This is the only blog post reposted on this site for seven years now.
In 1978, Charles Kuralt visited Alex and Mary Chandler in rural Mississippi. Sharecroppers who lived in a cabin, the Chandlers raised nine children who had nearly nothing to their name except the ability to pick cotton.
And, yet, all nine children graduated college.
Here is the five minute video that explains their story, and how they truly embody the thanks that should be in Thanksgiving.
South Dakota is known for many things, and when I actually figure out what those things are, I'll be sure to share them with you.
One thing South Dakota and the upper Midwest region of the United States is not known for is a large Jewish population.
In December of 1980, famed reporter and video essayist Charles Kuralt explored the story of Rabbi Steve Forstein, who was the only rabbi within a 60,000 square mile swath of South Dakota and a small corner of Minnesota. And, to make ends meet, he also sold light bulbs.
The story was originally supposed to air during the eighth night of Hanukkah, December 9th, 1980. It was delayed one evening to December 10th. The reason? John Lennon was killed the night before on December 8th, which dominated the news, and is mentioned during the first thirty seconds of this video. By happenstance, Lennon lived at The Dakota apartment building.
Somehow, rabbi Steve Forstein's story still puts a smile on the face six minutes later despite the sad introduction.
As tonight is the first night of the holiday for 2016, Happy Hanukkah.
May this season and every night upcoming also bring a smile to your face.
Charles Kuralt was an essayist and journalist for CBS, where he sought out the unique, the interesting, the small slices of good that exist in life.
In 1978, he visited Alex and Mary Chandler in rural Mississippi. Sharecroppers who lived in a cabin, the Chandlers raised nine children who had nearly nothing to their name except the ability to pick cotton.
And, yet, all nine children graduated college.
Here is the five minute video that explains their story, and how they truly embody the thanks that should be in Thanksgiving.
As the word implies, Thanksgiving is about giving thanks--not to deities or dollars, but in life, general. In 1978, CBS reporter Charles Kuralt visited a family in rural Mississippi that had something to be truly thankful for.
This is that story.
May you be thankful for anything you have today. Happy Thanksgiving, folks.
Discounted toys and clearance rack bargains needn't be what Thanksgiving is about, nor the gluttony of seeing how much tryptophan it takes to mimic entering a diabetic coma from too much pecan pie.
So here's the annual reposting of a Charles Kuralt story that aired on CBS in 1978 about a rural Mississippi family that had something to be truly thankful for:
May you and your family have many things to be thankful for this year. Happy Thanksgiving, folks.
These days Thanksgiving is about football and your extended relatives getting tanked on boxed wine and Natty Ice.
While the NFL games are a great sedative for the vegetative state you'll induce yourself into via mass quantities of tryptophan and saturated fats--and though the boxed wine is probably the highest mid-level low quality boxed wine on the market--Thanksgiving was about more noble things once.
It's another Charles Kuralt essay, this time on making sorghum. Stick around to about the 1:30 mark for the brief interview with the molasses maker. He went to the Maya Angelou school of slow talkers. (You---just---wonder---what---they'll---say---next---because---even---the---mundane---sounds---exceptionally---important.) And it's worth it just to hear his wife interject constantly with little bon mots like "A good cow butter!"
Also, that's quite possibly the greatest tune to ever come out of Tennessee. Banjos and twangy voices never had a better subject matter.
You will hum this song for the rest of the day. Don't blame me. Blame Charles Kuralt.
Canoes are little death traps on the water. They can't handle a wave, so every time someone flies by on a speed boat at 75mph you need to angle your canoe head-on to the incoming tsunami wake just created or you're taking a header into water. And nothing is sexier than wet jeans and the great suction cup effect they create on your crotch.
But birch bark canoes are from a simpler time. A time when Levi Strauss didn't create jeans, when gas engines didn't exist, and canoes mainly found themselves placed on remote little rivers as a means of transportation.
And some folks became great at making canoes, as Charles Kuralt showed in one of his video essays. Bill Heifman lived in the rural woods of Minnesota with his wife, and no one made a better birch bark canoe than he did.
As we can see, ol' Bill mocks us by wearing jeans that suck in the diaphragm and go to his ribcage. A canoe maker rockin' the jeans.
I see how it is, Bill. I see where you're going with this.
I don't cry from greeting cards or get choked up on Youtube videos of puppies. But I do have a soft spot for Charles Kuralt. (Aww, pudgy, dead guys! You could just squeeze their cheeks!)
It's been months since I went down Nostalgia Highway with Chuck, so let's revisit. In case you forgot, Kuralt was a photo-essayist, known for his folksy demeanor that looked at the kinder, contemplative side of life.
Or, in this case, looking at Joseph Charles, a gentleman from Berkeley, CA, who waved to people every morning for over 30 years, wishing them a good day:
Looks like the moody lady at the 2:15 mark is thisclose to doing a one finger salute. Pretty sweet looking helmet though.
When people mention 1970's television, I imagine television that's full of warm brown and orange tones.Think: All in the Family, The Jeffersons, The Partridge Family. Shag orange carpeting should be required. Bell-bottoms optional.
But here's Walter Cronkite hosting an edition of the CBS Evening News on November 13, 1972, which, based on film quality, looks pulled from a 1938 time capsule.
Why does it matter? Because it's about Cuero, TX, and their annual Turkey Trot, as told by Charles Kuralt.
Let's revisit Thanksgiving during a simpler time, when watching television made you feel like you had cataracts.
(Someone I know--who overheard me from afar watching these videos--said, "I don't know what you're watching, but it sounds boring as (expletive deleted, rhymes with pit)." I get it. There's an old, borderline senile man inside my grad school body. I was born in the wrong decade. All I'm saying is that if your grandmother met me, she probably would love me more than you. For good reason.)
Here's Kuralt on two brothers, a pumpkin patch, and thousands of school children.
I don't even like kids, and Kuralt makes this enjoyable.
He was the folksy stand-in of an uncle that told an affecting story. His skill was writing televised essays for CBS News, kind of like Andy Rooney did--except less grouchy and more sentimental. Rooney spoke with his liver while Kuralt spoke with his heart. Rooney spoke from his office while Kuralt spoke from the road. Rooney instigated. Kuralt motivated.
With Thanksgiving next week, here's Kuralt's 1978 report of a poor, rural family from Mississippi that had something to be thankful for:
