The People Around Me

If you’re reading this, it’s probably because you care about me, or my project, or the Fulbright. I’m glad you’re along for the ride, and I should thank you at this juncture for your support of my work and my life in whatever form that takes.

If you’ve been around me—on either side of the Atlantic—in the last few months, you know how focused I’ve been on launching this grand tour in the best ways possible, and I am happy to report that I’ve succeeded as far as I can tell.

So, thank you for your help in making this a reality for me; I’m indebted to you more than a little blog can express. To paraphrase Tennyson’s Ulysses: “All that I have met are a part of me.” I am truly blessed with fantastic family, friends, colleagues, students, and the people I depend on for answers, and the people who depend on me for answers.

I’ve been out of the USA for a month now, and if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been blog-wise for the past two weeks, I’ll tell you: I’ve been meeting about a hundred fascinating people from every possible corner of Zagreb. I hope I’ll stay connected to them in the near and far terms. Besides my fellow Fulbrighters, Willie Osterman, Larry Moneta, and Kathleen Beaudoin (she’s stationed in Rijeka on the Adriatic), I’m glad to say that the grad student Fulbrighters (Rebecca Rumora, Grace Shigetani and Mia Psorn) all bring some nice energy to the festivities in Croatia this year.

My friends Teri and Mike Pitts invited me to an embassy wine-and-cheese function up in the hills north of Zagreb. I met plenty of people (including the new ambassador, James Foley!) who were genuinely interested in me, curious about how I could turn comedy into an academic topic, and intent on using my skills to promote the US to the people of Croatia, from Zagreb to the smaller hamlets dotting this gorgeous country’s landscape. I apologize for leaving out names of people I met, but trust me, they were all fascinating.

I spent the start of that next week finishing the paper I was invited to present at the 30^th Annual Zagreb Literary Talks in the first few days of October.

In the middle of the week, on September 30, the Fulbrighters in the fall 2009 shift (some will leave in January, and some others will arrive for the spring 2010 semester . . . I’m the only lecturer here for the full academic year) convened for the Croatian side of the orientation process. I renewed acquaintances with some of the Fulbrighters I met at the orientation in Washington, DC, in July, and met more support people from the Embassy and the Croatian Ministry of Science, Sport, and Education (I think I got that right). We went over many practical topics—most of which I’d confronted in my first two weeks here—and some new ones (like avoid the “Princess Club” . . . let the name suffice to describe that clip joint). The orientation day ended with a beautiful reception at the home of the Deputy Ambassador, the charming Vivian Walker. The three contact people I’ve met up with the most are Sasa Brlek, Marija Crnić, and Bob Post.

I’ve been meeting and greeting colleagues at the Faculty of Philosophy (where the Comparative Lit and American Studies/English departments reside). Few meetings so far, and I’ve been scrambling to coordinate the course packets for the three classes I’ll teach this semester. Boris Senker and Stipe Grgas are my two most direct contacts, but I’ll be working with a bunch of people. Sorry to delay those other names, but I’m sure I’ll be posting about the academic work soon enough (CLASSES START OCT. 12 FOR ME).

Meanwhile, at the ZLT, I met and interacted with several dozen scholars, professional playwrights and novelists, and theatre practitioners from Croatia and elsewhere. The conference was held in the space run by the Croatian Writers Association, and the building is smack-dab in the heart of Zagreb on the main square, Trg Bana Jelačića. It even has a fabulous restaurant connected to it that provided meals for the duration of the talks. Wow! Two other Americans (Carolyn Roark and Cheryl Black) joined the fun here, as well as the brilliant British critic and writer John Elsom. I got to practice my German with Lucija Šarčević (Croatian but teaching in Germany), and generally blended as much as possible with the native writers, like Miro Gavran and the two hardest working organizers of the event, Ana Čikos and Nikola Đuretić. Everyone there handed me books and more books! No shortage of literature for me to read here. I even caught up with a Croatian scholar I met in New Orleans at ATHE a few years back, Sanya Nikčević; more on her later. Again, I apologize for leaving many, many names out here. Here's a little clip of my opening gambit for the paper I presented (with Ana and Nikola on either side of me):

On the Sunday at the close of the ZLT, a big bus took the participants to Đakovo in the eastern part of Croatia called Slavonia. Đakovo has three claims to fame, as I could see: the horse farms that raise the fantastic Lipizzaner horses, a rare red-brick cathedral, and (judging by the lunch) abundant platters of roasted meats. The long day presented more of an opportunity to bond with the writers and scholars on a lovely excursion (my first adventure outside of Zagreb so far . . . look for a new blog entry devoted to the horse, cathedral, and lunch video).

The next day, Sanya and her husband, Rolando, took Carolyn and me to Istria for a further adventure. Cheryl (the other American at the ZLT) sadly had to return to school in Missouri after only four or five days in Europe (boo!). Istria is the westernmost province of Croatia, nearest Italy. More on that adventure in a later blog . . . need to edit the footage!

Finally, let me return my thoughts to the people back home in the States: in West Virginia, Louisiana, Georgia, DC, and elsewhere who never have left me for a second and whose energy fuels my activities more than I can say. I could not have made this trip without your (continued) support: you know who you are . . . whether you’re sending me a care package, or mailing an important document, or reminding me of the Saints’ success, or keeping my house in impeccable shape, checking my mail, or emailing me needed work to use here, please remember I am indebted to you and I hope you can find your way here to share in the Croatian fun in person during the next months. I’ll be back home before we know it, and I intend to bring back beaucoup memories and stories to tell for years to come.

Oh, and one more thing: the Croatian keyboard has a few extra letters like č Đ Č ć Š and so forth . . . and the “Y” and “Z” are switched in the layout, which will take some getting used to (or, rather, "the used to which will take some getting"????). I apologize here and now for missing a diacritical mark and otherwise misspelling this new language . . . it will happen.

Much Love to All,

Jaz

Brief but to the Point

I received a terse note this morning in my mailbox, telling me (in Croatian) that it was "high time I introduced myself," and that "there is to be no noise from 1400-1700h. and 2200-0800h." The author of the note also stated that all the rules for the building are posted in the entry hall. The author didn't leave a name or a door to knock on to introduce myself, but I suspect it was the woman who lives directly below me (and to whom I will pay 8 kuna per month to keep the stairways swept).

Perhaps it was my internet stream of the Saints-Bills game from 2200-0100 that prompted the note? I'm guessing she's not a Saints fan . . .

Fish for Lunch

Sundays in Zagreb are a different sort of day, for most people it is their day, a true day of rest. Businesses and shops, with few exceptions are closed. I visited two markets that are open and seemed to be doing booming business, at least in terms of the numbers of people there: the antique/flea market on Britanski Trg, and the food/flower/fish market at Dolac (the “main” outdoor market).

These two places aren’t open later than 1:00 or 1:30 in the afternoon on Sundays, so around 11:00am I ventured out with my daypack, camcorder, shopping bag, and comfortable shoes. I walked past the main square, which seemed to be hosting a race of some sort, with runners accorded their own lane past the goings on at Trg Bana Jelačiċa. I arrived at the Britanski Trg around 11:30 and proceeded to shoot footage of the tables. I’m not in the market for more stuff, especially after hauling the luggage I packed one-quarter of the way around the world. Still, had something caught my eye in a strong way, I might have succumbed. Luckily, the camcorder provided a handy excuse only to be looking.

One can find books, jewelry, wall sconces and door hardware, lace, old military bayonets, helmets and medals, toys, furniture, and almost anything else that accounts for the varying levels of “charm” and “clutter” in almost every household—on either side of the Atlantic. The sellers are almost as interesting as their wares, if not more so. Several tourists and locals peruse the tables, while several dozen more look on from the adjacent cafés. Finally, a little mitteleuropäischer combo provided the soundtrack.

I walked the four blocks east in time for the noon cannon firing, and I caught a glimpse of the funicular car that is drawn up the side of the hill separating the lower town from the older upper town. It’s kind of a one-stop PRT, as my WVU friends can relate.

Once past the main square again, I climbed the single range of steps to the Dolac. I have been to two other street markets already, the Branimirova and the Kvaterniča (they are equidistant from my home apartment . . . maybe five blocks either direction). The Dolac seemed in line with my experiences at the other places, so there was a bit of an anticlimax, since the items for sale repeated what I saw at the other markets for the most part. Or to put it more positively, I needn’t venture all the way to Dolac when the Kvaterniča is a short walk from my home base.

I bought two medium sized apples ($0.20) and a very fresh fish filet ($3.00). I figured I could cook it for lunch, which meant that I needed to get it home quickly and so I decided to tram it back to my place. While riding, I felt familiar enough with the route that I could contemplate the cooking of the fish: olive oil, fresh tomato, basil (from my little plant on the window sill), and some Cajun spices.

Home now and that’s my Sunday excursion culminating in a yummy lunch!

Nema Razlike?

So far, I’ve met with several colleagues from the University of Zagreb. I’ll be teaching in two programs: the doctoral program in comparative literature, and the undergraduate and graduate programs in American Studies. Everyone is as nice as could be, and the American Studies program especially thrives on the annual Fulbright guest professor. It doesn’t take a great deal of insight to understand why. The faculty and staff here seem to have the "usual suspects" of personality types and so forth that I'm used to in any academic department.

One of the phrases I should learn in Croatian is “no difference,” because I’ve uttered it when told about students’ work habits, or the rigors of the academic life, or the pile of used computer parts in a hallway. Not much different, as I see it right now.

I will be teaching three classes per semester: a doctoral-level class in comparative lit called “American Comedy as Cultural Mirror” that spans the two semesters I’m here—it’s primarily a history of American comedy; second, an MA-level course on American comedy of the twentieth century—a pared down version of the doctoral course that will run one semester and repeat in the spring; finally, an undergraduate survey of American stage comedy in the fall, replaced by an undergraduate American film comedy class in the spring. It's pretty much the same teaching load I would have back at WVU.

There doesn’t seem to be a great deal (or any, really) of pre-registration. The university is transitioning to the Bologna higher-education model, and silly me . . . that’s what I’m used to in the States and never knew it by that term. I'm sure differences will become more apparent as the year moves along, but for now, nema razlike . . . no difference!

Waiter, another round of education for everyone!

Going Native

Part of the fun and function of the Fulbright comes in the appreciation of the host country’s culture and joie de vivre. Zagreb, all that I’ve seen of Croatia so far, is a vibrant city with a confidence in the way it does things that has impressed me in just the short week I’ve spent here so far.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m walking a great deal more here than at home in the States; I am doing about 2-3 miles in the morning and another 1-2 in the afternoon. So far, this is mostly running errands to set up my household, the daily food shopping, and a few meetings and appointments here and there. This will probably change once I begin teaching (next week?), but until then, I intend to walk as much as possible, even venturing out without an end point in mind (or perhaps using indirect streets to reach it). The more I explore new streets and new routes, the more I can discover—a hardware store here, a pharmacy there—that may pay dividends when needed.

On Saturday, Teri (my old friend from New Orleans) and her husband Mike (my new friend from New Orleans), who both work at the embassy here, took me to a little pasta/pizza bistro for lunch. It was fun to sit outside . . . Croatians seem to love to eat and drink al fresco, and even the McDonalds I’ve seen have few tables inside and many umbrella-topped tables out on the square.* Teri and Mike pointed out a “large supermarket” near the bistro, and I set out there on Monday on my own, taking tram 2 to get there (it seemed too far to walk). Well, yesterday, I studied my handy map and worked out a shortened walking route that cut the distance to about a mile. Perfect!

So far, I’ve shopped in three larger supermarkets: Konzum (the most ubiquitous), Billa (large and convenient), and the most recent find, Mercator (which bills itself as a “Hipermarket” not so much hipper as hyper to my eyes). Konzum is like a typical European grocery; anyone who’s shopped at an Aldi in the US knows this genus. Billa is more like a Kroger, both in size and scope. Mercator is like a SuperTarget, with clothes, DVDs, electronics, household goods, and lots of food.

On Saturday I ventured into the closest street (farmer’s) market to my apartment, off Branimirova Street. I saw dozens of tables with fresh produce, with lots of repetition: most tables had tomatoes, root veggies, apples, and plums. It seemed all very seasonal and bountiful. I looked for the best prices and quality. I picked up eight apples for 3kn (about $.60), and three beautiful pears for 4kn (or $.80). The apples, truth be told, were smallish and imperfect, but taste just fine. I bought a few tomatoes too that were too good looking to pass up.

One lesson that’s been reinforced from the orientation and the week here is that if you live like the natives, you can live more cheaply. Certainly the Branimirova market bears this out. The groceries naturally have all the produce, but at steeper prices. The meat is good quality, but more expensive. I bought some sausage the other day (and believe me, buying unknown sausage in strange wrappers in a foreign language is an act of faith), and it was a delightful smoked kielbasa-style.

And so, I’m diverting my American appetites to the local cuisines and feeling better for it. My budget is all the better for it, too! Still, I have a friend sending me some Simply JIF in a care package, since peanut butter is hard to find and five or six times the price when found. I haven’t found tuna packed in water yet, only oil, but it’ll form a nice tuna salad I intend to whip up later this evening. Celery would be nice for that, but alas the celery here is spindly and wimpy, when I can recognize it. Haven’t seen much spinach here either, but will keep an eye out.

I’m going native, as they say, and doing without some food and some conveniences I’m used to. Here are some major changes I’m confronting (and enjoying the work-arounds):

• NO Air Conditioning (haven’t really needed it and it’s now officially fall);
• NO Clothes Dryer (using a clothesline and some drying racks—the clothes dry stiffer than I’m used to);
• NO Microwave Oven (using another pot to reheat is an extra step);
• NO Dishwasher (I’ll get dishpan hands for sure, especially having to clean that extra pot!);
• NO elevator (eh . . . it’s only three flights up and I need the exercise).

I love this city already, and since I’m out so much, it’s only natural I’ve been accosted by Croatians asking directions of me on the street. It happened twice yesterday, and once again today. I do what any native would do in this situation, I open my eyes wider and wider until they stop talking and say politely, “ne govorim!”

*I swear I only purchased a Coke Zero there. Really!

Zagrebački Apartman

Here's a quick and dirty tour of the apartment I'm renting. I spend most of my time in the bedroom/office; the kitchen contains the clothes washing machine (you may hear it rumbling under); the "living room" needs a dining table and some chairs--otherwise, I'm using it now as a storage and drying room. Oh, and note the high tank on the toilet, for which there's a pull chain to flush! The exterior shot shows the street, typical of the downtown neighborhoods, with lots of young mothers with strollers (in the daytime). The exterior shot also conveys that I'm on the third floor, what we in the States would call the "fourth," but it's a full three flights up . . . trust me on that one!

Stop by some time!

Larry Gelbart for the uninitiated

Below is a boiled-down survey of Larry Gelbart's career I did for a 1997 Gelbart tribute produced by the Writers Guild of America. These are my program notes. One of the happiest experiences of my life, doing this in service to Larry's legacy as a small payment for the many kindnesses he bestowed upon me in my life . . . and as Larry said that without Danny Thomas, he wouldn't have had the life he had, I can say unequivocally the same about Larry Gelbart . . .

Radio
“All we had were words.”
To appreciate fully Larry Gelbart’s professional writing career, one has to go back to his high school years, not because they were formative, but because that’s when he became a professional writer. In 1943, after his family moved from Chicago, he joined the Fairfax High band, the drama program, and would occasionally play duets at the USO and the Hollywood Canteen with his schoolmate, Andre Previn. Typical high school stuff.
His father, Harry Gelbart, a barber, offered his teenage son’s services as a comedy writer to his customer, Danny Thomas. Larry soon found himself pitching jokes with the writers of Fanny Brice’s Maxwell House Coffee Time. There he gained experience under Mac Benoff, $40 in salary (which he spent on a sportcoat), and the agent from the William Morris Agency. If it weren’t for Thomas, Larry admits, “I wouldn’t have the life I have.”
Next he joined Duffy’s Tavern the day Abe Burrows left the show. Ed Gardener, “Archie the Bartender” to millions, taught Larry the power of the word, and sharpened his abilities for puns, malapropisms, and non-sequiturs. Larry managed to squeeze his military duty writing Command Performance at AFRS inside his two years with Duffy’s Tavern.
A chance to write for Eddie Cantor ended when his partner, Sid Dorfman, fell ill. Larry then wrote for the Jack Parr Show in 1947, along with The Joan Davis Show (where he would finally get to work with Burrows), and later a season for Jack Carson. Bob Hope offered Larry and his new partner, Lawrence Marks, positions on his pared-down staff-they signed scripts “Larry and Larry”-and the two remained with Hope through the Berlin Airlift, Korea, and (scariest of all) Hope’s plunge into television.

Stage
“The only safe place for writers”
A revue titled My L.A. gave Larry a chance in 1949 to write for the stage, and to vary his lifestyle from the daily Hope routine. It ran only four performances, but presaged a later musical, 1989’s Broadway hit City of Angels. Teamed with composer Cy Coleman and lyricist David Zipple, Larry created in City of Angels a breathtaking intersection of two Hollywoods-one fictional and the other even harder to believe-in two simultaneous settings.
Between My L.A. And City of Angels, Larry penned several other plays: his first Broadway musical, The Conquering Hero (1961), had so many problems in its tryout performances that Larry quipped, “If Hitler’s alive, I hope he’s out of town with a musical.” His next show had problems on the road. But they, thankfully, were solved, and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (co-written with Burt Shevelove and composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim) played nearly a thousand performances in its initial run.
Larry moved to England, then to M*A*S*H, but returned to the theatre in 1975 for Sly Fox, which he adapted on Arthur Penn’s suggestion from the Renaissance play Volpone. From first draft to final, Larry re-wrote all but one page, a luxury of theatre to which he has often alluded.
After writing several films, Larry again returned to the safe haven of theatre for Mastergate: A Play on Words, a savagely funny indictment of governmental “self-abuse” that closed on Broadway just as City of Angels opened. Larry’s other stage works include the original dark comedies Jump! (1970) and Power Failure (1991), as well as adaptations of Gulliver’s Travels for narrator and orchestra (music by Patrick Williams), and revised narration for Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf.

Television
“With most television, the only way you get any feeling out of it is if you touch it while you’re wet.”
From his earliest days in television, Larry Gelbart watched the medium critically. His work with Bob Hope in the fledgling medium offered few new directions for writing: “a monologue is a monologue,” he noted. Still, writing for Hope taught Larry to polish a line until it shone bright. His education in comedy writing has followed a linguistic model: he learned the power of the word with Duffy’s Tavern; the potential of the sentence, the one-liner, with Hope; he would soon perfect the “paragraph” of comedy, the sketch, when he joined Red Buttons’ staff in 1952 and learned what constituted a full-fledged television/burlesque sketch.
After a season and a half with Buttons, he moved on to several other assignments, building on what he had learned. In 1956, Larry joined perhaps the most celebrated writing staff in the history of television, for Caesar’s Hour. He never wrote for Your Show of Shows, as many histories of television comedy claim (and while we’re debunking myths, Woody Allen wrote for Sid Caesar only after these first two series left the air). Nevertheless, Caesar’s Hour boasted the writing talents of, among others, Mel Tolkin, Neil Simon, Mel Brooks, Sheldon Keller, Michael Stewart, and Selma Diamond. With performers Caesar and Carl Reiner sitting in, the writing sessions became jam sessions. As Larry explained once, “Except for the fact that we were all white and Jewish, we felt like we were the Duke Ellington Band.”
The television sketch that Larry learned with Buttons reached its apotheosis with Caesar, whose staff elevated the comedy to the human condition and Larry began to understand in a real way the social powers of comedy. He went on to write for Patrice Munsel with Sheldon Keller and (with Woody Allen) several specials for Caesar, then three for Art Carney. He wrote a season of The Pat Boone Chevy Showroom, and helped launch The Danny Kaye Show. While his family lived in London, Larry wrote very little television, just a few pilots and The Marty Feldman Comedy Machine (1969-1970), which ran in England and America. For the cast, Larry hired British comedy legend Spike Milligan, and Americans Barry Levinson and Rudy DeLuca, as writers. Near the end of his nine years in England, he was visited by producer Gene Reynolds, who wondered whether Larry had seen the movie M*A*S*H.
Larry penned the pilot for the new series in two days (after extensive discussions with Reynolds and five weeks of “incubation”). He spent four seasons with M*A*S*H, and wrote or re-wrote the lion’s share of the show’s first 97 episodes. M*A*S*H afforded yet another opportunity for Larry to stretch the perceived limitations of television comedy. Multiple story lines, timely anti-war messages, and practically a new genre—the “dramedy”—are but a few of the program’s historic innovations.
One point of contention between the producers of M*A*S*H and the network involved the use of the laugh track (which were present in his later shows Roll Out! and Karen as well). When Fred Silverman coaxed him back to television for United States (1980), Larry stipulated that there be no laugh track and endeavored to draw real laughs from real situations, since much of United States explored marriage as Pat Marshall and Larry Gelbart (and their friends and children) had lived it.

Film
"One of the funniest comedy writers that has ever lived. One of the truly great comedy writers of our epoch.”
-Mel Brooks, AFI Seminar, October 19, 1977
As the 1960s dawned, Larry had reached the point where he felt able to go the distance on long projects, like Forum, and films. His first break came when Charles K. Feldman asked him in 1961 to adapt Sam Locke’s play Fair Game for the screen. Fair Game was never made, but before that decision was made, Larry had already moved to another project, a rewrite of The Notorious Landlady for director Richard Quine. Larry quickly realized the treatment writers received in Hollywood, and as a result has rigorously sough protection for his own work through the years.
After collaborating on the story for Carl Reiner’s The Thrill of It All (1962) and re-writing (with Peter Barnes and Norman Panama) Not With My Wife, You Don’t, Larry once again teamed with fellow Forum author Burt Shevelove on an adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Wrong Box (1965), a wickedly funny black comedy about greed, families, mores, and death. The cast included many of the most respected British film actors—in or out of comedy—Michael Caine, Ralph Richardson, John Mills, Peter Sellers, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. Directed by Bryan Forbes, The Wrong Box is that rarity of rarities, it seems: a cult film of true quality.
Larry’s film output went on hiatus until near the end of his M*A*S*H years, when he adapted Avery Corman’s novel, Oh, God!, for the screen. Initially, he envisioned Mel Brooks and Woody Allen to play God and Jerry (the roles eventually played by George Burns and John Denver). Carl Reiner directed the story of God’s continued interest in humanity, which became an instant classic because, as Pat Marshall pointed out to her husband, “It’s what everyone wants to believe.”
Hearkening back to his childhood experiences sitting through triple features each Saturday afternoon (“today they’d call it a film festival”), Larry and Sheldon Keller embarked on a loving send-up of 1930s and ‘40s film writing titled Movie Movie (1978). Directed by Stanley Donen, Movie Movie combines two short films and a coming attractions reel that not only recall Larry’s past, but also figure into later projects like the musical City of Angels.
After Movie Movie, Larry’s next triumph would come in the hugely popular classic Tootsie (1982). By now the story of Michael Dorsey/Dorothy Michaels is legend, as is the story of the making of the film. All involved—Larry, director Sydney Pollack and star Dustin Hoffman—sweated each change because they knew how special the project was.
With the exception of Blame It on Rio (1983), also directed by Stanley Donen, the remainder of Larry’s later screenplays have intersected the medium of television, specifically in the form of made-for-cable ventures such as the adaptation of his own Mastergate (Showtime, 1992), the highly regarded Barbarians at the Gate (HBO, 1993), and the upcoming Weapons of Mass Distraction (HBO, 1997). The success of these films demonstrates the truth in Larry’s observation that much of his satire arises from a desire to show the politician (or CEO) “how disappointed I am in you.” It also demonstrates what might be said of Larry’s entire career, that “He never met a medium he didn’t like.”

Zagreb: First Impressions

I’m walking about four miles a day as I explore the city. For those who know me, this is astounding; for those who don’t know me, stop picturing a man in great shape. I’ll get there if I keep this up.

Almost every corner turned reveals a different picture of Zagreb, and all of them “true” to a degree: baroque buildings mixed with communist-era blocks of apartments, along with glassy modern buildings. Banks, for instance, can come in any architectural flavor. Trees and parks break up the buildings, and I’ve passed more than a few teenage couples making out on a park bench . . . while an elderly pensioner sits on the next one reading what looks like a lottery newspaper. A different pensioner, of course, for each different couple sucking face.

The tram system is confusing at first, which means don't believe the guy who tells you "all the trams go through the main square" . . . they don't. Could they put a tram map INSIDE the streetcars so a fellow could double check his choice of the 6, 17, 1, 14, or 5? So far, I’ve been on the right number going in the right direction . . . can’t forget the importance of that last bit!

Coming from New Orleans as I do, I already have a sense of what a European city should feel like, and Zagreb feels right to me. In New Orleans, directions come in two varieties: toward the lake or toward the river? And (at Mardi Gras) Sidewalk or Neutral Ground side of the street? I find myself reducing Zagreb to a few simple demarcations: toward the river or toward “up the hill”? And the corollary, the river side of the train station, or the “up the hill” side?

To be fair, I should point out that “up the hill” has a name, Gradec, and it is the place where St. Mark's Church resides, the sabor (parliament), and a few expensive shops and restaurants (but damn good eats—had a “peka-style veal breast roll” last night that made me crazy—Peka-style means baked under an iron bell). Gradec is the old town dating from at least the thirteenth century; it merged with another town and evolved into the Zagreb of today.

Another part of Zagreb is the Novi Zagreb area—sort of the “West Bank” suburbs that New Orleans has at its own riverbend. Nevermind that Novi Zagreb is south of Zagreb . . . so is the West Bank of New Orleans, but no one seems to care about that. I’ll continue to think of it as the West Bank, thank you very much. For my Morgantown friends, think Westover. Funny how these geographical patterns repeat. Also for my West Virginia friends, the weather here is spookily the same as there. Right now, highs in the mid-70s and lows at night in the low 60s or upper 50s. I will get all four season in my time here.

Finally, the strongest first impression is that there’s a salon/barbershop/beauty parlor/day spa in every block of downtown!!! I’m not kidding, and so far no native has contradicted me when I’ve mentioned the fact. It actually reminds me of the opening line of Ilf and Petrov’s novel THE TWELVE CHAIRS (see the Mel Brooks film of it, by the way): “The town of N. has so many salons and funeral parlors that one might think that the inhabitants are born, have their hair done, and die.” Forgive the quoting from memory . . . my copy of the novel is in my attic in Morgantown.

Early Favorite Graffiti

Here's a scrawl on the wall of a Zagreb church. Mary does not look pleased.
I imagine the author was told not to skateboard down the church steps...

I'm Here

I’m here because I lied to my mother. Better still, I’m here in Zagreb, Croatia, because I lied to my mother. You see, I am a Fulbright scholar teaching “American Comedy as Cultural Mirror” to a group of graduate students in American Studies at the University of Zagreb. Why Croatia? Because I wrote a random email to Boris Senker, a scholar from Zagreb, who presented a paper at a Theatre Symposium I hosted on Comedy a few years back and asked him if his school hosted Fulbrighters. I chose comedy as the topic of that conference because I’m interested in it as a scholar and practitioner, and I wanted to invite the writer Larry Gelbart to be the keynote speaker and visit me in West Virginia; ends up I couldn’t invite him after all because we had no money in the department at that time. I got to know Larry because I was stuck for a research topic in a graduate Latin class I took years ago and out of frustration wrote him a letter asking him why no one had written on the subject of how his musical A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum was adapted from the plays of Plautus. I also asked him why every one of his colleagues and contemporaries—Neil Simon, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, et al.—had books written about them and no one had done the Larry Gelbart bio . . . and promptly asked if I could “claim” him. I was an overworked grad student and thought Forum would be an easy topic to write on since I had played the wily slave Pseudolus in college in New Orleans back in the ’80s. I wasn’t even a theatre major, but got cast in the lead. I auditioned over the protestations of my mother, who thought I needed to work more shifts at Steak & Ale rather than waste my time acting in school plays. So I told her I was off to wait tables and auditioned anyway. And that’s how I lied to my mother and that’s how I got to Zagreb.

MUCH more on Zagreb and Larry in days to come