I had the hard luck to live in Durham from 1966-71 and heard Jesse’s “editorial comments” right after the news each night over at WRAL. He managed to stop short of saying “nigger” every night. That’s about the kindest thing I can think of to say.
Playwright Mac Wellman called Helms one of the “Four Hairbrained Horsemen of our Contemporary Cornball Apocalypse” for his attempts to fuck with the National Endowment for the Arts. In a world of true justice, that quote would be carved on Jesse’s tombstone.
In undertaking any course of action regariding a celebrity, it is wise to apply the Rush Limbaugh test.
To wit: can you imagine Limbaugh, in apposite circumstances, behaving in the fashion you are envisioning? If so, you may wish to reconsider the course of action.
I can imagine Rush Limbaugh having a celebration when Ted Kennedy dies. You may draw your own conclusions.
OK, next!..That’s right, sir, five seconds to dance, sir…no, sir, we don’t care, dance a jig, the boogaloo, funky chicken, we don’t…yes, sir, you can dance on the grave for another five seconds, but you’ll have to go to the end of the line…yes, sir, I know, four hours, but those are the rules, sir…
Point taken, but a man can cease to be simply a man and became a symbol. If that is thrust upon him unwillingly, one can be sympathetic, and a bit of “tut-tut!” is appropriate.
But Jesse chose his legacy and reaffirmed his symbolism with every breath.
I had hoped that Helms himself would die of the disease . . . like so many of my friends who might be alive today, if it weren’t for that bastard. He was the dog shit on the sole of America.