Long Cool Woman In a Black Dress

This tune fascinated me when it hit the charts in 1972, largely because I couldn't fully understand the lyrics. That was partly due to the echo applied to Allan Clarke's vocals, but also because the lyrics seemed to mention working for the FBI, the DA man and a tall walking big black cat. Was that really what he was singing? Why would The Hollies, an English pop group, would want to sing about something so American? 

Eventually I tracked down the lyrics (see below) and found this video of The Hollies' performing it live. This swept away all doubt. Unlike most YouTube videos, this is clearly a live performance. We clearly hear Clarke's vocal without the echo. And the two-guitar break halfway through (long a favorite of mine) is nicely done.

Saturday night I was downtown
Working for the F.B.I.
Sitting in a nest of bad men
Whiskey bottles piling high

Bootlegging boozer on the west side
Full of people who are doing wrong
Just about to call up the D.A. man
When I heard this woman singing a song.

(Chorus)
A pair of 45s made me open my eyes
My temperature started to rise
She was a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5-9 beautiful tall
With just one look I was a bad mess
Cause that long cool woman had it all.

I saw her heading to the table
Well, a tall walking big black cat
Charlie said, I hope that you're able, boy
'Cause I'm telling you she knows where it's at
Well, suddenly we hear the sirens
And everybody started to run
Jumping under doors and tables
I heard somebody shooting a gun.

The D.A. was pumping my left hand
She was holding my right
Well, I told her, don't get scared
'Cause you're gonna be spared
I've gotta be forgiven if I wanna spend my living
With a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9" beautiful 'n' tall
With just one look I was a bad mess
'Cause that long cool woman had it all

Seventeen by Booth Tarkington

I read Tarkington's Penrod novels when I was a young lad, but I never got around to reading Seventeen. Perhaps that was because I was less than 17 at the time. Now I have taken the plunge, and I loved it. 

Contemporary readers will find that Seventeen is written in an old-fashioned style, which is not surprising since it was published in 1916. It revolves around a 17-year-old boy who is infatuated with Lola Pratt (great name!), a stranger who visits his small Midwest town for the summer. 

The book has a major flaw in that it depicts black people in ways that are unacceptable by today's standards. But so did Huckleberry Finn. For my part, I was willing to endure what some will find offensive because Tarkington, like Twain, is simply a superb writer.  Tarkington does a fine job of depicting teenage angst in a way that one has to live through to understand. His descriptions of William's feelings for the young lady who has stolen his heart are spot on. I could cite any number of examples, but one will suffice. Describing William's heartache: 

"Alas! he considered his sufferings a new invention in the world... he passed through phases of emotion which would have kept an older man busy for weeks and left him wrecked at the end of them." (p. 186)

One of my favorite scenes is set at a party at which William struggles to get one single dance with Lola. Here the book is completely detached from today's world. Teenagers dance to live music supplied by "Italians with harp, violin and flute, promising great things for dancing on a fresh-clipped lawn" (p. 195). William's rival is indisposed (vomiting, as it would be called today), giving our hero the opportunity he has been waiting for all night:

"Then gaily tinkled harp, gaily sang flute and violin! Over the greensward William lightly bore his lady, while radiant was the clear sky above the happy dancers. William's fingers touched those delicate fingers; the exquisite face smiled rosily up to him; the undreamable sweetness beat rhythmically upon his glowing ears; his feet moved in a rhapsody of companionship with hers....So passed the long, ineffable afternoon away - ah, Seventeen!" (p. 201)

It takes a special breed of reader to plow through 324 pages of this sort of writing. But I am that reader. Call me old-fashioned if you will. 

N.B. Seventeen was originally a series of "sketches" appearing in Metropolitan Magazine, later collected and published in novel form in 1916. It was the best-selling novel of the year in 1916,  the second consecutive year in which Tarkington headed the best-seller list, preceded in 1915 by his novel The Turmoil. 

Donald J. Trump vs. United States, Supreme Court, No. 23-939

I don't dare to put this on my other social media platforms, but I must speak out, if only to vent my concern. Having read the opinion of the court, I am appalled. The court seems to have gone out of its way to define a new paradigm of presidential immunity.  

I'm not a constitutional lawyer, or any sort of lawyer. But this is discouraging to say the least. I tend to support Justice Sotomayor's dissent: the majority decision "invents an atextual, ahistorical and unjustifiable immunity that puts the President above the law... This holding is unnecessary on the facts of the indictment, and the majority's attempt to apply it to the facts expands the concept of core powers beyond any recognizable bounds.... Argument by argument, the majority invents immunity through brute force." 

I also concur with David French's opinion piece in The New York Times, which says: "The Supreme Court isn’t a policy-making body; it’s an interpretive body... I disagree with the Supreme Court’s rulings for the most basic reason of all — they do not square with the text of the document the justices are supposed to interpret, and that means they’re granting the presidency a degree of autonomy and impunity that’s contrary to the structure and spirit of American government."