Lewis Grizzard (1946–1994)

Grizzard's 13th book is a love letter to a profession that no longer exists - old school (1960s) newspaperman. His passion for the way newspapers used to be put together is patently obvious from the loving way he writes - and digresses - about it here. He was certainly a lucky person who set his career path early and shot up the ladder with impressive speed.

In a lot of ways, it seems like his early luck turned out to be anything but in the long run. He made an ill-fated decision to move to show more Chicago to take over the Sun-Times sports section, and the only way he could get out of there was to give up editing and become a columnist. It's quite sad to read the end of this book, when he realizes that he has to give up his passion to save his sanity. Lucky for him, though, that his column worked out as well as it did for him, giving him the chance to have a second career as a humorist.

This book is narrative but it is FULL of digressions and meanderings away from his point, so if that style bothers you, give this one a pass. The first chapter is also awful - most of it can be skipped without anything of value being lost. I find Mr Grizzard's style impulsively readable, and both funny and poignant. He owns (most of) his mistakes, as he does with his other narrative books. Some things still hold up, while others are cringe-worthy.

After reading this book, I don't think he would've taken the transition to modern day newspapering well at all - he had enough trouble with the twenty-so years covered in the book. It's way too different now, 50 years later. show less

A collection of columns from the late 1980s. This is the first time I've read about his dog, a Black lab named Catfish - this was my favorite chapter, actually, even though I'm not much of a dog fan. The column about diet dog food made me laugh so hard I could barely catch my breath.

There is some cringy stuff here - the chapter about weight has not held up at all - but its also rather amazing to read about things like the blanket ban on smoking, something we don't really think about these show more days but which was a *huge* deal when it started rolling out.

Its also a little sad to read the final section of the book, where Grizzard speculates on what life will be like in the year 2000; little did he (or anyone) know at the time, he wasn't going to make it to the new millennium. show less

The author presents autobiographical anecdotes about growing up, first love, marriage, divorce, and dating advice for men. Apparently these were newspaper columns. Grizzard is Southern humor -- exaggerated, but touching, and almost always bitter. Born of woman, and thrice-divorced, he has managed to learned nothing from the experience but can write Southern subordination. As a memoir, it speaks of more than anyone would want to know. He writes as if on a permanent battlefront of the gender show more wars, and does not fill me with pride in being a man.

As a "journalist", Gizzard is good for details. His description of a Billy Graham Crusade -- and he saw so many calls to "dee-ci-shun" he had the show memorized by the age of 14 -- is revealed at the same time as he is describing his first kiss in a hayride. The crusade appeals to fear and certainty of hellfire, which he is willing to endure for the chance to kiss a girl while missing the sermon. The crusade and the kiss apparently hit the same level of maturity, and it more or less peaks in the pile of hay for Grizzard. show less

Lewis Grizzard's second book is a collection of his columns from the late 1970s. Some of them are funny, yes, but some of them are poignant, and the hell if an entire section - #7: Violence - Five Victims - isn't absolutely prescient. How little some things have changed in the last 40 years!

There is a smattering of political chat about the 1980 presidential election, which is interesting from a historical perspective. It's hard not to feel a little sorry for President Carter.