 1991. I arrived early in the parking lot of the hotel and sat in my car, fiddling with my introduction in a spiral notebook. I couldn\u2019t tell if it was too much or too little. I never really believed I\u2019d be giving it anyway. I have a terrible fear of crowds, and so I figured I\u2019d probably just pass out and someone would hand it to the dean and say, \u201cHere, you read it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I checked the center console for music cassettes. I had taken out all the Beatles and rock and roll selections and replaced them with Rimsky-Korsakov, Bach, Beethoven. He was, after all, a sophisticated intellectual. Then finally, I got out of my car, ripped the scribbled pages from the notebook, stuffed them in my back pocket, and walked toward the hotel entrance with the same ersatz aplomb that had got me this far in life. \u201cCould you ring Mister Vonnegut\u2019s room? I\u2019m here to pick him up.\u201d The desk clerk, who was seated, looked me directly in the eyes as if I were some kind of imposter, (and of course I was, I was the guy who was pretending that he wasn\u2019t excruciatingly nervous) and then he picked up the phone, said something in it, and hung up. \u201cHe\u2019ll be right down,\u201d he said. It looks like rain. That\u2019s what I thought as I, hands clutched behind my back, walked along the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel. I turned around and faced a tall gray suit with Kurt Vonnegut inside of it. He was right there, his hair in romping gray curls. He looked older than I had expected. I stammered, introduced myself, and he extended his hand, and said, \u201cSo you\u2019re the one they sent to get me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was the immediate straight man in this routine, confined to phrases like, \u201cYeah,\u201d and \u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n
He\u2019s so tall, I thought, which when combined with my earlier observation, It looks like rain, should give you a pretty fair idea of the level of reasoning I was capable of at the moment. I said that I was somewhat early, and apologized, and then opened the passenger door of my car for him. I looked at him and then the car, and wondered how in hell he would fit into it. Just incidentally, it was a spiffy, new, black Toyota Celica.<\/p>\n
Vonnegut stood there, looking at it. He said, \u201cHow fast will it go?\u201d I said, \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d \u201cWell, let\u2019s find out.\u201d He slid the seat back and cramped his legs and folded himself inside, origami style. He told me that he drove a Honda Accord. He seemed pleased with it. \u201cYou know, I was hoping the Saturn would be a success. It\u2019s about time for a good American car.\u201d Then he sort of shook his head. That hadn\u2019t panned out. My internal commentary continued in detailing the obvious. I\u2019m driving Kurt Vonnegut in my car! And of course it still looked like rain.He wanted to know what our itinerary was, and so I ran down for him the reception, the dinner, the lecture. We were pulling into the main drive, a longish road, and the campus itself was a considerably-sized one\u2014the buildings rather modern, the grounds manicured, trimmed with flowers. \u201cHow many students?\u201d he asked \u201cAbout twenty-five hundred.\u201d He appeared to reflect upon this, impressed. I recall walking with Vonnegut along an outdoor walkway, and we had both stopped to light cigarettes. I was still a smoker in those days\u2014though I couldn\u2019t keep up with him. He smoked all day long, and he smoked Camel Filter Lights. I had read for years that he smoked Pall Malls, though he must have changed brands somewhere along the way. I said, \u201cMy students are reading Slaughterhouse Five.\u201d Sometimes there were awkward breaks in our conversation, and I thought he would be pleased to hear this. \u201cAre they? I feel sorry for them.\u201d \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cThat book jumps so much.\u201d We lingered outside the administration building a moment, smoking, and I remember thinking, I like this guy. Then he took a puff, stopped short, exhaled the smoke, and said, \u201cHave I told you what a scumbag Geraldo is?\u201d He certainly had not. That came from as far out of the blue as a thing can, and I shook my head, wondered what in the world he meant. He told me that Geraldo Rivera had been his son-in-law at one time, that he had been married to his daughter Edie, and that now he had published a book called Exposing Myself, in which he revealed many affairs he had had, even during the time he had been married to Edie. Vonnegut was furious. He told me that you can call someone a scumbag without fear of being sued, because such a case had gone to court, and it was determined that there was no accepted definition for what a scumbag actually was, so it was safe to use. Several times that afternoon I heard what a scumbag Geraldo allegedly was, in his opinion.<\/p>\n
The president\u2019s board room was a big, imposing affair, all paneled walls, a horseshoe-shaped mahogany table with upholstered chairs, plush carpet. A few caterers wheeled in stainless steel carts with sterling silver coffee and tea-ware, plates of finger sandwiches, punch bowls. Still, Vonnegut and I were the only other two people in the room. He reached for his package of cigarettes, two-fingered one out, and began to light it, this right in front of a sign mounted on the wall forbidding smoking.<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cMr. Vonnegut\u2014\u201cCall me Kurt,\u201d he said, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag on it.<\/p>\n
\u201cUh, Kurt\u2014the President takes his no smoking policy very seriously.\u201d He blew out a cloud of bluish gray smoke that wafted throughout the room, reflecting back the fluorescent light of the ceiling. \u201cOh, that\u2019s all right,\u201d he said, a gleam in his eye as he tapped me on the shoulder. And then he whispered, \u201cIf anybody says anything, I\u2019ll just tell them you tried to stop me, but I\u2019m bigger than you are.\u201d He grinned, and gave me a sidelong knowing look, having just told me what we could do with our smoking policy. He had a way of deflating anything that might hint at being stodgy or overly proper. I did notice with some relief that he did not light another cigarette in the board room after he finished the one he was working on at the moment. The English faculty arrived, and the president, and the committee members, and I introduced everyone. A sort of formal question-answer session took place, which made me vaguely uncomfortable, because up until then everything had seemed so affable and off the cuff. It was as though he was being made to perform. I don\u2019t remember much of what was asked, except one professor wanted to know why only a few select authors got anywhere with publishers. Vonnegut explained that publishers wanted to make money, and that after all, they were under no obligation to subsidize anyone\u2019s writing career. Next a committee member wanted to know what he thought about the trend toward political correctness, and whether it limited freedom of speech. Vonnegut looked upward for a moment and said that he thought the intentions of those who fostered PC were good, their hearts were in the right place, and that he did not think any harm would come of it\u2014something to that effect.<\/p>\n
Vonnegut was truly caught between both sides of this issue. He was a fervent supporter of the first amendment, and his own books had been banned in different parts of the country. But his political leanings certainly embraced social underdogs, those who could use all the enforced dignity and gentle treatment that political correctness had to offer. It was a gutsy thing to have asked, and I wished that Vonnegut\u2019s presence would not encourage such fencing, but I supposed he was used to it, expected it, and that there was more to come. There was.<\/p>\n
Back in my car we were headed to the restaurant for an early dinner\u20144:45 p.m. The lecture would begin promptly at 7:30, and what do you know. It was pouring outside. \u201cDid you hear the one about\u2014\u201d he began to telling me jokes with elaborate build-ups, and every time he hit the punch line, he gave me that sidelong look of his for just a fraction of a moment to see if I thought it was as funny as he did\u2014and then he just exploded in laughter, as did I, not so much because the jokes were funny, but because of that sidelong look he kept giving me. He laughed so hard that he began a coughing fit and I thought he was going to bring up a lung. He is so aware of audience, I thought. I filed that away in the back of my mind. I didn\u2019t want to step out of the moment, but I knew I would remember that brief insight.<\/p>\n
We arrived at the restaurant that way, very silly, like two schoolboys, cackling and guffawing. I pulled right up to the entrance. The valet service had not yet started, and I did not want the guest of honor to get drenched before his lecture. \u201cYou go ahead in,\u201d I told him. \u201cI\u2019ve got an umbrella in the back seat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay. I\u2019ll wait for you.\u201d And then, as he got out, he looked up into the downpour, and, ever the wiseacre, said, \u201cSee you in about an hour.\u201d It was your run-of-the-mill steakhouse, striving to be more elegant than it really was, and it had seen its best years, and it isn\u2019t even there anymore. Whenever I drive past the space it used to occupy, a little wave of remembrance washes over me, and I think back on that evening in October of 1991. I think, Can it really have been that long ago? I think, How I treasure that memory. How fortunate I was.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll fast-forward through all the ceremonious stuff involving the committee members and dean greeting Vonnegut and making a fuss over him, the detailed discussion of World War II battles, of which he had an almost-encyclopedic knowledge. I was sitting to his immediate left, and we both had our faces buried in menus, when all at once I felt a sharp knock on my arm. Vonnegut had just elbowed me. I looked up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you having?\u201d he asked, looking down his nose and over the tops of his reading glasses.<\/p>\n
\u201cFilet mignon,\u201d I said. \u201cMe too.\u201d I went back to reading the menu. Soon there came another poke on my arm. It was starting to hurt.\u201cWhat?\u201d I said. Vonnegut: \u201cWhat\u2019re you going to drink?\u201d \u201cIced tea.\u201d<\/p>\n
Someone at the table was talking about the Maginot Line. \u201cMe too,\u201d he said. He wouldn\u2019t look at me this time, but he was smiling and had that devilish twinkle in his eye, and I saw that this was going to be a running gag that we were in on together\u2014take a little stuffiness out of an otherwise awkwardly dignified dinner.<\/p>\n
A little while later I was lifting my iced tea glass to my mouth when another hard shot to the arm almost knocked it out of my hand. Vonnegut was extending two pink packets to me. \u201cHave a little Sweet\u2019N\u2019Low. Take the edge off your iced tea.\u201d He tossed them on my bread plate. He was Abbot and I was Costello. Nobody caught on. Soon they were talking about Patton Tanks.\u00a0 Then things got complicated. It was time to get back to the campus; in fact, we were cutting it close. I told him to wait for me at the door because the rain was coming down in thick gray sheets. The problem was, now the valet parkers had arrived, and after Vonnegut performed his origami trick and got safely in the car, we were stuck behind a long line of arriving diners. To the left were a series of orange traffic cones. We were fenced in.I said, \u201cKurt\u2014we\u2019re never going to make it in time for the lecture.\u201d He pointed at the traffic cones. \u201cAh\u2014run over them witches\u2019 hats.\u201d The valets were opening car doors for patrons, holding protective umbrellas over their heads. I looked at my watch. There was no other way. I turned the steering wheel hard left and gunned the engine for all it was worth. Thud! Thud! Thud! Orange cones tumbled and flew, rolled and lolled. Valets screamed colorful curses at us. Vonnegut grabbed my right arm with both his hands and said, \u201cMy God, I didn\u2019t think you\u2019d really do it!\u201d Geraldo was still a scumbag, and as the car made sloshing sounds on the pavement, Vonnegut told me that guns turned people into assholes. I was getting a preview of his talk that night. You give a person a gun, and pretty soon he starts looking for things to shoot with it\u2014birds, squirrels, the like. And it doesn\u2019t stop there.<\/p>\n
What we used for a green room was an office on the second floor of the gymnasium. I was back there with Michael, director of Student Activities, and Vonnegut, who was looking over some notes in a leather binder he carried with him. There was a large interior window, and down below I could see the room fill up. Up front was a dais upon which stood two podiums with microphones. One was for our famous author, and one was for me. During the last part of the show I would ask him questions that would be printed out on cards by members of the audience.<\/p>\n
I went out in the corridor to study my introduction. I had pretty well got it memorized. I remember being extremely wired, as though electric current was flowing through me, and when the time came, I did not faint. I walked out into the big room, climbed the stairs, and the lights went down. I looked out on row upon row of faces. We had been worried about the costs, but we had indeed broken all box office records\u20142200 tickets sold. I felt so encouraged, I winged my opening, abandoning that part of the script. I tried to tell the audience how Vonnegut\u2019s early work had alerted his readers that a great talent was about to enter the American scene, and how the later novels of the Sixties and Seventies made him a legend. I have the rest of it right here on my original notes: \u201cIf it\u2019s true that \u2018everyone is a victim of a series of accidents,\u2019 then this evening\u2019s mishap is likely to be among the more enjoyable ones we\u2019ve had in quite a while. It is my particular honor to introduce to you tonight our speaker, not only because of the magnitude of his literary achievements, his continued tackling of every crucial issue of our times, but in a more personal sense, because of the effect his work had on my life and the lives of many in my generation at a young and decisive age. He\u2019s made a career out of\u2014in his own words\u2014\u2018poisoning minds with humanity.\u2019 And I suppose if we\u2019re going to be contaminated anyway, then it might as well be with humanity, with virtue. Ladies and gentlemen, the author of Hocus Pocus and Fates Worse Than Death, Mr. Kurt Vonnegut.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bathed in the platinum light of the spotlight, Vonnegut made his way across the floor and up steps of the stage, and I realized we could have choreographed his entrance a little better because it was taking so long. The audience was still applauding, though, by the time he shook my hand and I took my place in a chair off to the side.What did he say? He talked about life and politics and current events. He did his Hamlet schtick\u2014a popular satire on the plot of that play, in which, he claimed, nothing happens. And he talked about the second amendment and the insanity of guns. This got him some jeers from the audience, because our college community is mostly conservative. But he handled it well because he was a professional, a professional speaker, author, thinker, human. And because he was Vonnegut, and you can\u2019t rattle Vonnegut.Wait\u2014one thing did rattle him. We were at the last part of the presentation, when I was asking questions from the audience. Someone wanted to know how he had reacted to the news that Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss) had passed away. He looked suddenly flummoxed, made a sound more than a word. \u201cAwww\u2014\u201d he said, \u201cI didn\u2019t know that he had. Is it true?\u201d The audience affirmed it for him in a synchronous \u201cYES.\u201d He said he was sorry to hear it, and then he spoke gently and sympathetically about Geisel, told an anecdote or two.When we had run out of questions from the audience, he turned to me and said, \u201cWhat should we do now? Want me to talk about what a scumbag Geraldo is?\u201d He was already chuckling at the prospect. The momentum of the show was finished, and I didn\u2019t think it was a good idea to extend it, have it end with a bashing. I said, \u201cNo, that\u2019s okay. Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then it was chaos. I could see the crowd looking for a way to get to him. We hastened down the stage steps, and a few crew members with walkie-talkies tried to provide a cordon for us. A canvass curtain had been rigged to separate the backstage area from the audience, but once the crowd saw us duck behind it, they were after us. It was a mob.I put my hand on Vonnegut\u2019s back to hurry him and said, \u201cGet upstairs as quickly as you can.\u201d Another crew member was waiting with the door held open, but the fans were gaining on us. From the corner of my eye I saw Michael, the head of Student Activities, come running from the wings and then pivot\u2014standing in place with his arms outstretched, yelling for the crowd to stop. It gave me just enough time to slam the door behind us as Vonnegut negotiated the stairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was it?\u201d Vonnegut asked, out of breath, once we were safely in the green room. \u201cIs that about what you had in mind?\u201d \u201cIt was great,\u201d I said. \u201cJust great.\u201d \u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t you let me talk about Geraldo?\u201d Down below the lights had come up. Some fans were milling about, still trying to figure out where there might be an alternate staircase.\u201cI thought you were kidding.\u201d \u201cJust as well,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Later, in the car, the adrenaline no longer pumping, both of us enjoying cigarettes, Vonnegut told me he was afraid we were going to lose the first amendment. I asked if he meant that sincerely, and he said he did. Then we somehow made the jump to what a golden creative time the Sixties had been. I said, \u201cDo you think a movement like that will ever happen again?\u201d \u201cI sure as hell hope so, but it will only happen if the people, the middle class, get terribly hurt, and I hate to think of them hurt like that.\u201d He thought for a moment, and just as I was reaching into the cassette rack, looking for Scheherazade, he said, \u201cDrugs ruined it for everybody, but the music was great, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d I\u2019d left all my rock and roll at home. At the bar of his hotel we each had a scotch, and signed books. I autographed my first two novels for him, and he autographed Hocus Pocus for my son, and Fates Worse Than Death for my wife. In that one he drew one of his trademark profiles of himself, cigarette dangling from his lips.<\/p>\n
I told him how much I admired the new collection of essays. He added some flourishes to the self-portrait and shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m afraid my publishers might let me go. This is the first of my books in quite some time that hasn\u2019t made it to the best seller list.\u201d \u201cThey could never do that. You\u2019re Kurt Vonnegut, for Christ\u2019s sake.\u201d He took a puff of his cigarette and looked me squarely in the eye from across the table. \u201cThey did it to Joseph Heller.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s not going to happen,\u201d I said. He did not seem entirely convinced.<\/p>\n
We each had another scotch, and he asked me how it was that I had gotten into writing. I told him that I had started writing articles, and that my second one was a conversation I\u2019d had with J.D. Salinger at his home. He stopped short of lighting another cigarette. \u201cYou actually met him? And he talked to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d His mustache stretched from cheek to cheek as he grinned. \u201cThat\u2019s a wonderful piece of work, isn\u2019t it?\u201d He was referring to The Catcher in the Rye, and of course I agreed. The place was crowded, but our privacy remained intact. He drew stares from customers occasionally. They knew he was somebody, but they didn\u2019t exactly know who. When the evening was over, I stood up and tried to pay for the check. Vonnegut slapped my hand. \u201cPut that away. This is mine. I know you\u2019re a successful author, but I\u2019m a more successful author.\u201d<\/p>\n
And that, I\u2019m afraid, is where the memory clip runs out and flips and flips and flips like a bit of celluloid at the end of a reel. On the way home that night the streets were deserted, and snippets of our conversations played randomly in my mind. I recalled the goodbye, how he looked down at me from his great height, his eyes weary and wise\u2014the firm handshake, his long wrinkled fingers clutched around mine. I had the driver\u2019s window cracked open a bit to allow in fresh air, so that I wouldn\u2019t fall asleep. What a day. It seemed that it had started two weeks ago.<\/p>\n
When I got home it was past midnight. My wife and son were asleep. I left the two books for them on the dining room table, and opened each to see what he had written to them. For good old Jeremy.Jeremy was just seven, but he knew who Kurt Vonnegut was. He would be thrilled.For dear Carmen A dear she was and is. You can\u2019t know how many times I have relived that day. I do it for my students, I do it for my friends, and I am doing it for myself and for you, right now, as I did when I heard the sad news of Vonnegut\u2019s passing. It was a landmark day in my life, that rainy day in October of 1991. And here is how it ended:I draped my suit coat on a chair, turned off the lights, and climbed the stairs, bound for bed. My arm vaguely ached, and I smiled a little smile to myself when I remembered why.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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