Sunday, January 31, 2010

By Reviewed by John French

"Molly Ivins:

A Rebel Life"

By Bill Minutaglio and W. Michael Smith

Public Affairs, $26.95

We are blessed these days with excellent female newspaper columnists. Gail Collins and Maureen Dowd in the New York Times and Diane Roberts here in Solares Hill come readily to mind.

But these fine writers and their journalistic sisters should take a moment each day to bow in the direction of Austin, Texas, in homage to the incomparable Molly Ivins who blazed the trail they are now traveling.

"Molly Ivins" by Bill Minutaglio and W. Michael Smith has a "who knew?" quality. As in, who knew that the irreverent, satirical, "hairy-legged liberal" Ivins was the daughter of an establishment lawyer who rose to be president of the oil and gas giant, Tenneco, and who harbored racist theories throughout his life?

Or who knew that the unmarried Ivins had two great, if totally dissimilar, loves: The brilliant Dallas elitist Hank Holland, who died young in a motorcycle accident, and the radical Minneapolis activist, Jack Cann, who simply became impossible to live with?

Or who knew that the famous Molly of later years, whom we see in dozens of grinning photos, was a quasi-ugly duckling as a child but, by college, according to her friend Anne Seifert, had become "stunning," "a knockout" with "a figure to die for." Corroboration of this is perhaps provided by the fact that, when Ivins' newspaper beat was the Texas legislature, her anatomy was frequently subjected to pinches from the men at the state capitol.

Molly Ivins did so many interesting things in so many places with so many interesting people that it makes for a dizzying catalogue. Perhaps my favorite among Ivins' multitude of friendships is the one she had with Maya Angelou, who introduced her at a New York banquet. They had not previously met but Ivins gave Angelou a bear hug and announced to the audience, "Maya Angelou and I are identical twins. We were separated at birth." Angelou replied, "Our hearts beat in the same rhythm. Whoever separated us at birth must know it didn't work." Ivins whispered to Angelou, "Girlfriend, we are walking in high cotton, aren't we?"

When Ivins died, Angelou wrote a poem about her that read, in part:

Up to the walls of Jericho

She marched with a spear in her hand.

She received support along the way from other irreverent people, like Ann Richards, who became governor of Texas and specialized in scathing wisecracks about both presidents Bush (of George H. W. Bush she famously said, "Poor George, he can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth"). But in my mind, Ivins one-upped Richards by nicknaming George W. Bush "shrub."

Ivins suffered more than her share of trouble and anguish. She was an alcoholic most of her adult life, often in treatment for the condition and often unable to control it, as reflected in pitiful chastising diary notes. She did manage to die sober, a stated goal, but just barely. Also, I do not recall reading another biography in which the person portrayed lost so many close friends and relatives to suicide, including Ivins' father.

To me, Ivins' greatest distinction is that she could write whimsical, original, caustic English from childhood on. That, above all, is why this book is so enjoyable.

Here is a tiny sample, from a piece called "Nausea" that she wrote for her high school literary magazine:

"As it slithers into the room, the familiar sick terror rushes upward, but I stifle the scream of horror in my throat. The ugly thing slimes into the corner and leaves its fetid stench in the air ... it springs, pounces on my face, its monstrous distorted countenance rips away the last shred of my sleepy defense. Hideous, unmistakable -- another day."

Here she is on President Clinton: "I still believe in Hope -- mostly because there's no such place as Fingers Crossed, Arkansas."

And in 2002, in the face of terrible personal illness: "Having breast cancer is massive amounts of no fun. First they mutilate you; then they poison you; then they burn you. I have been on blind dates better than that."

Yes, distinguished ladies of the press, as you turn to face Austin to bow, you might also genuflect.