After reading "Excommunication...American Style," a somewhat breathless
and eager account of Lewis Green's latest controversy in a recent Jackson
Tribune, I remembered a line from Hamlet. "Lord, we know what we are but
know not what we may be." The line is spoken by poor, deranged Ophelia, and
while there is no resemblance between Asheville's literary curmudgeon and
Hamlet's doomed girlfriend, the quote seems apt.
Some thirty years ago, I discovered Lewis' novel, And Scatter the Proud.
Then came other works, including The Silence of Snakes, and like many others
in this region, I suspected that a major Appalachian writer was on his way.
However, in conjunction with a series of novels and short stories that
depicted mountain culture with authenticity and integrity, Lewis became
embroiled in controversy. Lewis denounced political corruption, chicanery
and incompetence throughout this region. Although there are those who would
disagree, I think that most would concede that initially, Lewis spoke out
with courage and honesty. He also did so to his own detriment. Little by
little, the literary Lewis Green gave way to the uncompromising journalist.
Some of the articles in Lewis' newspaper Native Stone were memorable for
their in-depth research and objectivity.
But there is an old edict about literary figures that espouse social and
political causes: their art seems to invariably suffer. I don't think that
the actual quality of Lewis' literary writing changed, but the public's
reaction did. More and more, people associated Lewis with abrasive
journalism, name-calling and denunciation. He made enemies. Several years
ago, when an institution in this region attempted to get a bit of promotion
in regional papers for Lewis regarding a program honoring his accomplishments
as an Appalachian writer, many were reluctant to cooperate. They still
remembered altercations, rudeness and insults.
There is little doubt that Lewis enjoys his reputation for brashness and
occasional violence. Some of his confrontations has ended in court, and with
each new incident, the legend has grown. There was the famous carnival brawl
in Hazlewood; then, the columnist from the Asheville Citizen who was attacked
by the short-tempered crusader, etc. I once entered a Raleigh book store to
acquire a signed copy of The High-Pitched Laugh of the Painted Lady only to
find the owner with a swollen eye, and a stack of signed books but no "guest
author." The owner told me that he had a disagreement with Lewis about air
pollution. In recent years, the voice has become more strident and the barbs
more poisonous.
Excommunication. The word is fraught with significance. However, the
issue here may be: has the action taken by the Dean of All Soul's Church
branded Lewis a pariah? Or is this episode a form of apotheosis, the
crowning achievement for a man who seems to delight in provoking the ire of
"the establishment"? Has the imp of the perverse gone too far at last?
By coincidence, I have been doing research on another outspoken (and
gifted) writer/journalist, William Dudley Pelley. Beginning as a script
writer in Hollywood in the '20's, Pelley wrote award-winning scripts for Lon
Chaney, published hundreds of magazine articles, won prestigious awards for
short stories, Broadway plays and in-depth reportage. When Pelley moved to
Asheville and established his own publishing company in the '30's, his life
seemed predestined for success. Then, he began to publish articles that were
anti-Semitic, and words like "the Jewish conspiracy" began to appear in his
publications. When other writers expressed dismay, Pelley became more
strident and began to talk openly about his admiration for Hitler, the concept
of the supremacy of the Aryan race and the need to purge America of "certain
racial types." Finally, he established the Silver Shirts, an organization
that openly endorsed "extreme measures" in removing "racial cancers" that
threatened to destroy the economic and spiritual institutions in this country.
In a sense, Pelley, too, was excommunicated. Branded "un-American," he
was charged with sedition, his publications confiscated and his printing
company closed. His constant baiting of President Roosevelt, and his charges
against the government in regard to Pearl Harbor and its aftermath brought
him before the Un-American Activities Committee. Sentenced to prison, Pelley
became a shameful memory in Asheville.... And yet, before he lost his way,
before he wandered down the dark path of the hatemonger and muckraker, he was
a man of infinite promise....a man that friends and other writers remembered
as a brilliant stylist. His books are out of print and the novels forgotten.
Pelley has been reduced to a footnote in history books that deal with
pro-Nazi sentiment in pre-WWII America.
Certainly, Lewis Green is not anti-Semitic, nor is he likely to be deemed
a threat to national security. No, Lewis merely believes that homosexuals
and lesbians should not be allowed to attend his church. Lewis "worries"
about AIDS and the communion service, and the possible corruption of
Christian youth through association. He hints at dark and devious doings on
church property - activities that would hopelessly compromise the church's
spiritual purity. Certainly, any comparison between Pelley, the anti-Semite,
and Lewis Green, the homophobe and lesbian-baiter is spurious... Well, isn't
it?
Lewis could recant...but he probably won't. He could say, "Hey, I'm an
old newspaperman with the tenacity of a bulldog, and I just got carried
away." He could say "Mea culpa," apologize and be welcomed back into All
Saints. But, I can't imagine it. I can't see a contrite Lewis Green - a man
admitting a mistake.
I'll still read passages from The Silence of Snakes to my classes, and
recommend his books to anyone who wants to read works that treat the
mountains with authenticity and integrity. But there is a duality in this
man. Like Forrest Carter, the man who wrote The Education of Little Tree and
also wrote racist speeches for George Wallace, Lewis Green is at odds with
himself. Perhaps he is merely a "conduit" - something that spirits can speak
through. Sometimes, angels speak...sometimes, a perverse imp.
Lewis Green's And Scatter the Proud, The High-Pitched Laugh of the Painted Lady, and The Silence of Snakes are out-of-print through international publishing outlets, but may be available through his website and/or through Amazon's out-of-print search engine.
"To each man a song, born into his blood and vision -- the working force, the fire of spirit. To each his gift, the song that he is committed to sing in his time on earth. Yet a man must hear it forming and feel the composition of it along the strings of his soul. In the quiet and secret places of his heart the music waits. Voices he does not know sing it to him when he does not watch, and those bells that rang in other lands, in other times, ring yet to reach each soul.
"But he must take along his soul into the riven, quarrelsome streets and into the furious arenas where he meets with life. And there is no place to hide.
"And music, so gossamer and tender, born of innocence and frail substance, is thrust into the forge and laid upon the anvil, and struck there with hammers and beaten upon from divers directions.
"If he cannot protect his song and slip away from the destruction of his soul, if he cannot hide from the clamor and the weight and the heat, then he is lost.
"If the calloused hand of circumstance reaches inside him and scrambles the notes, scattering them to the lost reaches of his soul as the planets are flung through the heavens, then he is doomed and lost.
"And if the searing finger of despair reaches in to cauterize, to seal up his soul, and the cold wash of fear descends upon him and his metal has no temper, then he will not live.
"For of what use is life if a man cannot find the lost knowledge of himself, or put together again a song that has been broken and scattered, or restore his soul?"
-- The Song of Samuel, And Scattter the Proud by Lewis W. Green
graphic above: "Pear," oil painting by Suzan Ertuman, VCU BFA student, Richmond VA
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