Coming Soon...
|
|
Geoffrey Beene Interview
|
|
|
Last month, Editor's Note made an international ripple, largely because a fashion writer dared to speak out about international issues. For the most part, my piece called Where Was American Vogue? was well-received, even applauded. Of course there were the usual couple of ignoramuses who chided a fashion editor for going out of her sphere. One idiot even managed to write, "She should leave the political writing to the adults." Well, sonny, this I will not-so buckle your seatbelt, you just may be in for a bumpy ride.
I married my husband, Stanford philosopher Patrick Suppes in 1979. His circle included not only the most famous intellectuals of the day, but political personalities, as well as Silicon Valley pioneers. I entertained them all. Our home, in the early days, was a kind of salon, where along with stimulating discussions, there was good food and the best wines from my husband's cellar. In this genteel environment, already a million miles from the new stripped down Stanford style of entertaining, people were encouraged to talk freely and expansively. I had thought of myself as a liberal, but I also believe this was largely a reaction to having lived in California as a teenager while Ronald Reagan was the state governor. I equated conservatives with comments like, "What those students need is a bloodbath," and "Seen one redwood, seen them all." I suppose I also thought of conservatives in the same lurid light as J. Edgar Hoover and the worst days of Richard Nixon. I was even friendly with Tom Hayden, one of the famous "Chicago Seven" radicals, the student leaders who were charged with disrupting the 1968 Democratic Convention. But beyond my equations and cool acquaintances, I didn't really have any formed ideas about what I wanted in a society. I only knew it wouldn't be everyone wearing Mao pajamas-I drew the line there!
(Editor's fashion note: on the evening of the California early spring1979 dinner party I am about to describe, I wore a pale gray- green silk georgette two piece ensemble. The semi-fitted skirt dropped to my ankles. The blouse, with its little round collar and tiny pearl buttons up the front, meant to remain entirely closed, and voluminous bat winged sleeves recalled a luxurious Florence Nightingale. I accessorized it with pale gray kid Charles Jourdan high heels and gray stockings with a slight iridescence that I had bought in Yugoslavia a week before. The conservative and decorous ensemble had been designed by none other than Gianni Versace for Genny, just before he found his true calling for sexy clothes.)
Beautiful clothes are wasted in egocentric liberals, believe me. Noam Chomsky, the MIT professor of linguistics known primarily for his formal theories of language, especially syntax, and his outspoken views about the war in Vietnam and how Americans are viewed abroad (badly-thanks, Noam!) was really only interested in talking about himself vis a vis his own PR. Even Woody Allen had mentioned him in one of his movies as a kind of untouchable intellectual god. Boy, is Woody one dumbo…but, I confess, I too was in Woody's camp until I actually had the experience of sitting with Professor Chomsky and listening to him go on and on about his political beliefs . My husband, an old school gentleman of the Southwest (Oklahoma) had not told me what a windbag Chomsky would be, though he knew. Instead, he suggested seating John McCarthy (a founding "Father of Artificial Intelligence", in other words, the guy who invented the computer language LISP and the concept of time -sharing) next to Chomsky. These two almost got into a fight. John McCarthy is a former liberal, and we all know how reformed liberals can turn into the most radical conservatives. The epitaphs were flowing. The table was silent. No one even looked at the sea bass en croute that was being served.
All Chomsky could notice was that he was definitely NOT on the pedestal at this table. I was too young and ignorant to pipe up about anything political in either direction, so I endeavored to change the subject. "Do you like to travel, Professor Chomsky?" Yes, he answered, in fact, he and his family would be going later in the spring to Italy. Unbelievably, he asked for my opinion as to where in Italy they might travel. I told him that Pat and I had just returned from Italy and Yugoslavia, and that I had found southern Italy, especially around Amalfi, one of the most beautiful areas in the world. Professor Chomsky looked at me with a furrowed face. "Southern Italy? Nothing intellectual is happening there."
I went into shellshock. I knew this was the most absurd (a word, by the way, Chomsky kept mispronouncing all night as ab-zurd) thing I had ever heard in my life. It was only extreme disappointment combined with confusion that kept me from responding. Anyway, Professor McCarthy was at his throat again, and quite frankly, starting to come out the more successful debater of the two. I remember looking up at my husband, and his look of detached bemusement is something that will always stay with me. Chomsky left early with a good excuse-he was lecturing in the morning and still on east coast time.
It took me almost twenty years to unravel the mystery of Chomsky's high handed comment about southern Italy. We were in Sorrento, and it was twilight. I stood on the balcony of our hotel room that overlooked the sea. I was overcome by the beauty of the rugged coast and the infinite refinement of the room. Chomsky's remark came to me suddenly, and I began to laugh. Precious few in southern Italy give a great God damn about Noam Chomsky-they have lived without him and could care less if he is walking amongst them or not. No one offers him speaking engagements in their "nothing intellectual" environment. It is only where he is "known" that he considers worthy of a visit.
So, we are at the end of this editorial. There have been harder blows for idealistic young persons to sustain, and believe me, I sustained my share. But Noam Chomsky, you were truly a special case, and I thank you for your unwitting help to take me far away from your dogmas and diatribes. I would also like to thank the people and cities of Amalfi and Sorrento for your valued assistance in the evolution of my own stronger self. Woody Allen, is there a movie here? But Woody, don't ask Noam to explain syntactic transformations or universal grammar to the unwashed masses.
|
|
