Scotch, Cigars, Family - Mark Twain Awakens After 100 Years
Did Mark Twain really die?
No way, he is having a last laugh on all of us!By Joel Leyden
Israel News Agency
Hartford, Connecticut ---- December 20, 2010 ..... Before there was Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and YouTube - there was Mark Twain.
Quicker than the digital status updates that we have all become familiar with, Mark Twain's creative, aggressive and friendly wit jumped all over the globe touching millions. Making them smile, laugh and reflect.
This American legend, globe trotting journalist and renowned author born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in Florida, Mo. in 1835, who worked on a Mississippi river boat and at the age of 13 left school to become a printer's apprentice, became the most famous man in the world by 1900.
Traveling through Hartford, Connecticut, my friends there insisted that I visit the house that Twain lived. Where Twain wrote such epic stories such as The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn andThe Prince and the Pauper.
A very new, modern visitors center which was built in 2003 stands next to Sam's majestic three story, wooden home. A home which embraced the warm love of his wife Olivia and three children. Just glancing at this majestic house, once could start to feel the vibrancy, the life that was Mark Twain.
After all, respected for his highly clever wit, wisdom and playful nature, Mark Twain never really died. At least he planned it that way.
For before he died of a heart attack in his sleep on April 21, 1910, Twain penned an autobiography. Volume one of three books of approximately 500,000 words from the University of California's Mark Twain Project was just released. And in the next few years more nouns and verbs describing the real world according to Mark Twain will be read by many.
So it was a very special time to be entering into the intimate environment of Mark Twain. From the New England Oak trees towering above to the gas Victorian lamps and warm fireplaces within.
Hartford is no New York. So quiet that one can hear the wind making bushes sing. And perhaps it was this tranquility and the love of his family that enabled, inspired Sam, (as he is affectionately referred to as in this home) to write as he did. For this talented, fun, cranky, observant humanitarian had seen much of the US, Europe and Israel. In fact, Twain spent much time staying as a quest in people's homes in England and in Germany. Always looking, taking it all in and then spitting it out in the most flamboyant manner.
One can write miles about the adventures of Mark Twain. From his poor, humble and romantic childhood to his criticism of the US government, opposition to the Philippine - American War which inspired Twain to found the Anti-Imperialist League and his creation and lost investment on the Paige newspaper Compositoron. But I will only articulate and limit my feelings about Sam from that house he lived in. One can tell much from what is on both the floor and the walls and in between.
As I sit writing just a few miles away under the harsh electric light and fingers dancing on a hard plastic laptop computer, Sam would sit not far from a warm, crackling fireplace, under the soft glow of gas lights and a green billiard table to remind Sam that life was one big game.
It was getting up to take the shots, the fine tuning as to how you hit those colorful balls, the comfort of over 40 cigars a day and sipping a warm Scotch. Integrate this with the love of his children, telling bedtime stories as they smiled and sat on his lap and his out there attitude that you could just sense from the white suits he donned.
Each room of this 19 room house would own its own presence. From the red Moroccan sitting room, the soft pink India dressing room, the children's second floor school room with dolls and cards, an indoor glass Victorian garden with green leaves sprouting in all jungle directions, the master bedroom with its Angel decorated bed to Sam's man cave.
In the back of the room is his desk. But Twain would not sit at this desk for his eyes would become too distracted by the pool table directly in front. So in a small corner at a small, wooden desk Twain would take his wet ink pen and and create magic on paper.
This room was off limits for all except for his close, black servant George who shared a bedroom next door. And male friends who would tell tales of shrewd businessman, women in skirts, corrupt politicians, soldiers fighting off swords and the bad reception of the telephone he had there. Twain was one of only three people who had a telephone in Hartford.
Twain, with a smile, had described his man cave as: "There ought to be a room in this house to swear in. It's dangerous to have to repress an emotion like that."
Twain would work both in his study and while in bed as his children played with their nine cats and three dogs. He even had a rope tied to the gas fed chandelier to bring the light closer to him as he donned his large round glasses and wrote notes to himself.
From all I gathered, that transcended the many solitude hours of writing of all that he saw and crystallized wisdom from it, was a man who had a deep conviction, understanding and passion for life. He worked hard, he played hard. It is said that he held dinner parties every night. Not only would he entertain his guests but also his children who would sit quietly outside the dining room on the stairway steps listening to each and every word.
Sam, his wife and the children created a secret game. The children, even when supposed to be in bed sleeping, would make up different colored cards. If Mark Twain was to swear and the children heard it, they would hold up a red card that only their mother could see through the open dining room door.
As Sam puffed away on one of his many cigars and entered a discussion of American politics or his contempt of Jane Austen, perhaps the word damn would come running out of his mouth and reach the innocent ears of his three young daughters. Out came the red card and his wife would ask Mark softly: "how is the red wine tonight?'
The adventurer, explorer, author, journalist - the man who would not bow down to any beast or foe - respected the sanctity of family life. Olivia made sure that the public would see a sane, American icon while privately enjoying the wild steamboat captain underneath.
“The recent release of Mark Twain’s unexpurgated autobiography has been an unexpected bestseller," Jacques Lamarre, Manager of Communications and Special Projects of the The Mark Twain House and Museum told the Israel News Agency.
"One hundred years after his death, he once again has captured the nation’s attention and gotten people talking, thinking and laughing. It has certainly thrown a lot of press attention and visitation our way. We hope that once people have had a chance to digest some of the first volume that they will want to come to his Hartford home to see where so many of the stories in the autobiography are set.”
Lamarre adds: “In the year-and-a-half since I have been working at The Mark Twain House and Museum, I’ve developed a much greater appreciation for how complex a man Samuel Clemens was. He was a loving family man, a world-famous author, an unflinching social credit, a failed business man, and one of the wittiest people to walk this Earth. I am constantly humbled when I enter his home and know how much history, joy and pain was created under that roof. The Mark Twain House is every bit as fantastic, jumbled and intriguing as the man who built it.”
As an American who has lived in Israel for over 20 years, I must give thanks to Mark Twain for his graphic description of what was then known as Palestine: "Palestine sits in sackcloth and ashes. Over it broods the spell of a curse that has withered its fields and fettered its energies. Where Sodom and Gomorrah reared their domes and towers, that solemn sea now floods the plain, in whose bitter waters no living thing exists - over whose waveless surface the blistering air hangs motionless and dead - about whose borders nothing grows but weeds, and scattering tufts of cane, and that treacherous fruit that promises refreshment to parching lips, but turns to ashes at the touch."
For only with this news report from Sam in the 1860's, can one truly and completey appreciate how modern day Israel has turned this barren, desert land into a vibrant, blossoming and green nation filled with fine wine, sweet honey, religious tolerance, free speech, medical research and a hi tech industry which reflects the very best of the modern, democratic world.
Sam inked his magic in the rear, far right corner
when not drinking scotch with his buddies.
No news or feature article could do justice for Mark Twain.
His life and imagination were just too overshadowing for 500 or a 1,000 words to fit.
Perhaps only a Mark Twain quote would be a fair way to conclude this small feature and endear you to read more of Twain, visit his home in Hartford and respect the greatness that has touched children then and now. A man who after 100 years would say "surprise, you ain't got rid of me yet and there is more to come."
"It has been reported that I was seriously ill," said Twain. "It was another man; dying - it was another man; dead - the other man again. As far as I can see, nothing remains to be reported, except that I have become a foreigner. When you hear it, don't you believe it. And don't take the trouble to deny it. Merely just raise the American flag on our house in Hartford and let it talk."
That the third volume of Mark Twain's autobiography is expected to pack several punches at both people and society, Twain is still very much with us.
Raise that flag tall and expect to keep it up and waving for another 100 years.
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