Hunting Mr. Heartbreak – Deep South, publication: 1990



Free Spirit

“How fur ye going?”
“I dunno … Pretty far.”
-John Dos Passes, Manhattan Transfer

The dirty porcelain of the Holland Tunnel opened out into a six-lane highway that claimed the bluffs of Hoboken and Jersey City, but traffic was locked hull-to-hull for as far ahead as one could see. Killing time, I monkeyed with the side-mirror on my rental car, slewing the landscape around in the glass until I got the view I wanted, of grilles and wind-shields scowling at the sun. In the background, behind the cars and trucks, was an enormous graveyard. The mirror reflected hundreds of bleached obelisks and fuzzily lettered headstones.

So many dead! Turning my head to inspect this unmapped necropolis, I saw that the white tombs were only the tall buildings of Manhattan on the far side of the Hudson River. Liberty was down there on her island, surprisingly close by; a damaged angel, streaked with gull droppings, standing guard over a vandalized and neglected family vault.

As the cars inched, growling, up the slope, New York slid down and out of the mirror. Sick of the city, its tense days and sleepless nights, I was glad to see it go. I lacked the buoyancy it took to be an Air Person. I wanted to feel the ground under my feet, to find some green and pleasant place where life felt more like life and less like a guerrilla war. I wanted to go down to the Deep South.


I liked the ring of the name, with its suggestion of a profundity unavailable elsewhere in the country.  A diver, tumbling from the high board of Manhattan, might reasonably hope to touch bottom, somewhere down, deep down, in the South or so I hoped.

Sleeping alone in Alice’s broad bed, listening to the sirens of the ambulances taking the casualties of New York life to Bellevue, I had kept on remembering, or half remembering, a sentence first read twenty-five years ago but never properly parsed till now. It was Allen Tate’s, and was the call to arms of the Southern Agrarian movement in the early 1930’s.  Only a return to the provinces, to the small self-contained centers of life, will lay the all-destroying abstraction America to rest. Now I’d felt the destructive power of the abstraction on my own pulse and was pining for a province, for a small self-contained center of life. If such a thing existed in the United States, I wagered that my best chance of finding it lay in the Deep South, in some uncelebrated nook of Georgia, Alabama or Tennessee.

As the traffic began to peel off into the unlovely Jersey suburbs, I kept on, heading for interstate 78, Pennsylvania and the Mason-Dixon line. It took less than half an hour for the great tentacled city to lose its grip on the land, and for the freeway to turn into a concrete duct running bullet-straight through what appeared, at least, to be open forest.  Outcrops of shale and dripping rock shouldered the road. Although we were on the cusp of March and April, the trees were still bare and cobweb gray from winter.

I pressed the search button on the radio and let it browse through the shelves of audial junk: an ad for a new kind of submarine sandwich, a snatch of Schubert, Marlee on the line from Elizabeth, someone plugging a factory outlet, an old Mamas and Papas number, a bushy-tailed chipmunk chorus singing “Macy’s! Macy’s!  We’re a part of your life!”

Not anymore, I thought with the stony-hearted elation of the traveler moving on. I waited for the Schubert to come round again on the airwaves and locked the radio to the classical station. It was Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau singing “Die Fiorelle,” and I sang along, though not in German.

“Ta room ti-dee-dee-dah, dah! Ta room ti, di-di-di-di-dah!

(Hunting Mister Heartbreak, Jonathan Raban, pages 105-106)

HAPPY HUNTING [military camouflage and hunting dogs] (Australia Stock Exchange, December 21, 2017,

[Chipmunk, military camouflage:]

chipmunk flying high
You know we flying high
(Ay ay, ooh, ooh, ay yeah)
I got ’em singing like
(Ay ay, ooh, ooh, ay yeah)
Ten bottles today man
Let’s drink two and spray eight
Yep, all over the damn place
Or in a haters damn face
Dolce and Gabanna, I ain’t into bandana’s
Might fly to Barbados, try and find some Rihanna’s
I’m running this jungle, can’t touch me I’m hammer
And I’m a lion king, hakuna matata
No worries at all, no footy, I ball
I’m on my Apple [expletive], women I’m macking ’em all
Capital summertime ball
Yeah I can rock a crowd, you saw that hook coming
Chip and Dale: two cartoon chipmunks
cc CIA Mormon Danite Rick Dale Snyder, Governor, Michigan
cc LDS Academy of Dentists with Microchips Unlimited
cc all Mormon barristers

[Black Man Flying, Adidas Anglo Aryan White Power Shoulder Stripes, Check It Out:]
Our latest roundup of new gear from top athletic brands

(Black Boy Fly, Kendrick Lamar


(Market Watch, January 11, 2018,

Groundbreakers: The cars that will take us into the future
A Autocar
Ending Soon! Macy’s is Offering Women’s Shoes for Unbelievable Prices
Macy’s | Sponsored
(MSN News, January 11, 2018,


Humans on sale: Haunting photographs show the
commonplace auctions held across America where
businessmen fought bidding wars over black slaves

(Daily Mail [U.K.], article/photos: November 22, 2017; advertisements: January 11, 2018, )

[Go to webpage to see larger picture of this Danite/Skull&Bones Mafia secret handshake:]

(The New York Times, January 3, 2018,

FOR THE RECORD.  As an aside, the Mormon church claims to be the church of Jesus Christ yet their focus is on their leaders, the reputation of their leaders, not the reputation of God.  In other words, Jesus Christ instructed true Christians to have as their primary focus, God’s reputation, that His name be held sacred and not slandered or in any way misrepresented (Matthew 24:9); however, Mormons focus entirely on their leaders’ reputations, even embellishing and even rewriting historical facts!  THAT IS AN UNDISPUTABLE FACT.  Will The New York Times be forced to rewrite an obituary singing praises to “President” Monson?  (The Mormon Church of Satan, so desperate to have a Mormon elected President of the United States!)  Monson was the leader of the Mormon Mafia.  cc all Mormon barristers

Numerous members of the Mormon Church signed a petition posted online Monday to urge the New York Times to rewrite an obituary they published for the late president and prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Thomas S. Monson, who died last week.
(International Business Times, January 9, 2018,

Why do we refer to President Monson as “Mr.” in the obit rather than by his title in the Mormon Church, president? Some readers took offense to this.
No disrespect was intended. We might have referred to him as “President Monson” at least once, in keeping with our stylebook, but that book also says, “Mr. and Dr. are also appropriate.”
In any case, “Mr.” is a common honorific in our pages for ministers (we’re obliged to say “Mr. Jones” on second reference, not “Reverend Jones”) and even presidents of the United States (you’ll find plenty of “Mr. Trump”s in our pages).
Incidentally, I noticed that the Deseret News in Utah used “President” on each reference to Mr. Monson, but that The Salt Lake Tribune — like almost every other American publication — dispensed with any honorific altogether. To my ear, “Mr. Monson” sounds far more respectful than just “Monson.”
We want to know your thoughts. Please join the discussion in the comments section.
(Our Obituaries Editor on Coverage of Former Mormon Leader Thomas Monson, The New York Times, January 8, 2018,


Uncle Tom’s Cabin

Volume One

Chapter 13   The Quaker Settlement

Volume Two

Chapter 21   Kentuck

Chapter 30   The Slave Warehouse

(Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe, online, University of Virginia,

January 11, 2018.  About Me.  Uncle Tom is one of my heroes.  Harriet Beecher Stowe is one of my heroines, and so are the Quakers of her day.  cc all Mormon barristers

(Daily Mail [U.K.], article/photos: November 22, 2017; advertisements: January 11, 2018, )

BULLETIN: Dow up 65 points as U.S. stocks mount early bid to resume winning ways →
(Market Watch, January 11, 2018,


(Australia Stock Exchange, January 10, 2018,

(Australia Stock Exchange, January 12, 2018 Sydney; January 11, 2017 Salt Lake City,

(Daily Mail [U.K.], article/photos: November 22, 2017; advertisements: January 11, 2018, )

(Australia Stock Exchange, South32,“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” was a favorite hymn of Joseph Smith, founder of the Latter Day Saint movement. [emphasis added]
(Australia Stock Exchange, South32,