When Writers Go Weird: That time Carl Sandburg appeared on a game show...and a book publisher didn't recognize him.

Are writers ever normal? No, otherwise they'd be productive members of society. When Writers Go Weird is when we remember writers acting strange, odd, off, or--yeah--just plain weird. Also known as Tuesday to them.

Today:  That time Carl Sandburg appeared on a game show. And a powerful book publisher was unaware.
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We've covered some truly weird situations with When Writers Go Weird, including guys accidentally killing their wife, another writer faking their own death, and yet another literary visionary trying to stage a military coup. We mean weird when we say weird. So, by those lofty standards, having a world-famous writer appear on a game show is practically amateur hour. The point is, hey, you don't see Jodi Picoult on Jeopardy! much, now do you?

By 1960, the game show What's My Line? was in its tenth year of a 17-year run on CBS and at the height of its popularity. The show's premise was fairly simple. Four B-level celebrity panelists questioned everyday people all in an attempt to guess their occupation. Considering this was the 1950s and '60s, this was about as edgy as television got.

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"Being 82-years old at the time and hard of hearing, Sandburg appears to have a grand old time...chirping yup! and nope! with a bird-like pitch."
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In addition to hum-drum everyday jamokes, each week What's My Line? invited mystery celebrities to appear, where the blindfolded panelists guessed the celebrity's identity through a series of questions, all while the guest masked their voice. And those mystery celebrities were huge by any standard. People like Muhammad Ali, Walt Disney, and Better Davis appeared...as did Frank Sinatra, Gene Kelly, Paul Newman...Betty White, Elizabeth Taylor, and even Sir Edmund Hillary. The list went on.

This is exactly what three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Carl Sandburg walked into when he appeared on September 11, 1960. Being 82-years old at the time and hard of hearing, Sandburg appears to have a grand old time during his roughly 5-minute segment, chirping yup! and nope! with a bird-like pitch during his failed attempt to thwart people.

(Sandburg's segment doesn't really starts until the 3:08 part of the video, but watch the first three minutes to see how elaborately the panelists introduce one another, all while dressed like MET Gala attendees.)





In the end, panelist Arlene Francis guesses Sandburg out of the blue. None of the panelist's previous questions seemingly whittled down the scope to Sandburg. Yet, somehow--somehow--it appears Francis has psychic visions a carnival swindler would admire, and Carl Sandburg pops in her head. Rii-i-ight.

But wait!

There was one big kicker! (And it's not even Arlene Francis' psychic abilities!) One of the panelists was Bennett Cerf. You're quietly asking yourself right now, "And who the hell is he?" If the name doesn't ring a bell, you might know him by a tiny little publishing company he helped co-found: Random House.

That's right. The co-founder of one of the largest publishing houses ever created was none-too-quick with guessing one of the most famous poets of the 20th century.

Maybe Cerf was more of a Robert Frost fan.

Poets Reading Poetry: Carl Sandburg

Poetry is meant to be read aloud, but rarely is. As Oscar Wilde once said, "A poet can survive everything but a misprint."

So, cutting out the middle man, here is where we'll post famous poets reading their own poetry--the words off the page and in your ears, as they intended. And hopefully nothing is lost in the process.







A farm laborer, a bricklayer, a hotel servant, a coal heaver, a milkman--all positions once held by Carl Sandburg before his writing career began. It's the sort of life nearly impossible to achieve--to simply live--in the 21st century and still become a lauded writer. Whereas today's writers often huddle in academia, a hundred years ago there were some like Sandburg who ventured outside the hallowed halls of ivy and rote memorization and experienced all versions of humanity up close.

After some time hopscotching around careers, Sandburg became a journalist for the Chicago Daily News, which brought him across stories and people unique to each day he worked. Journalism influenced his creative writing in later years, where Sandburg's poetry often took small moments and encounters from the newspaper life and found beauty in the minutia.

At the time of Sandburg's peak popularity, Robert Frost was considered the grand marshal of America's poetry parade. Indeed, despite being nearly the same age as Frost (with both men having nearly identical shocks of white hair atop their heads), Sandburg won the Poetry Society of America's Robert Frost Medal in 1952. And while Sandburg won three Pulitzer Prizes in his lifetime (including one at the age of 73), only Robert Frost won more (four) as a poet. Always the bridesmaid, Sandburg seemingly was content to never be the bride.

While Sandburg was on television routinely in the 1950s, there are few recordings of him actually reading his own work. The video above is audio of him reading the lilting, brief poem of his titled Grass (ignore the visual part of the video, and simply listen). Sandburg added the location of Stalingrad to the poem in this recording, which doesn't appear in the original poem printed below--but it's his poem, so he can see fit to edit it on the fly if he so chooses.

Whereas most poets come across as monotone while reading their works, Sandburg inflects with a hint of rhythm in his voice, of audible peaks and valleys, most likely a result of his enjoyment playing folk music as well.

That's right. A farm laborer, a bricklayer, a hotel servant, a coal heaver, a milkman...and folk musician, too.


Grass,  by Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. 
Shovel them under and let me work— 
                                          I am the grass; I cover all. 

And pile them high at Gettysburg 
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. 
Shovel them under and let me work. 
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor: 
                                          What place is this? 
                                          Where are we now? 

                                          I am the grass. 
                                          Let me work.

Time Magazine and the writers who actually made the cover, 1930s edition

As should be obvious, Time Magazine is a news source, most famous these days for naming their Person of The Year every late December and...not much else. Ask your grandfather what it was like to read Time back in the 1950s. It was something then.

To be on the cover was almost considered an honor years ago when the magazine started in 1923, only for the most noteworthy, notable, and noted individuals in the world. Politicians, religious figures, scientists, dictators, athletes, business leaders, and celebrities the world over all made the weekly cover. And, occasionally, so did writers. It's true! Writers were once famous and important.

Previously, we noted the famous authors, playwrights, and journalists--writers in general--who made the cover of Time in the 1920s and made writing seem important, briefly, during that decade.

So, now, we continue with the 1930s:


1.)  We now know the trivia answer to "What was Willa Cather's middle name?" Apparently it's Sibert, which I didn't see coming. If that's asked at your local bar trivia night, they're going deeeeeeep.

Willa Cather, August 3, 1931

2.)  Making his THIRD cover appearance in under a decade, Eugene O'Neill gets the sketched/drawn treatment, which keeps his typical boyish charm and broad smile apparent  vacant death stare that suggests you better not take a nap around him.

I'm not certain what blackmail material O'Neill had on the editors at Time to warrant THREE covers, but he wasn't done in years to come.

Eugene O'Neill, November 2, 1931

3.)  You know it was the 1930s because men wore pocket squares as big as their head and they could casually smoke a cigarette on the cover, as Noel Coward does here.

Sitting on an end table is timeless, though.

Noel Coward, January 30, 1933

4.)  It's quite possible everyone in the 1930s was simply miserable, as Gertrude Stein sees Eugene O'Neill's general unhappiness and raises him a mild depression.

Bonus points for the sweater vest, though. Stein looks like she's a costar to any Johnny Depp or Winona Ryder movie, circa 1992. She was ahead of her time. (See what I did there?? Ehh??)

Gertrude Stein, September 11, 1933

5.)  While not an author, Alice saw a resurgence in popularity some seventy years after it was first published by Lewis Carroll.

Seeing as it isn't an author, this is as enthusiastic as anyone related to writing gets on the cover of Time in the 1930s.

Alice in Wonderland, December 25, 1933

6.)  Next upon the cavalcade of joy general disdain for humanity is James Joyce, who in the coming years will not only take over Eugene O'Neill's penchant for dourness, but become the dominant face of writers appearing on Time.

Apparently the editors at Time wanted to make sure Americans immersed themselves in lengthy, bleak, gloomy works the whole family could enjoy!

James Joyce, January 29, 1934

7.)  Put up yer' dukes, because Upton Sinclair is ready for some action!

Upton Sinclair, October 22, 1934

8.)  I've always wondered why photos would show posed subjects staring off to the side. Did Virginia Woolf get distracted? Did she just think up another 2,500 word sentence or five page paragraph to write? What's going on here?

Virginia Woolf, April 12, 1937

9.)  I can't tell you why Ernest Hemingway's first appearance on the cover looks like it was a 10th grade art project, or why his face is skinny but his torso looks like he's pushing three bills.

Ernest Hemingway, October 18, 1937

10.)  William Faulkner really wants you to count how many variations on beige you can make out on his cover.

William Faulkner, January 23, 1939

11.)  Admittedly, at first I thought James Joyce's second cover appearance was him asleep while reading, which would have been very laid back of him.

James Joyce, May 8, 1939

12.)  You're probably saying, "Who now?" But regarded by some as "The First Lady of Journalism," Dorothy Thompson was so popular a writer that the Nazis kicked her out of Germany before America became involved, and Katharine Hepburn based one of her most famous movie roles on her.

Anytime you're irking Adolf Hitler is a sign your writing has power. It's a good thing.

Dorothy Thompson, June 12, 1939

13.)  Unless you're a theater snob, you just asked, "Who now?" a second time.

George S. Kaufman was all the rage in theater for a time. In the 1930s he won two Pulitzer Prizes, one for a drama and another for a musical he wrote. Years later, he'd win a Tony Award as director for Guys and Dolls.

This is all to say I just prepped you for that obscure Jeopardy! category someday.

George S. Kaufman, November 20, 1939

14.)  That's a borderline smile I see from Carl Sandburg! I think the lips are slightly curled upward! We're ending the decade with the slightest hint of happiness!!

Carl Sandburg, December 4, 1939

The Friday Poem: I Sang, by Carl Sandburg

As another week concludes, we end with a random poem. Famous poets, obscure poets, amateur poets, whatever poets--just a poem to cap off the week.

Like this one:


I Sang, by Carl Sandburg

I sang to you and the moon
But only the moon remembers.
     I sang
O reckless free-hearted
          free-throated rhythms,
Even the moon remembers them
   And is kind to me.