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The New Old West

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Novelist James Lee Burke

How is it that a good Catholic boy from the Texas-Louisiana Gulf Coast became one of the best novelists in America? I have just finished reading his Rain Gods (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009) and consider it one of the best books I have read this year. I have always loved his Dave Robicheaux mysteries set in Louisiana Creole country, but his novels about the Hackberry family in Texas are several notches above them in quality. (See the quote from the novel in yesterday’s blog.)

The Old West ain’t what it used to be. There isn’t any more “Shall We Gather at the River?” or “My Darling Clementine” or pioneers on the trail. Something has happened to make the American Southwest a darker place. First and foremost, since the end of World War 2, it is the route of choice for heroin, cocaine, crystal meth, and other drugs to enter the United States. A corollary: Several million people also crossed the border from the south without going through immigration.

There is also the consciousness that we stole a large part of Northern Mexico in the 1840s under the presidency of James K. Polk. We followed up by a concerted program of genocide against the Indians in the succeeding decades and are now following that up by official intimidation and deportation of peoples who have flowed across the border, many of them decades ago. Let’s face it, our history in the desert lands of the Southwest is no less than villainous.

I was first conscious of the New Old West when I viewed the rough cut of Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch at Warner Brothers Studio in 1969. Then I read Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian (New York:Random House, 1985) and saw the good guys and the bad guys in an entirely harsher light. Then I read James Lee Burke’s Feast Day of Fools in 2015 during a Mexican holiday—which, incidentally, was also set in present-day Texas with the same hero, Sheriff Hackberry Holland.

The Communion of Saints

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Today, on a hot and humid afternoon following a rare September rainstorm, Martine and I attended the Greek festival at Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Long Beach. We love the church with its rich iconography and display of saints, many of which were unknown to me with my Roman Catholic background.

The four saints in the panel above are Gerasimos, Anthony, Athanasius, and Dionysios. The first and fourth are likely celebrated in the Eastern Orthodox Church.

Four years ago, I wrote about discovering an Eskimo saint, Peter the Aleut, whose icon is shown on the back wall of the nave. This time, I discovered a Saint Aphrodite, who is totally unrelated to the Greek goddess of love and beauty.

Saint Aphrodite?

According to Wikipedia, Saint Aphrodite was a virgin who was martyred for her Christian beliefs during a local persecution in Adrianople, Thrace, around the year AD 305. The Orthodox Church celebrates her feast day on September 1.

I mentioned Saint Dionysios above. Wasn’t he named after a Greek deity as well? The saint was also known as Dionysios of Zakynthos, According to Wikipedia:

In his early life, Dionysios joined a monastery a few miles off the coast of Zakynthos. After a while living there, he was encouraged by his fellow monks to be ordained as a priest, which he did. He eventually decided to travel to the Holy Land by way of Athens. After arriving in Athens, he was made Archbishop of Aigina despite personal protests in humility. In about the year 1589, the Patriarch of Constantinople made Archbishop Dionysios the Archbishop of Zakynthos, he stayed in this position until a permanent Archbishop arrived. After this, he returned to his island monastery where he lived out the rest of his life until his death on December 17, 1622.

This doesn’t sound like much, but he probably made a good impression.

The End of a Heat Wave

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Today, for the first time in more than two months, the temperature in Southern California is close to normal, with cooler days to come. Of course, it will still be humid; but that is because the Pacific Ocean between Mexico and Hawaii is churning out typhoons and cyclones as if they were sausages. Even though these are a thousand miles (1,609 kilometers) southwest of us, the winds carry much of the moisture our way.

What this means is I will be able to go places without sweating and stinking excessively. Combined with my broken collarbone at the beginning of June, the hot weather has kept me close to the ocean most of the time. In three months, I have been able to go to the central library downtown only three times—and it took a lot out of me to do so.

Martine and I will celebrate by attending the Long Beach Greek Festival this coming weekend.

On Heat and Laziness

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When It Gets Hot, I Turn Lethargic

The massive heat wave that is the Summer of 2026 has made me extremely lazy. I still do a lot of reading, but I don’t travel much, even locally. If I head toward any of the valleys, I find nothing but hot sun and triple-digit temperatures.

Even my Thursday trips downtown are affected. For next Thursday, the predicted high downtown is 93° Fahrenheit (34° Celsius). In that case, I would be tempted to stay near the coast, where I live. Even that could be hot enough for me considering the constant humidity of 60% or more.

Climate change is turning me into a sort of homebody. I still do a lot of reading. (Current book: Paul Theroux’s The Mosquito Coast.) The temptation is to turn this blog site into an extension of my Goodreads site, except with pictures. That I don’t want to do: I like my posts to show more variety.

That high-pressure area that has encamped over the Arizona desert is bound to break up at some point. And there is a limit to how many Pacific storms could send constant humidity our way.

I live in an 80-year-old apartment building that was constructed without insulation. And we don’t have air conditioning. So it doesn’t take too intensive a heat wave to turn it into a sweat box. What with our recent meteorological history, I’m not a big fan of summer.

“This Is the End”

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Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now (1979)

As the monster heat wave continues, I keep thinking of the opening scene to Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. In it, Martin Sheen is lying on his back in a Saigon guesthouse room, sweating as he hear the sound of a loud fan. And we hear the lyrics of The Doors singing “The End”:

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

Well, it’s not quite THAT bad, but the continuing heat and humidity is something I have not experienced in the sixty years I have lived in Southern California. The heat has never been THIS relentless, with no cooler days to break up that monster high pressure cell that has been perching on the American Southwest like a vulture from hell.

It seems as if the climate news from around the world is all bad. High winds. Flood. Drought. Wildfires. Earthquakes.

There’s precious little we can do about the weather. I say: Make like a lizard. Wait and see what happens. Change is coming, but what the nature of that change is, no one knows.

Obon and Udon

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Line Dancing at the West L.A. Buddhist Temple Obon Festival

For a ceremony that honors one’s departed ancestors, the Obon festivals that I have seen tend to be pretty lively affairs. In Los Angeles, the various Buddhist temples take turns hosting the festival, and typically church members travel from one Obon celebration to another wearing happi coats identifying their congregation.

In the above photo, the red happi coat worn by the figure at the far left identifies him as belonging to the West L.A. Buddhist Temple. The figure in the center background wearing a green happi coat is from the San Fernando Valley Hongwanji. On Sunday, there were dancers from Gardena, Venice, Senshin, Nishin, and others that I could not identify.

Women dancing at the festival frequently wear elegant kimonos, though there is no strict dress code. In general, the atmosphere is non-judgmental.

This year, the festival was well attended. There were booths offering Japanese and American food, as well as games offering prizes.

The real reason that I like to attend is the udon soup cooked by the temple’s men’s club. It is top quality stuff, better than the udon offered by by any Japanese restaurant I have ever visited. There is a nice piece of pork in the soup with the usual thick noodles, chopped green onions, and sliced fish cake; and the broth is top notch. It only cost $5.00. I seriously considered ordering a second bowl, but I held back. On the counter was the Japanese chile powder (Shichimi Togarashi) which I liberally sprinkle on my soup.

Bowl of Udon and Shichimi Togarashi (2015)

Martine and I have been attending the Obon festival at the West L.A. Buddhist Temple for over 30 years—during which the udon soup never failed to satisfy my culinary longings.

With Pitsa and Akrevoe

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Pitsa Captain and Akrevoe Emmanouilides at South Bay Greek Festival (2008)

This afternoon, Martine and I drove down to Redondo Beach to visit the South Bay Greek Festival at St. Katherine Greek Orthodox Church. Although it was incredibly crowded, we got there before the crowds did; so we had a tasty Greek meal and enjoyed the church tool with Father Michael Courey, a lecture on Greek Orthodox icons, and a concert of Byzantine church music.

What we missed were the cooking classes in the church demonstration kitchen formerly given by Pitsa Captain and Akrevoe Emmanouilides. Akrevoe was the author of an excellent 2002 cookbook published by the St. Katherine Greek Orthodox Church Philoptochos Society entitled A Greek Kitchen.

Unfortunately, Akrevoe passed away in 2018. For several years, however, Martine and I enjoyed the lectures of the duo—and their cooking—at both St. Katherine and Saint Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral in downtown Los Angeles. They were funny, helpful, and their cooking was stellar.

Here, from a handout from their 2008 appearance at Saint Sophia, is their recipe for Imam Bayildi:

EGGPLANT – IMAM BAYILDI

Legend says that when the stingy Imam tasted this, he fainted either because it was so delicious or because his wife had used so much oil!

6 to 9 med. Japanese eggplants
1 large onion, chopped
1 can diced tomatoes or 3-4 chopped fresh tomatoes
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. pepper
1 tsp. sugar
¼ c. fresh parsley, chopped
1 tsp. oregano
1 c. olive oil

Remove stems of eggplants and cut lengthwise. If using globe eggplants, slice into wedges, slashing skin at 3 or 4 spots.

In a bowl, mix all other ingredients. Then lightly oil a glass baking dish. Place eggplant pieces close to one another. Cover with the tomato mixture. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake at 400º for 40 to 50 minutes.

Check to see if eggplant is tender. If necessary, bake a bit longer.

This dish can be served hot or at room temperature.

Looking Ahead to the Rains

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Path in the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

Living as I do at the edge of a vast desert, I am more than a little interested in the prospect of rain. In the desert, rain can be a serious matter. In the mid 1970s, I went camping with some friends to Death Valley. On the morning we were to return home, a thin layer of snow covered the ground—but that was not all. Shortly after we took the left turn onto California Route 178 towards Trona, we ran into a flash flood. We did the right thing: We waited it out. It took about a half hour for the waters to subside.

Soon it will be the Mexican Monsoon rainy season in Arizona. Large amounts of rain will fall on scattered areas throughout the state, and there will be flash floods galore.

What concerns me more directly is the news that this will be a major El Niño year. That means we can expect heavy rains beginning in the late autumn and possibly lasting to early spring. The Los Angeles River, which for most of its length is a concrete-lined flood channel, will be raging through the city carrying imprudent passersby and pets toward Long Beach Harbor.

The flood control channels which, most of the time, are standing jokes become terrifying when huge amounts of water are suddenly dumped on Southern California’s desert landscape. I remember one storm in the 1980s which made me search out alternate routes on the way home. Just about every street was flooded, and the storm drains were overloaded. It took me over an hour to drive the two miles to return home from work.

Generally, Martine and I like the rains. It’s nice to see green hills surrounding Los Angeles in the fall rather than the dry, dusty mountains we usually see. (Of course, we pay for that lush vegetation when the wildfires begin.)

Ozu Part III

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Shima Iwashita as a Bride in Ozu’s An Autumn Afternoon (1962)

Last Tuesday will Turner Classic Movies’ (TCM) last installment of its Yasujiro Ozu film festival. During the month of May, I saw a total of thirteen films directed by Ozu, missing only four of those shown. And I will try to see the four I missed sometime in the next two weeks using TCM’s “Watch Now” feature, if they are still around. The four I missed were all shown in the middle of the night. I am, alas, too old now to lose too much of my beauty sleep.

It used to be that I would wake up at 3 am to watch Edgar G. Ulmer’s Babes in Bagdad or John Ford’s Drums Along the Mohawk, but that was many years ago, when I was a fanatical adherent of the politique des auteurs. I will explain what that means in another post to be written soon.

The films I saw Tuesday were four in number:

  • Floating Weeds (1957), not to be confused with 1934’s silent A Story of Floating Weeds, of which it was a remake.
  • Late Autumn (1960).
  • An Autumn Afternoon (1962), which was the director’s last film.
  • Equinox Flower (1958).

As usual, I loved all four films, though I thought the earlier A Story of Floating Weeds, although a silent, was better than the 1957 Floating Weeds.

All the Ozu films I saw were released by Shochiku Studio. Ozu was nothing if not consistent in his loyalty to the studio.

As a special favor to my readers, I will refrain from future posts about Ozu for a period lasting up to a year. By then, my enthusiasm will be rekindled and I will enthuse about the Japanese director’s work yet again.

A Sight You Cannot Unsee

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My Apologies for the Quality of This Picture

You know what an earworm is: It’s a catchy piece of music that keeps running through your head and you cannot “unhear.” Although I have visited Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Northridge many times, I saw an image on the wall that I cannot unsee. At the far left of the photo above is an image of the crucifixion with several saints gathered around the foot of the cross. You can see a figure in green at the extreme lower right of the image. If the photo were not so dimly lit, it would show a grieving Ruth Buzzi. The bearded figure above her is a dead ringer for Kris Kristofferson.

As the church was built in the 1960s and the images on its walls were probably painted in Europe, I am sure that the resemblance is not intentional.

Martine and I attended the Greek Festival held at the church this weekend. We always spend about an hour in the church looking at the ornate artwork throughout the nave and iconostasis.