I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: DJANGO DJANGO-“Default” (2012).

This song was featured in a post on NPR’s All Songs Considered site on July 31.  Django Django are a Scottish duo and they sound very retro.  The two guys sing in close harmony that is more of an echo than a harmony.  The music is mostly very old-sounding guitars–big and unprocessed–and yet the rest of the track is quite processed and electronic.

It’s a simple, straightforward song (with some cool effects).  The NPR write up about them says that they are more of an electronic band, although this song doesn’t really suggest that (except in the middle section where the sounds are manipulated in a cool way).  I’m not sure if I’m all that interested in the rest of the album  In fact, after a few listens, I’m not as excited by this song as I initially was.  But it’s still fun.

[READ: July 31, 2012] The Rector and the Rogue

The Collins Library is back!  And since this seems to be the summer of non fiction, I decided to read it now.  I have loved every Paul Collins book so far in the Collins Library (old, out of print and forgotten titles that Collins resurrects) and this one–which I admit seemed questionable–was just as wonderful as the others.  The Rector and the Rogue details a much-forgotten episode of a grand-scale prank–the systematic public abuse of Dr Morgan Dix, Rector of Trinity Church by a trickster known as “Gentleman Joe” in 1880.  Yes, 1880.

Swanberg told the story, eighty years later, as a rather gripping tale.  The afterward explains that he just happened upon some information about the story and needed to know more.  So, he did the research and compiled first an essay and then this (reasonably short) book.

And so he begins his tale without letting the audience know what they are in store for (just like Dix had no idea what he was in store for).  One morning in February 1880, Rev Dix opened the door to see a safe salesman from Acme Safe in downtown Manhattan.  The salesman says that Dix inquired about safes.  Dix had done no such thing and sent the man on his way.  Then a man from a local girls’ school rang the bell and said that Dix’ charge was more than welcome to attend.  Dix had no daughter or interest in the school. The schoolmaster showed him a postcard from Dix which asked for information.  The postcard was not his own (obviously) and was not in his handwriting (obviously).  Then came a man selling two horses, replying to his postcard….  This went on all afternoon.

The afternoon mail was full also of responses to similar inquiries–about wigs, dance lessons, kitchenware, etc.

And so began the botheration of Dr Dix.

The botheration wet on and on, and included letters to merchants, inquiries to doctors, invitations to other clergymen (one saying that the Bishop of York would be coming to Dix’ house).  And, in one instance, several used clothing merchants arrived (each within 30 minutes of the other) to look at the his closets–each one offering the best price for his cast offs.

As soon a Dix caught on, he began asking for the postcards that the merchants had received. He collected a small mountain of them.  And so he did what any normal person would do–he went to the… Postmaster.  He didn’t want the police involved, for he feared that this story which was not so much embarrassing (although some of the merchants were more embarrassing than others) but because he didn’t want anymore trouble for himself or his pregnant wife.  But the last straw came when Dix himself received a postcard asking for $1,000 to stop the hoaxes.  Dix was to reply through the personals in the New York Herald. Instead he went to the Postmaster.

The campaign against the Reverend continued for weeks.  And in that same time another smaller campaign was taken up against at bartender.  Indeed, the bar was to be the site of an exchange of funds, but when the police arrived to arrest Gentleman Joe, he was not on the premises.  And the bartender himself had been swindled by the same postcard writer.  What the hell was going on?

The rest of the first half of the book details the wonderful outlandish pranks that Gentleman Joe concocted.  How he caused all kinds of disturbances around Manhattan.  And how the police (who eventually did get involved) were completely at a loss as to who Gentleman Joe could be–he left clues that proved to be false, and not even the Rev himself could think of an enemy who would do this.  This section also details the public utter joy at the chaos, and the newspapers’ revelry in the details (while at the same time calling him a scoundrel).

The book includes a fascinatingly detailed biography of Dix and his wife (which is a little dull, although so was Dix).  And when they figured out who Gentleman Joe was, it details his connections to the Reverend and to a series of other pranks in other East Coast cities as well as Europe.  There’s even a few pictures in the book to give you an idea of what these folks looked like.

Although there were a few dull spots in the book (like Rev Dix’ biography), they were few and did not take up all that much of the book.  Rather, what we get is the story of this wonderful series of pranks.  The pièce de résistance is outstanding–Gentleman Joe not only announced when it would happen, he was in the crowd enjoying the spectacle.

If you like practical jokes, this is a fantastic book.  In addition to this one, it gives a little history of another man who created a similar practical joke, Theodore Hook which was just as funny.  Only the end is not so funny, when retribution turns out to be a bitch.  But Swanberg argues for more respect due to Gentleman Joe.  He may have been a rogue, and his motives may have been confusing, but he brought so much joy to so many people.

This was a fun way to learn about something that I never knew happened.  And I laughed pretty hard too.

Paul Collins has a n afterward in which he implies that Gentleman Joe might be even more notorious than any of the policemen, postmen or even Swanberg himself may have realized.  There’s a long-standing hoax that some people may indeed be entitled to some land in Manhattan.  Could it all have been started via a postcard?

I’m really glad that Paul Collins hasn’t ended The Collins Library (the last book was published in 2008).