RE: Henry Miller & Vanity Press


Not to bust your chops, but wasn't Henry Miller first published by SCIART and found-poetry pioneer Bern Porter? This has always been my impression, but if you've evidence to the contrary, I'd be delighted to hear about it!


RE: Arturo Toscanini

Dear Mr. Ralph R. Doister,

My name is Kylie Opelt. I was reading your website when I came across the story about Aurturo Toscanini. He is a relative of mine, my great great great great great grandfather. I learned this just recently and am interested in finding out everything I can about him. I was wondering if that story is true? If so, do you have any more information about it? If not, do you know where it might have come from? Any ideas where I might find more information about him? Thank you your help.

Kylie Opelt

See original Toscanini story below.

RE: Wasted

Sick bastard. You wouldn't be laughing if YOU were anorexic like me.


Go to the original review of Wasted
Go to other articles about Anorexia

RE: My take on your review of Richie Havens' book

<I recently read your review of Richie Haven's biography, the one that you submitted to Salon in September [reprinted in RALPH Issue #ZB.]

While I agree that Mr. Havens' book did not show much in the command of the writing craft, and maybe left out his in-depth philosophies on a few people or ideas that crossed his path, I feel that your attack on him as a person was disgusting.

By reducing Mr. Havens' career to little more than a publicity stunt, and by calling him a bad songwriter and an ignorant storyteller, you have done a great injustice to this human being. As a fellow journalist and acquaintence of Mr. Havens, I believe that he is one of the most genuine people I have ever met in my life.

Of course he gets to make the records he wants, and of course he likes to publicize his success, but it is all in the name of communicating positive social and political ideals to the world, certainly not money. Havens got rich by doing what he loves, and touched many people in the process. Would you pass up the chance to get rich doing what you love? And like Mr Havens, would you contribute so much of your time to social and political causes, the true essence of what music, as a medium, should help to create awareness of?

My take on Mr. Havens is that of a pure artist and humanitarian, one who sings and writes of things that matter. His intent is genuine. Mr Havens' lack of top writing credentials certainly does not make him a bad person.

You have taken on the role of a disillusioned cynic, and I don't know why, of all people, Richie Havens made you feel this way.

Perhaps you could enlighten me.

Keith D. Jones,
Baltimore MD

Our reviewer writes:

It's false advertising to pretend that They Can't Hide Us Anymore is an autobiography. It's a puff piece. If Havens wants to tell us his story, let him do so. If he wants to have us buy an extended commercial for Richie Havens --- let him call it something like I Can Still Hide Me (So Poo on You). Having written such a book doesn't make him stupid, or mean. It just makes him craven.

§     §     §

A Story
(A Wonderful Story)

Here's a wonderful story. The famous conductor, Arturo Toscanini once received a letter from a gentleman living in the mountains of Montana. Dear Mr. Toscanini, I listen to your broadcasts every Sunday night on the radio. I am an old man and I live alone with only my flock of sheep and my violin in a cabin high above Thompson Falls. It's been a long winter. The batteries to my radio are dying and my violin is out of tune. I wonder if you would be kind enough to strike the note of A next week so that when I won't be able to hear you any longer, I can play my violin until the Spring thaw when I can get to town again.

During the following week's broadcast, Toscanini interrupted his program to say, I'd like to address the gentleman who wrote me from Montana recently. Here sir is the note of A. That night millions of people heard the note sounded in New York City vibrate across America to a small cabin in Montana where the old shepherd, sitting by his radio, couldn't refrain from fiddling with himself long enough to reach for the violin next to him. He spent the rest of that winter humming along to the sound of salt settling in its shaker.

--- Charles Wing Krafft


Go to the
page from whence this story comes.

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