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“There’s gonna be trouble,” I heard some prophesy gleefully. “Woman’s Lib ain’t gonna let him get away with it.”
“There’s gonna be trouble,” I heard some prophesy gleefully. “Woman’s Lib ain’t gonna let him get away with it.”
{{pg|396|397}}


The scene as I approached Zellerbach Auditorium seemed to bear out their warnings. In front of the ticket line, a handful of demonstrators were holding up their placards: “A little bit of rape is good for a man’s soul, says Norman Mailer.” Surprisingly, the militants were primarily gays, not women. Super macho meets the army of gays. It seemed to promise a classic contest: Classic Comics, perhaps.
The scene as I approached Zellerbach Auditorium seemed to bear out their warnings. In front of the ticket line, a handful of demonstrators were holding up their placards: “A little bit of rape is good for a man’s soul, says Norman Mailer.” Surprisingly, the militants were primarily gays, not women. Super macho meets the army of gays. It seemed to promise a classic contest: Classic Comics, perhaps.
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The audience was ready to pick up the gauntlet. “Norman, you shmuck!” yelled a woman’s voice.
The audience was ready to pick up the gauntlet. “Norman, you shmuck!” yelled a woman’s voice.


“Sweet heckler, all I heard was schmuck. I’m sure you don’t know the meaning of the word. The meaning of ''shmuck'' is ''cunt''. And if I’m a Male Chauvinist Pig, I could not possibly be a cunt. God would not so honor me. So ‘''shmuck you''.’”  
“Sweet heckler, all I heard was schmuck. I’m sure you don’t know the
 
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meaning of the word. The meaning of ''shmuck'' is ''cunt''. And if I’m a Male Chauvinist Pig, I could not possibly be a cunt. God would not so honor me. So ‘''shmuck you''.’”  


Cheers.
Cheers.
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The crowd was vastly amused by these sideshows even as I was finding them more and more tiresome. I resented the protestors for their interruptions, and I resented Mailer for encouraging them. Was he only going to play the clown this evening?
The crowd was vastly amused by these sideshows even as I was finding them more and more tiresome. I resented the protestors for their interruptions, and I resented Mailer for encouraging them. Was he only going to play the clown this evening?
{{pg|398|399}}


Suddenly, a man enveloped from head to toe in a furry pink costume bunny-hopped onto the stage. He was a Bay Area grotesque, a walking phallus, a local character who called himself “The People’s Prick.” The author strode up to this pink furry outrage—we expected him to start swinging— but he only removed the sign pinned to the ambulatory shmuck. It read, “Mailer than thou.” Mailer placed it in front of the lectern. “One down, 8,700 to go.”
Suddenly, a man enveloped from head to toe in a furry pink costume bunny-hopped onto the stage. He was a Bay Area grotesque, a walking phallus, a local character who called himself “The People’s Prick.” The author strode up to this pink furry outrage—we expected him to start swinging— but he only removed the sign pinned to the ambulatory shmuck. It read, “Mailer than thou.” Mailer placed it in front of the lectern. “One down, 8,700 to go.”
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Mailer was warming up now, growing more eloquent and impassioned as he arrived at the core of his ideas, orating in his characteristically rapid, staccato fashion. The extemporaneous words flowed the way his elaborate phrases do in print, in long, elegant sentences that bend and turn and gather momentum. He claimed that the country may be “already afloat on a sea of totalitarianism which is different from any which has ever been visited before on the earth. For this is a species of benign totalitarianism. . . .”
Mailer was warming up now, growing more eloquent and impassioned as he arrived at the core of his ideas, orating in his characteristically rapid, staccato fashion. The extemporaneous words flowed the way his elaborate phrases do in print, in long, elegant sentences that bend and turn and gather momentum. He claimed that the country may be “already afloat on a sea of totalitarianism which is different from any which has ever been visited before on the earth. For this is a species of benign totalitarianism. . . .”


Then he denounced the arrogance and self-righteousness of the New Left and said that in the years before us we must begin to question all our motives. “Because finally, all evident before us, is the knowledge that we are all full of shit—from top to bottom.”
Then he denounced the arrogance and self-righteousness of the New Left
 
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and said that in the years before us we must begin to question all our motives. “Because finally, all evident before us, is the knowledge that we are all full of shit—from top to bottom.”


Now the jester had taken on the guise of the revolutionary theorist. And we believed him; perhaps he had the handle on where the truth was hidden. His strategy had been to establish a communality with all of us—he was full of shit, but then, so were we all. He was one leap ahead because he already knew how full of it he was, and we, perhaps, did not.
Now the jester had taken on the guise of the revolutionary theorist. And we believed him; perhaps he had the handle on where the truth was hidden. His strategy had been to establish a communality with all of us—he was full of shit, but then, so were we all. He was one leap ahead because he already knew how full of it he was, and we, perhaps, did not.
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She, smiling enigmatically, said: “Well, I move around a lot.”
She, smiling enigmatically, said: “Well, I move around a lot.”
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Mailer: “Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”
Mailer: “Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”
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Not surprising that Mailer aroused the maternal instinct. By 1972, he had already been married four times (he was to marry twice more). He admitted he could never live without a woman.
Not surprising that Mailer aroused the maternal instinct. By 1972, he had already been married four times (he was to marry twice more). He admitted he could never live without a woman.
I decided to go up and question the great man myself. But my question was literary, a piece of Ph.D. trivia. Mailer pondered a moment and said, “I can’t answer that for you. You’ll have to do your own homework.” Then he paused and looked me straight in the eye. “There’s an old Mafia saying: ‘Follow your nose.’”
 
I decided to go up and question the great man myself. But my question
 
{{pg|401|402}}
 
was literary, a piece of Ph.D. trivia. Mailer pondered a moment and said, “I can’t answer that for you. You’ll have to do your own homework.” Then he paused and looked me straight in the eye. “There’s an old Mafia saying: ‘Follow your nose.’”


There in the perpetual twilight of the bar, I had a momentary flash, an epiphany: Mailer’s features suddenly melted into the face of the most voluble Jewish uncle who has ever lived, the kind who would take you aside at a party and say, “So, ''nu'', when are you going to wise up, ''putz''?”, the Spinoza of a drunken Bar Mitzvah. The type of uncle who would regale you at a family gathering, drink in hand, with the story of his life. A nice little guy better educated than the other relatives, the family philosopher, gregarious, a quick opinion on every topic of the day, always tossing out a joke or a sharp notion, but he spent his days as a traveling salesman.
There in the perpetual twilight of the bar, I had a momentary flash, an epiphany: Mailer’s features suddenly melted into the face of the most voluble Jewish uncle who has ever lived, the kind who would take you aside at a party and say, “So, ''nu'', when are you going to wise up, ''putz''?”, the Spinoza of a drunken Bar Mitzvah. The type of uncle who would regale you at a family gathering, drink in hand, with the story of his life. A nice little guy better educated than the other relatives, the family philosopher, gregarious, a quick opinion on every topic of the day, always tossing out a joke or a sharp notion, but he spent his days as a traveling salesman.
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“Well, now you know how near-sighted I am.” Mailer is a past master at the art of self-deprecation as a saving gesture.
“Well, now you know how near-sighted I am.” Mailer is a past master at the art of self-deprecation as a saving gesture.


The blunder was resolved with tact; each had saved face for the other. And that was how the evening ended, Uncle Norman proving himself human after all, neither genius nor fool nor boor, just a mild-mannered gentleman who had the small vanity not to wear his glasses. Had some bullies in a long-distant Brooklyn schoolyard taunted him once too often with the humiliating cry “Four-eyes”? A sensitive, friendly, slightly vain middle-aged man who had committed a ''faux pas'' at a party and, courteous to a fault, made his amends and returned to grace.
The blunder was resolved with tact; each had saved face for the other. And that was how the evening ended, Uncle Norman proving himself human after all, neither genius nor fool nor boor, just a mild-mannered gentleman who had the small vanity not to wear his glasses. Had some bullies in a long-distant Brooklyn schoolyard taunted him once too often with the humiliating cry “Four-eyes”? A sensitive, friendly, slightly vain middle-aged  
 
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man who had committed a ''faux pas'' at a party and, courteous to a fault, made his amends and returned to grace.




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In 1972, it was the tempestuous Nixon years: the Vietnam War was still raging, the country was facing an election, and Mailer faced vociferous protest at Berkeley from both women’s liberation and gay liberation. In 1986, it was the quiescent Reagan era. It was as if the Gipper had force-fed America a massive dose of valium, and everybody was living in Fantasyland, trying to pretend the 1960s never happened. Robert Lowell once wrote, “These are the tranquilized ''Fifties'', and I am forty” (“Memories of West Street and Lepke”). Well, these were the tranquilized Eighties, and I was forty.
In 1972, it was the tempestuous Nixon years: the Vietnam War was still raging, the country was facing an election, and Mailer faced vociferous protest at Berkeley from both women’s liberation and gay liberation. In 1986, it was the quiescent Reagan era. It was as if the Gipper had force-fed America a massive dose of valium, and everybody was living in Fantasyland, trying to pretend the 1960s never happened. Robert Lowell once wrote, “These are the tranquilized ''Fifties'', and I am forty” (“Memories of West Street and Lepke”). Well, these were the tranquilized Eighties, and I was forty.


The times were tamer, and Mailer too had aged and mellowed. He was dapper in a double-breasted blue blazer, white, open-collared shirt, and grey slacks. No more blue jeans for his public performances. At sixty-three, he looked stouter and more wrinkled and his hair thinner and whiter then when I had last seen him–but then, I was fourteen years older too. And this bored Florida student crowd was a far cry from the Berkeley rebels who had alternately cheered, booed, and heckled and disrupted Mailer’s speech in 1972. Some of these UF students had actually been required to attend by a journalism professor. The headline in the Florida student newspaper the next day told the tale: “'''Meet Mailer the lamb: Dry audience dampens author’s rhetoric'''” (Jim Hagy, ''The Independent Florida Alligator'', February 26, 1986, p. 1).
The times were tamer, and Mailer too had aged and mellowed. He was dapper in a double-breasted blue blazer, white, open-collared shirt, and grey slacks. No more blue jeans for his public performances. At sixty-three, he looked stouter and more wrinkled and his hair thinner and whiter then when I had last seen him–but then, I was fourteen years older too. And this bored Florida student crowd was a far cry from the Berkeley rebels who had alternately cheered, booed, and heckled and disrupted Mailer’s speech in 1972. Some of these UF students had actually been required to attend by a journalism professor. The headline in the Florida student newspaper the next day told the tale: “'''Meet Mailer the lamb: Dry audience dampens author’s  
 
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rhetoric'''” (Jim Hagy, ''The Independent Florida Alligator'', February 26, 1986, p. 1).


Mailer began apologetically, saying his reputation had been exaggerated. They seemed to expect a wild man like Hunter S. Thompson: “I couldn’t carry Hunter Thompson’s water pail,” he said modestly. He referred to the last lecture he had given at the University of Florida, in 1975, when the audience heckled him; he felt he had laid an egg that night and seemed to want to make up for it. But his opening anecdote about the boxer Sonny Liston, intended to warm them up, received no response. “That’s the first time I’ve told that story without getting a laugh,” he said. “I can see we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight.” With that, the audience finally laughed, and Mailer smiled for the first time that evening.
Mailer began apologetically, saying his reputation had been exaggerated. They seemed to expect a wild man like Hunter S. Thompson: “I couldn’t carry Hunter Thompson’s water pail,” he said modestly. He referred to the last lecture he had given at the University of Florida, in 1975, when the audience heckled him; he felt he had laid an egg that night and seemed to want to make up for it. But his opening anecdote about the boxer Sonny Liston, intended to warm them up, received no response. “That’s the first time I’ve told that story without getting a laugh,” he said. “I can see we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight.” With that, the audience finally laughed, and Mailer smiled for the first time that evening.
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He said he was working on another novel but didn’t want to talk about it.
He said he was working on another novel but didn’t want to talk about it.
{{pg|404|405}}


The past year he’d mostly been writing screenplays for money. He had six kids in school and had to pay the bills. Every month he met with his accountant and was “$10,000 down or $10,000 up.” That’s also why he spoke at Florida. He was working on Godard’s adaptation of ''King Lear'' (which was eventually made, but not a good film). Mailer spoke admiringly of Kurosawa’s ''Ran'', an adaptation of ''Macbeth''. He was also researching the life of Jewish racketeer Meyer Lansky for a possible film.
The past year he’d mostly been writing screenplays for money. He had six kids in school and had to pay the bills. Every month he met with his accountant and was “$10,000 down or $10,000 up.” That’s also why he spoke at Florida. He was working on Godard’s adaptation of ''King Lear'' (which was eventually made, but not a good film). Mailer spoke admiringly of Kurosawa’s ''Ran'', an adaptation of ''Macbeth''. He was also researching the life of Jewish racketeer Meyer Lansky for a possible film.
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Mailer said he liked the Russians: “They are deeper than Americans. I thought they all looked Jewish.” He met and admired the poet Yevtushenko and twice viewed a movie Yevtushenko had made. I said Russian poets were like rock stars or opera singers; Mailer agreed.
Mailer said he liked the Russians: “They are deeper than Americans. I thought they all looked Jewish.” He met and admired the poet Yevtushenko and twice viewed a movie Yevtushenko had made. I said Russian poets were like rock stars or opera singers; Mailer agreed.


He said that the American government had been lying to us about Russia throughout the Cold War to exaggerate the threat. He found Russia in 1985 not to be a great power but a sad place, a Third World country, like the United States if it had been devastated by war and then run by the Army. He called it more “an Army state” then a police state: “In the Army, everyone gets drunk as a way of saying, ‘I don’t give a shit about your institution.’” That, he claimed, accounts for the appalling rate of alcoholism in Russia.
He said that the American government had been lying to us about Russia throughout the Cold War to exaggerate the threat. He found Russia in 1985 not to be a great power but a sad place, a Third World country, like the  
 
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United States if it had been devastated by war and then run by the Army. He called it more “an Army state” then a police state: “In the Army, everyone gets drunk as a way of saying, ‘I don’t give a shit about your institution.’” That, he claimed, accounts for the appalling rate of alcoholism in Russia.


Talk shifted to boxing: the fraternities at the University of Florida had recently held a “Slugfest” of amateur boxing. Mailer was fascinated; he wanted to know the details about the weight classes and the time of the rounds. He said, “If these guys are going in the ring for the first time, they must be terrified.” The students said this was generally true. He talked about boxers psyching themselves up for weeks before a fight, and the pressure and terror with which they lived.
Talk shifted to boxing: the fraternities at the University of Florida had recently held a “Slugfest” of amateur boxing. Mailer was fascinated; he wanted to know the details about the weight classes and the time of the rounds. He said, “If these guys are going in the ring for the first time, they must be terrified.” The students said this was generally true. He talked about boxers psyching themselves up for weeks before a fight, and the pressure and terror with which they lived.
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The topic switched to skydiving. Mailer said he once flew a glider but didn’t like it: too noisy, you had to concentrate on the instruments, and he got nauseated. Some students at a college he visited had once invited him skydiving. He was terrified all night at the prospect and relieved the next morning when it rained and they couldn’t go up. I admired Mailer’s honesty about his fears and incapacities, something he confronts in all his fiction. The terror he said boxers lived with was deeply familiar to Mailer.
The topic switched to skydiving. Mailer said he once flew a glider but didn’t like it: too noisy, you had to concentrate on the instruments, and he got nauseated. Some students at a college he visited had once invited him skydiving. He was terrified all night at the prospect and relieved the next morning when it rained and they couldn’t go up. I admired Mailer’s honesty about his fears and incapacities, something he confronts in all his fiction. The terror he said boxers lived with was deeply familiar to Mailer.


I asked him about the scene of climbing the monument in Provincetown in his novel ''Tough Guys Don’t Dance'' (1984). He said it was based on his experience of rock climbing and on the experience of a guy who actually climbed the monument. We began to mentally cast the film ''Tough Guys Don’t Dance'', which Mailer was about to direct. For Timothy Madden, I suggested William Hurt; Mailer said his name had been mentioned (the part was finally played by Ryan O’Neal). The part of Regency was tougher to cast. Mailer said there weren’t many big, tough guys who could act. I mentioned Brian Dennehy (Wings Hauser ended up playing Regency). Then I described in detail to Mailer the plot of the Coen brothers’ film ''Blood Simple'' (1985), a murder thriller I had recently seen. Mailer was momentarily taken aback, saying, “Jesus! That plot is better than mine.” He was dissatisfied with the ending of ''Tough Guys Don't Dance'' but didn’t yet know how to change it. (''Tough Guys Don't Dance'' [1987] had its moments, but it failed at the box office and became Mailer’s first and last try at directing a Hollywood film. He was right: ''Blood Simple'' was a better thriller.)
I asked him about the scene of climbing the monument in Provincetown in his novel ''Tough Guys Don’t Dance'' (1984). He said it was based on his experience of rock climbing and on the experience of a guy who actually climbed the monument. We began to mentally cast the film ''Tough Guys Don’t Dance'', which Mailer was about to direct. For Timothy Madden, I suggested William Hurt; Mailer said his name had been mentioned (the part was finally played by Ryan O’Neal). The part of Regency was tougher to cast. Mailer said there weren’t many big, tough guys who could act. I mentioned Brian Dennehy (Wings Hauser ended up playing Regency). Then I described in detail to Mailer the plot of the Coen brothers’ film ''Blood Simple'' (1985), a murder thriller I had recently seen. Mailer was momentarily taken aback, saying, “Jesus! That plot is better than mine.” He was dissatisfied with the ending of ''Tough Guys Don't Dance'' but didn’t yet know how to change it. (''Tough Guys Don't Dance''  
 
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[1987] had its moments, but it failed at the box office and became Mailer’s first and last try at directing a Hollywood film. He was right: ''Blood Simple'' was a better thriller.)


Because I’d never boxed or gone skydiving or rock climbing, I talked about running with the bulls in Pamplona, which I had done in 1974. I said the real danger of running was not so much from the bulls but from fellow runners who tripped or stumbled, causing a human pileup or montón. Then many people could be gored or trampled by the bulls or the steers. Mailer said, “What a humiliating way to go: trampled by a steer!” I said, “To the guy getting trampled, it would make no difference which animal killed him.” But Mailer was concerned about dying a noble death.
Because I’d never boxed or gone skydiving or rock climbing, I talked about running with the bulls in Pamplona, which I had done in 1974. I said the real danger of running was not so much from the bulls but from fellow runners who tripped or stumbled, causing a human pileup or montón. Then many people could be gored or trampled by the bulls or the steers. Mailer said, “What a humiliating way to go: trampled by a steer!” I said, “To the guy getting trampled, it would make no difference which animal killed him.” But Mailer was concerned about dying a noble death.
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