Eric McLuhan: The Pot Roast and the Jokes

I first met Eric McLuhan in March 1978 at the airport in New York.  He and his father, Marshall, had flown in from Toronto for the "Tetrad Conference" I had organized at Fairleigh Dickinson University which would start the next day, March 10.  Tina and I waited for Marshall and Eric in the baggage claim area.  It was like a scene out of a movie.  Maybe like Woody Allen's take on the closing scene in Casablanca.  Except this was a beginning.

Everyone else had picked up their baggage.  There were no cellphones then, so we could not be 100% positive they had boarded the plane in Toronto.  There were no suitcases left on the conveyor.  Finally, we saw the two of them in the far distance, as if walking out of a mist, carrying their bags.  I had already met Marshall several times before that, after he'd invited me to lunch on an earlier visit to New York, after I'd written a Preface to his Laws of the Media.  Every time, including at the airport, was one of the high points in my life.

We drove Marshall and Eric back to our apartment by Van Cortland Park in the Bronx.  Tina had made pot roast - we forever after called it the McLuhan pot roast.  Josh Meyrowitz and Ed Wachtel joined us after dinner.  At the conference the next day, and at the pot roast dinner, what I most remember about Eric was our exchange of jokes.   We continued this just about every time we saw each other over the years, in New York and Toronto, and somehow always came up with new material.   (Often these jokes were about money - which Marshall had aptly examined as a medium of communication in Understanding Media.   Jokes such as ... A woman walks into a bank and up to a teller, who asks her for identification.  She pulls a mirror out of her purse, looks at herself, and informs the teller, 'Yes, it's definitely me' .... Or, a gunman walks into a diner, points the weapon at the cashier, and demands the money in the drawer.  The cashier responds, 'to take out?' ...)

It wasn't easy being Marshall's son, elaborating upon the work of someone whose contribution was so extraordinary and incandescent, that many academics were not up to understanding it.  But Eric gave it a go, and never lost his sense of humor, and the twinkle in his eye which he inherited from his father.

Paolo Granata emailed me last year with a great idea:  how I would like to organize an event at Fordham to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Marshall's year at Fordham University as a visiting scholar, 1967-1968.  Eric, who of course was with his father at Fordham in 1967-1968, too, would be available in 2017, too.  I put together an evening on October 13, 2017, with talks by Eric, John Carey (who was a student at Fordham in 1967-1968, and attended Marshall's talks then) and me.  (Thanks to Jackie Reich, our department chair, for supporting this.)  The room which seated 100 was packed to standing room only.  (The video of the event is below.  I introduce Eric at about 8 minutes 5 seconds into the video, Eric begins his talk at 11 minutes 50 seconds.)

The night before, Tina and I took Eric and Andrew to dinner.  Andrew had followed in his father's footsteps, being his essential and wonderful travel companion, as Eric had been for Marshall.  The food and the jokes were still good.

I don't know about afterlives.  I know about memories.  RIP?  That wasn't Eric's style.  Maybe somewhere in the cosmos, but definitely in my head, he'll still be telling jokes.

Media Ecology: A Cartesian Review of Lance Strate's Book

As a few of you may know, I got my PhD from New York University in 1979, in Neil Postman's "Media Ecology" (then new) program.  Postman likely got the name from Marshall McLuhan, who used it in the 1960s, and whom I met and came to know and work with after Postman asked me to write a preface to McLuhan's "Laws of the Media," an early, short presentation of his "laws of the media" that Postman published in the journal et cetera (that was the name of the journal - you can read the article with the preface here).  There's more about the tetrad in my Digital McLuhan and McLuhan in Age of Social Media, and in this talk I gave at Fordham University this past October.

People always wonder what "media ecology" is.   Lance Strate, who got his PhD in the Media Ecology program in 1991, about a decade after me, wrote a book in response, and I can't think of a person better suited to provide a knowledgeable answer.  Strate, my colleague at Fordham University and indeed the person who hired me in 1998, took up the "media ecology" banner when Postman was in his declining years.  Strate created the Media Ecology Association in 1998 and it's still going strong across the world with yearly conferences.  (If you think this makes me a biased reviewer of Strate's book, too bad - read the book, see if you agree, and, if not, tell me on Twitter or wherever where you think I'm wrong - I'm @PaulLev over at Twitter, by the way.)

When reviewing scholarly books - whether in proposal form for would-be publishers, or for a review like this after publication - I always apply a Cartesian test: how accurate is the book in describing theories, ideas, and facts that I know best?  Strate's book does an A-1 job of describing my work in media theory (I generally prefer theory to ecology, but that's just me), including delving into aspects of my work - like my Tetrad "Wheels" of Cultural Evolution - that are not widely known.   As a second indicator, Strate gets Josh Meyrowitz's work just right, too.  I sat next to Josh in our PhD seminars at NYU, and I know more about Josh's work than just anyone else's other than mine.

But Media Ecology does much more.  It situates the field in the larger areas of human scholarship and discourse, connects it to dozens of scholars in addition to Meyrowitz and me, addresses the synapse of communication in everything from the universe at large to the smallest mark on a page.   So, yes, it will tell you, eminently, vividly, clearly, and compellingly what media ecology is all about.

Which I'm not going to tell you here.  Read the book.

Ok, here's a very short answer:  media ecology is about how communication in one form or another, interconnected like living organisms (hence "ecology") makes things happen in our history and our world, because communication is essential to human life.  Or, to borrow from McLuhan, the way I like to put it nowadays is:  media ecology is about how without radio, there would have been no Hitler, and without Twitter, no Trump.

All right, McLuhan, who left us in 1980, was responsible only for the radio part of that.   All I did was apply it to the present.  But that's the point about media ecology:  its principles, which as Strate abundantly shows, predate McLuhan and Postman, and now extend far beyond them, are even more relevant today than when we sat in those seminars at New York University.

To be clear, Strate and I by no means are in agreement about the impact of all or any given media on our lives.  I tend to be more optimistic than Strate, on technologies ranging from space travel to social media (notwithstanding what I think about Twitter and Trump).  But this field has always been about mastering the principles and formulating your own views.   If you'd like a handbook on how to do this, and maximize your understanding of what's going on, get a copy of Media Ecology.

Hillary Clinton, Erving Goffman, and Josh Meyrowitz

Hillary Clinton has been receiving much criticism from Donald Trump and know-nothing Republicans about her statement, released in a recent round of Wikileaks, that she says different things, takes different positions, in her public and private remarks.

I say "know nothing" quite deliberately, because anyone who has any knowledge of sociology would know about Erving Goffman's Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life, published way back in 1959, and its revelation that all human beings have public and private personas, which often are in disagreement with one another.  A waiter smiles at a difficult diner, takes the order, then curses him out when he places the order with the cook behind the counter.  This is human nature - and, in the case of the waiter and everyone else, it doesn't prevent the waiter from doing his job, or even get in the way of that.  To the contrary, it enables the waiter to be professional in his public sphere and do a better job.

In 1985, my friend and fellow Media Ecology New York University PhD graduate Josh Meyrowitz applied Goffman's analysis to politics in No Sense of Place, and demonstrated how front and back regions are the lifeblood of all successful politicians and leaders.   Again, human beings require the private space to think out and explicate their positions to themselves and their families and closest advisors, before bringing them out to the public.

This is what Hillary was referring to when she cited Lincoln's differing public and private positions when he was working to get the 13th Amendment and its abolition of slavery through  Congress. We already know that Hillary was familiar with media theorist Marshall McLuhan - see Gail Sheehy's 1999 Hillary's Choice and my own McLuhan in an Age of Social Media - and the timing would certainly have been right for her to have encountered Goffman's book in her Wellesley classes.

As in every other issue in this campaign, we have a choice between a knowledgable, serious thinker in Hillary Clinton verses an ignorant, lying bully in Donald Trump.

There But for Fortune: Gift of Phil Ochs to the Future

Tina, Simon, and I saw There But for Fortune last night at the IFC Center - formerly the Waverly Theater - in the heart of Greenwich Village in NYC.  It was the second time for Tina and Simon - they were at a a preview screening in December (Simon reviewed it for Entertainment Weekly; Tina has been one of the lead editors of Phil Ochs' Wikipedia page since 2006).   This documentary about the life and times of Phil Ochs merits repeated viewing.

If you don't know who Phil Ochs was, here's what you missed: a folk singer who wrote and sang topical songs - one of his albums was entitled "All the News that's Fit to Sing" - with a warmly evocative voice, a trenchant logic and commentary, and a zest and precision in lyrics that rivals Bob Dylan and Cole Porter.   Ochs' songs critiquing the Vietnam War ("White Boots Marching in a Yellow Land"), war in general ("I Ain't a Marchin' Anymore"), the wishy-washy "liberal" political philosophy of the 1960s (that is, Hubert Humphrey rather than Eugene McCarthy, in his song "Love Me, I'm a Liberal") and many more are still among the best "protest" - political commentary - ever written in any medium.   And when you add to this "The Crucification" (the public's thirst for the fall of heroes they create, ranging from Christ to John F. Kennedy), "The Floods of Florence" (artists struggling to communicate through own their media), "Flower Lady" (the eternal witness to cultural decline), and more like that, you get some of the best songs and cultural commentary ever written, period.

Ochs was loved and admired, but he got nothing like the recognition he deserved in his own time.  Robert Christgau, long the dyspeptic music critic of The Village Voice, complained about Ochs' guitar strumming in a concert in which Ochs' words, melodies, and voice were heart-rending and extraordinary (Tina and I were likely in that audience -  we heard Ochs at concerts and rallies at least a dozen times).  Dylan dissed Ochs, didn't include him in his Rolling Thunder tour, though the two had often performed together, including just the two of them for Broadside Magazine with Pete Seeger listening at the beginning of their careers (Pete talks about this in the movie).    In 1976, Ochs took his own life - succumbing to the pits of a manic depression that had also helped propel him to greatness.

So There But for Fortume - written and directed by Kenneth Bowser, produced by Michael Cole, Bowser, and Ochs' brother Michael - had a lot to take care of, a steep road to climb, and it did this just masterfully, with clips and photos of Ochs and friends seldom if ever seen before,  and sage and instructive interviews with people in a position to know, from Joan Baez to Abby Hoffman to Sean Penn and Christopher Hitchens.  Some of these interviews were clearly done years ago (as Kenneth Bowser and Michael Ochs discussed in their q&a after the movie - a perfect cap for a splendid night - There But for Fortune was 19 years in the making).

Among my favorite parts (in no particular order, because it was all great) was Ochs explaining why he went to orchestration rather than folk rock with his Pleasures of the Harbor album,  the revelation that Ochs saw himself as a John Wayne patriot (the Vietnam War that Ochs so implacably and aptly opposed was, after all, unconstitutional, as has been every war since World War II, the last time Congress adhered to the Constitutional requirement of a declaration of war by both houses of Congress), photos of "Bobby" Dylan at Ochs' place in the Village in the early days,  Dylan and Ochs performing at the concert on behalf of Chilean refugees in the 1970s, and much, much more.

I think everyone whose souls were captured, ratified, and lifted by Phil Ochs wanted to do something to keep his words and music alive when we learned of his death back in 1976.  I was teaching at Fairleigh Dickinson University in Teaneck, NJ, then, and did a radio show for the campus station - broadcast and heard all over the New York area - called "Seminar on the Air".  I asked the program director if I could do a special on Ochs.  He said ok, but keep it to an hour.  I invited my friend and fellow-Ochs lover Josh Meywrowitz to join me, but by the time we were finished talking about Ochs and playing his records, the clock said our taping had gone three hours.   I called the program director - he said, hey, I know it will be hard, but kindly cut the tape down to the one hour.  I had a decision to make ...  I was sending a press release about our show to the New York Times, and my hand must have "slipped" when I put in the length of the show, because it said three hours ...  On the Saturday the show was to air, I got a call from the program director early in the morning, telling me the Times had listed our show - great news - but by mistake or misprint [smile] indicated its length as three hours.  He asked me if there was any chance I still had the three-hour version of the show on hand.  Of course I did.  I went out to Teaneck, put the three hour tape in the queue, and it was indeed played in its entirety that night.  Hey, even three hours of radio doesn't do Ochs justice.  You gotta do what you can ...

But Ken Bowser, Michael Ochs, and Michael Cole have done with There But for Fortune more than any who loved Ochs could have asked for.   The documentary is a gift to the future, and I'm guessing it will finally put the works of Phil Ochs in the eternal hall of great works, right along with Dylan's, that will be listened to for centuries or longer to come.

Further listening:  Dennis Elsas recently interviewed Ken Bowser on WFUV-FM Radio, with fine Ochs songs as accompaniment ... One of the songs Elsas and Bowser discuss is Ochs' "Small Circle of Friends," which, as Elsas notes, "almost became a hit record".

I've long been vexed by perhaps the main reason this song did not become a hit.  Shortly after it was released in 1967, the FCC issued a warning to radio stations, that their licenses could be in jeopardy when they came up for renewal if they played songs that endorsed drug use.   "Small Circle of Friends," which is about public apathy, has a verse about "smoking marijuana" and getting high detaching people from their responsibilities as citizens and human beings.  It is obviously an attack on drug use, not an endorsement, but that distinction was lost on radio stations afraid of the FCC.   Many of them promptly dropped "Small Circle of Friends" from their play lists.  Just one of many reasons I'd like to see the FCC declared unconstitutional - put out of its miserable, censorious business - as a blatant violation of the First Amendment.