My Uncle Sonny, who died an age when I had been living as my true, authentic self for only a few years, was progressive in ways I became only fairly recently. He saw people like Martin Luther King and “Bobby” Kennedy as heroes. (They were often vilified in the communities in which I grew up, yes, in Brooklyn and New Jersey.) And he was one of the first people I told when, lacking any other way of coming to terms with how I saw myself, I thought I was gay. “Well, those Greek philosophers were fine with it. Some of them were gay. And they were some of the smartest guys who ever lived. So if it was OK for them, why not for you?” That, from someone who grew up in an environment not much different from mine.
But he was also a veteran: a VFW commander, no less. While I don’t think he was a “hawk,” he was almost unquestionably pro-veteran (an attitude I share) and believed all armed services members deserved our unconditional support. He had no tolerance for anyone or anything he saw as a danger, or even disrespectful, to te principles of the Constitution, especially the Bill of Rights. That included Communism; to be fair, almost everyone felt that way, even if they (unlike him) had never read the founding documents and only hazily understood what Communism is. (BTW: It’s not the same as socialism.)
It was his antipathy toward that system that led to his boycotting the work of a performer who remains popular to this day: Jane Fonda. He wasn’t the only one who called her “Hanoi Jane.” To my knowledge, he never blacklisted any other performer or artist. While I never agreed with that particular stance, I could understand why he, like many other veterans, felt betrayed by her.
I mention that because, as someone immersed in the arts, I grapple with the question of whether to read, view, listen to or participate in works by creators and thinkers who express abhorrent views or engage in reprehensible behavior. I continue to read poets like T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound because, while they expressed views that couldn’t be excused even in context, also were instrumental to shaping modern poetry and literature in general. On the other hand, I haven’t watched a Woody Allen movie in decades. As a survivor of sexual abuse, I cannot excuse his behavior. But, honestly, I’d grown tired of him long before I knew about what he did with his daughter.
So, should I see a movie, knowing that a prominent person involved with it did so much to disgrace himself and his sport—and betray the trust of so many people.
Since this blog is about cycling and midlife, you probably have guessed that the person in question is Lance Armstrong. He narrates “No Hands: The Wild Ride of the Schwinn Bicycle Company.” I would be interested in the film, not only as a story about a bicycle maker, but also how a brand that became an American icon—something, perhaps, no other cycling company has achieved before or since—could have fallen as far as it did.
In a strange way, Lance might be a good choice. His story parallels Schwinn’s in that he is probably the only cyclist in at least a century to become a national celebrity. Indeed, to this day, he is likely the only cyclist every American can name. And, just as Schwinn could have remained paramount (no pun intended) in the bicycle world had some within its company made better decisions, Lance might well be seen as one of the greatest athletes—and beloved for his “comeback” story—had he not cheated and bullied those who knew.
For all I know, he might be a good narrator. Still, I don’t know whether I can sit for “No Hands.”
