Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The Munster's Escort Santa In The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade:1960

Al Lewis was quite a character. When he died over two years ago the obituaries stated he was 95. That was the age Al claimed to be, except he was really 82!
From a memorial broadcast given on Democracy Now on 2/6/08. Al talks about his role at the Rosenberg's funeral. You can also listen to it here
Part 1
Actor and activist Al Lewis died at the age of 82. In the acting world, he was best known for playing Grandpa on the Munsters. He was also a lifelong activist. He ran for New York Governor on the Green Party ticket and was a longtime radio host on Pacifica station WBAI.
Today we remember actor, radio host, and political activist “Grandpa” Al Lewis. He died Friday after years of failing health. There are conflicting reports over his age at the time of his death. He was thought to be 95 years old, but according to the Associated Press, his family now says he was in fact 82. Lewis was best known for his roles on two 1960s comedy series–as “Grandpa” on the “The Munsters” and Officer Leo Schnauzer on “Car 54, Where Are You.” He was also a life-long political activist, and an outspoken critic of US policy at home and abroad. In 1998, he ran for Governor of New York, as the Green Party candidate against Governor George Pataki. He also took turns as a basketball scout; a restaurant owner in Greenwich Village; and a radio host on WBAI here in New York.
Grandpa Al’s death was announced Saturday by WBAI program director Bernard White, during the same time-slot he used to host his weekly program. We’re going to play an excerpt now from an interview Bernard White and I conducted with Grandpa Pal on Democracy Now!, on April 10, 1997. We pick up the interview where Grandpa Al about his early involvement in political activities. Here, he talks about the case of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg–the married couple convicted and executed for spying for the Soviet Union at the height of the McCarthy era in the 1950s.
* “Grandpa” Al Lewis, interviewed April 10, 1997.
AMY GOODMAN: I’ll play an excerpt of that interview that Bernard White and I conducted with “Grandpa” Al Lewis on April 10, 1997. We pick up the interview where “Grandpa” Al Lewis talked about his early involvement in political activities. Here he talks about the case Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, the married couple convicted and executed for conspiring to spy for the Soviet Union at the height of the McCarthy era in the 1950s.
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: Most people don’t remember. When the Rosenbergs were executed, the funeral was in Brooklyn—well, they didn’t live in Brooklyn—at IJ Morris. And most people are not aware the two bodies were on view. And a group of us were there to make sure that no maniac came in and threw acid, and there was all kinds of crazies around during the height of the McCarthy period. And the lines started to form at 6:00 in the morning. The viewing didn’t open until about 10:00. It was a group of us from the NMU. And most people are not aware that the majority of people who came to view the Rosenbergs, as they laid in the coffins, were black people.
I was there from the get-go before they opened the mortuary. Had a couple of incidents, one with a Daily News reporter. I still remember her name. Ruth Montgomery was trying to sneak a camera in. We did not allow pictures to be taken, you know, of this and that. I grabbed the bag and the camera and, you know, she said, “You can’t do that.” And I said, “I know you ain’t gonna stop me. I know that. And you can attempt to call the police. You want to do that? There’s about 8,000 people waiting in line. You want to start a riot? Now, get out of here. Take your camera and get out.”
Anyway, he had made a decision. The good doctor had made a decision to go to the cemetery and you can read the front page of the New York Times. At least a thousand cars who followed the Hearst, children, grandmother. And I had to make sure that nobody messed with William Edward Burghardt DuBois. So, as we say in them old westerns, you know, we goin’ round up a posse, somebody’s gotta ride shotgun. Well, Al Lewis rode shotgun. And I always said, man, any mother’s son put his foot on that running board knows he’s the running board. I want to know if he could swallow the 45 that go right in his mouth. That’s it.
AMY GOODMAN: So there was no trouble?
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: Even Steven. You make your play; I’ll make mine. Take it from there.
BERNARD WHITE: Why do you figure—did you ever think about this? Why so many black folks went to visit—to view the bodies of the Rosenbergs?
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: They were not black radicals. Most of them were women. And I think they understood—I don’t even know if they felt that they were innocent or guilty or—I think they just felt that they shouldn’t have been executed. It’s like down in the South, Mississippi, when they used to march down from the penitentiary at Parchment. Parchment Farm. Women working in the cotton fields didn’t know these men, and they used to sing, and the song came out of that. [singing] Another man done gone / Another man done gone to the Parchment Farm.
And it was that kind of an affinity that they had with people who—you have to understand. See, people don’t understand. Whether they did or didn’t, certainly the trial didn’t prove that, that they were communist sympathizers, whatever you want to call. You have to understand the period that—you know, things grow out of soil. You know what I’m saying? You know, it’s hard to grow broccoli out of a rock. You need the proper soil.
And in those communities, because that was my community, Brownsville, East New York, you know how people knew what communists were? Didn’t read a book, didn’t read a pamphlet. During the Depression, the marshal came and evicted 20 people a day, and here come the communists, then the YCL, the Young Communist League. As soon as the marshal leaves, go up, break the lock, carry the furniture back in. Now, who do you think them people are going to—that’s how they knew communists.
I mean, read John L. Lewis’s book. Toughest places to organize was in the South. Harlan County. Good lord! I mean, you get off the train, they shoot you; bus, don’t matter. And he used to bring in communists. And that’s what people knew them as. They didn’t know nothing about no ideologies, the Soviet Union, Karl Marx. They didn’t know what the heck that was. And so it was that kind of an affinity. These people are putting their lives out on the line and getting hit on. If I don’t remember a thousand battles. They used to call it home relief; now they call it welfare—in the ‘30s. And battles, they wouldn’t give the lady home relief or they’d cut her off, or they took away this and stuff. And then, battles with the police. Well, I mean, people say, ‘Jeez, wow! So, if they were communists, they were probably moving back furniture the same way.’ It’s that kind of an affinity that underdogs have.
AMY GOODMAN: We are talking to Al Lewis, longtime actor and political activist. And Al, we just couldn’t resist. Remember Vera Hall?
VERA HALL: [singing] Another man done gone / Another man done gone from the county farm / Another man done gone / I didn’t know his name / I didn’t know his name / I didn’t know his name / I didn’t know his name / He had a long chain on / He had a long chain on / He had a long chain on / He had a long chain on / He killed another man / He killed another man / He killed another man / He killed another man / I don’t know where he’s gone / I don’t know where he’s gone / I don’t know where he’s gone / I don’t know where he’s gone / I’m going to walk your log / I’m going to walk your log / I’m going to walk your log / I’m going to walk your log.
BERNARD WHITE: So what is it in your past that made you pick the side that you’re on? I mean, there were many people—excuse me, that you worked with—
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: I think somebody hexed me at birth. I don’t know.
BERNARD WHITE: Because you could have just made money and been very comfortable and not—
BERNARD WHITE:—have anything to do with any of these issues.
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the way it is supposed to be. You fight for what you believe in. As I said many a time, I’m my mother’s son. I remember my mother taking me to demonstrations. I was a boy. My mother was—I guess, what’s that? The Bell Curve would say she was an ignorant peasant woman from Europe. Came here, girl of 15, worked in the sweatshops. Brought over five daughters and her mother and father from Europe. Worked on her back. Worked all her life. Sweatshops. Garment center.
“GRANDPA” AL LEWIS: Never had a vacation, my mother. Never went to a movie. Didn’t have the time, bringing up a family, taking care of her five sisters and her mother and father, brought them here from Europe. Had to earn money for passage and everything. And my mother was the kind of woman who understood the class struggle. While my mother worked as a poor lady in the garment center, and the boss said, ‘You know, it’s kinda hot; let’s open the window,’ my mother’s thinking was, ‘If the boss says open the window, no, we keep it closed! That’s it! That’s it!’
My mother used to go on demonstrations. My mother used to—see, you people don’t remember. You all are youngsters. But during the Depression, people selling on the street corner, and along came the police officer of that day and used to attempt not all, but many, to get a dollar or two bribe. Otherwise, you can’t stay here. My mother was the kind of woman who would say in broken English—I’ll do my mother now—‘Why you doing there? Why you bothering that man? He’s trying to make a living. Get away from there!’ to the policeman. When I was a little kid, I was embarrassed. I’d pull my mother. ’Don’t pull me! Why you doing that?’ Well, my mother had a voice bigger than mine. Suddenly there’s 50 people there, and the cop is getting scared. You know, for a dollar he’s trying to get from the guy selling garbanzo beans—arbus, we called them—or sweet potatoes or something. And here’s a mob. He don’t know if they’re going to tear his head off. And he walked away. But that was—I’m my mother’s son. That’s it. I mean, I don’t know how else to explain it. Then, of course—
BERNARD WHITE: Oh, that explains it very well.

No comments: