Word: rotarians
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...proved to be. Lee J. Cobb created the 63-year-old Willy when he was just in his 30s. Miller hated Fredric March's interpretation in the 1951 movie (he turned Willy into "a psycho," Miller felt), yet March gave the character both a tragic grandeur and a Rotarian recognizability that are unforgettable. There have been black Willy Lomans and Chinese Willy Lomans; big, bearish Willys like George C. Scott and feisty, bantamweight Willys like Dustin Hoffman. Brian Dennehy, in the new production from Chicago's Goodman Theatre that opens (with some minor cast changes) on Broadway this week...
Another former fund raiser, Mark Middleton, known in the West Wing as the "Aryan Rotarian" for his blond toupee and his mercantile moxie, liked to remind people that he worked for the chief of staff, even after he didn't. He allegedly continued to pass out his White House calling cards after he had gone into the private sector. The phone number on the card forwarded callers to Middleton's company. "When I read that," whistled a former senior Clinton official, "I thought, 'Oh...my...goodness...
...second message from St. Louis, bearing the subject line "Gupton, How Can You Be Such A F***ing Dork?" This e-mail, allegedly sent by Brian's roommate Adam, read, in part: "In reading over your resume packed full of things which would make any God-fearing rotarian cum in his pants, I found myself repeatedly drawn back to a single question. Why have you been allowed to live?... You should have been tossed to the wolves the second you thought of mentioning your distinction as an (drumroll please) AP SCHOLAR WITH HONORS." The assault continued for dozens of lines...
...other literary extreme, Horatio Alger's heroes triumphed through trustworthiness, diligence and stupefying practicality. As usual, the truth about the business world lies somewhere between comic cynicism and Rotarian sentimentality, in a psychological wilderness area now artfully surveyed by Steven Millhauser's Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer (Crown; 294 pages...
...sweet October air and bounced off satellites. Farrakhan banged on the American mind with a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom: Mumbo jumbo will hoodoo you. He went on about obelisks and the intricate, unintelligible meanings of mystical, pseudo-Pharaonic numerologies. He sounded by turns menacing and Rotarian: a salesman in a sharp bow tie, the hallucination of Mussolini channeling Booker T. Washington. Behind him postured his son from the Fruit of Islam, in sunglasses and paramilitary Graustark...