MAY 23, 2020 – Last night I hit the halfway mark of a “pre-galley” copy of my bro-in-law’s memoir, That Time of Year. I don’t want to prejudice the three, four people who have been assigned the task of critical review of the work . . . you know who you are; if you’re reading this, go no further! . . . but I’ve been wholly captivated by the work, which, if all goes well, will be published later this year.
Garrison spends considerable time talking about his upbringing and the prominent influence of his aunts and uncles, but mostly his aunts. There is also much about his formative childhood and adolescent experiences and education, and confessions that give the reader an unvarnished view of the heart, mind, and soul of the writer. The book is a thoroughly honest exercise in introspection—a writer’s ultimate accomplishment. I think it contains some of GK’s best writing. As subconsciously poignant as it is naturally humorous, it is not the least bit forced, contrived or self-promoting.
From an historical perspective, it serves as an excellent companion to . . . A Prairie Home Companion; a guidebook to the creator of an enormous contribution to the body of culture Americana. In this regard, the book stirs my anger but also motivates me “to mission.”
My anger resides in the manner in which Garrison Keillor was shoved under the proverbial bus, then run over back and forth, multiple times, until his legacy too was covered with oil, grease and gravel and mutilated with tread marks. The worst of it was that the bus had been built by Bill Kling, the entrepreneurial genius behind Minnesota Public Radio—indeed, public radio period; a bus that Kling had turned over to a new generation, which, it turned out, had no further use for genius, be it on stage or at the corporate controls.
My anger extends to the larger culture that is fractured into opposing camps, each mean and myopic, impatient and unforgiving, self-righteous and puritanical. One strike and you’re out. Or worse, you’re not even allowed an “at bat.” We have become a culture of hate and pre-judgment. We are hellbent on self-destruction.
The supreme irony is that our extremism would be anathema to the characters of Lake Wobegon. They’d be scandalized by what have become the “new norms.” I fear that in this age of extremism and its corresponding intolerance, our eminently human trait of humor has become a victim as well. As it turns out, much more than a man was thrown under the bus.
All of which motivates me to help in the mission to preserve and curate the voluminous work of creative genius—Garrison’s, to be sure, but also the enormous contributions of all the artists and performers who were drawn to the stage of A Prairie Home Companion, not to mention the indefatigable efforts of the amazingly dedicated people behind the scenes. Their work too deserves to be heralded by the archival project that awaits us.
But for now it’s back to . . . That Time of Year.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
