We Are Still Married (12 page)

December 1980

Dear Sirs:

Thanks for the May listenership data. The copy you sent is faint, as if typed with lemon juice, but not so faint as the impact of your show, I'm afraid. This creation has burst upon the scene like coffee spilled on the carpet. People look away out of politeness. My opinion is that you need an emcee. Do you remember Danny Olsen who you went to high school with? Everyone said he was fun to be with, but I guess he didn't know the Right People, because he'd have won that host job hands down if they held auditions, which obviously they didn't dare do. Here in the Midwest, having a real good time is considered okay provided you don't let it happen again. People think if they let go, they might fall off. Your show sure proves that pretty well, not that I hold this against you personally. I am aware of your religious beliefs which hold most types of entertainment to be immoral. But couldn't you just compromise those beliefs a little bit and go to hell?

June 1981

Whomever Is In Charge Down There:

I tuned in your show out east with interest. (Or is it “back” east? I say “out” west so maybe so, but I suppose it's all a matter of how you look at it.) Anyway, the audience sounded unduly excited, far more than the material warranted. It was the sort of heat I recall from when the Saxophone Pals swung into “Ring Dem Bells” at the old Night Light Club on the Beltline. I used to go there on Saturday nights when the small-town virtues you celebrate were driving me nuts, and as soon as I sat down and ordered a Bombardier and saw the Pals swaying back and forth onstage playing fornicating music in their white tuxes, why, Lutheranism'd leave me like a bad dream. So it's odd to hear Eastern sophisticates whoop it up for a guy who talks slow. My Uncle Emmett has some unfinished sentences that go back to the Hoover Administration, but he never claimed to be a humorist. I guess it just goes to show that when it comes to entertainment it's hard to tell. In my day, we went for flash and pizzazz, but one of these days, a guy who hums to himself and spits in the dirt will be the big phenomenon. If so, congratulations. I take nothing away from you, because frankly there isn't that much. Cordially,

April 1982

To Whomever Is In Charge Down There:

Believe me, I could do without the “News from Lake Wobegon” in its present epic form, but if forced to hear it, I'd prefer to hear it without all the sighing and wheezing and chuffing on the part of the announcer. I don't know if his problem is a deviated septum or nasal growths or what, but if he can't learn to breathe more quietly, then he ought to make anonymous phone calls like all the rest of them. Radio is intimate enough without him putting his nose right in our faces. I hope the country doesn't take this show as an indication of who we are in Minnesota. If so, somebody ought to pull the plug on his bathtub. It's sad that a person with ambition and a powerful disregard for the facts can go a long way in the world, whereas the more conscientious slog along in the same old rut. As the poet said, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” On the other hand, you don't have much passionate intensity either. What's the problem? Cordially,

January 1983

To Whomever Is In Charge:

I continue to be amazed by your appeal. Sylvia and I were in Chicago, staying up past ten o'clock, and met several people who, when they heard we're from Minnesota, asked about “Prairie Home Companion.” They reminded me of you: you know the type—people of the sixties, who think honesty is the main thing and if we all got to know each other better we'd like each other more than we do. And maybe that's your appeal. You're honest (you never claimed to be good), and people listen to you thinking that if they get to know you real well, maybe eventually they'll like you. Well, I've been listening for years and must admit that its appeal is sporadic. We listen to it at low volume, and when something good comes on we jump up to turn it up loud, but it never lasts long. There is just too much simple heartfelt sincerity, which I hear enough of from customers who are late with their payments. Wish you'd say something funny. Just remember we're listening at low level. If you think of something good, speak up. Cordially,

August 1984

To Whomever:

Couldn't help but notice that Walter Mondale plunged downward in the polls the week after attending your show Saturday P.M. even though he tried to fix the damage by visiting a Presbyterian church Sunday A.M. Presbyterianism was a good choice, a solid well-known religion a candidate can attend without fear that people will suddenly start hollering and prancing around and woofing like dogs. You'd think a candidate's staff would show the same caution in selecting a show for him to attend, one that all Americans know and love, like “Sesame Street,” and not one that raises questions in people's minds about his judgment. A Minnesota Norwegian minister's son has got three strikes against him in the charisma department, and if on top of those problems he is the sort of guy who gets goosebumps from hearing extremely slow jokes, then he can kiss charisma goodbye. Sincerely,

November 1985

To Whomever Is In Charge Out There:

It's interesting to think of you out there on tour. Last week Seattle, and now Hawaii, and next week Los Angeles. Ordinarily a person stays in one place and works hard and builds a reputation but show business is different: you want to leave the jurisdiction as fast as you can. This week, I imagine you could no more sell “Prairie Home” tickets around Puget Sound than you could peddle bottles of swamp-water labeled as Peruvian Youth Tonic: people have tried a bottle already and their tongues turned white and scaly. If you attempted an encore, they might kill you. So you remove to Hawaii, a few thousand miles beyond the Seattle city limits, and feel pretty lucky. Well, don't count on it. Show business makes for a grim biography; it just doesn't take long to go from being Up and Coming, a bright magical talent in this dark world, a source of love and laughter, to wallowing in deep shit looking for the ladder. Suddenly you go from talent to star, which is a guy who sleeps all day and wanders around a tasteless mansion at 3:00 A.M. looking for someone to talk to and have a burger with. Let me give you one word of advice before you take one step too far. On second thought, I gave you that advice two years ago. Forget it. When are you coming back to Minnesota? Your friend,

January 1986

To Whomever:

Before you rent a tux for the grand reopening of the World Theater, maybe you ought to check the plumbing. This is a wise word of caution. Pay attention. There have been countless other projects to restore historic theaters to their former elegance and grandeur that ended badly because the money was spent on thin-waisted young men in designer coveralls talking about lighting concepts, meanwhile the historic water pipes burst and restored the theater to the grandeur it had before the world was created, when there was only mist upon the waters. You would know this if you were in a town with a decent newspaper. You fritter away funds on the visual aspect of things and ignore the underlying realities such as drainage—suddenly, as the star is about to sweep down the golden staircase and into their hearts, the folks in Radioland hear a sound effect that seems strangely out of place on a program about glamour and wealth, a sound effect that suggests a story from Scripture about God's dealings with Pharaoh. Anyway I hope you got a good plumbing contractor but I suppose by now it's months too late. Good luck,