Letters

Letters 08-31-2015

Inalienable Rights This is a response to the “No More State Theatre” in your August 24th edition. I think I will not be the only response to this pathetic and narrow-minded letter that seems rather out of place in the northern Michigan that I know. To think we will not be getting your 25 cents for the movie you refused to see, but more importantly we will be without your “two cents” on your thoughts of a marriage at the State Theatre...

Enthusiastically Democratic Since I was one of the approximately 160 people present at when Senator Debbie Stabenow spoke on August 14 in Charlevoix, I was surprised to read in a letter to Northern Express that there was a “rather muted” response to Debbie’s announcement that she has endorsed Hillary Clinton for president...

Not Hurting I surely think the State Theatre will survive not having the homophobic presence of Colleen Smith and her family attend any matinees. I think “Ms.” Smith might also want to make sure that any medical personnel, bank staff, grocery store staff, waiters and/or waitress, etc. are not homosexual before accepting any service or product from them...

Stay Home I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I read the letter of the extremely homophobic, “disgusted” writer. She now refuses to patronize the State Theatre because she evidently feels that its confines have been poisoned by the gay wedding ceremony held there...

Keep Away In response to Colleen Smith of Cadillac who refused to bring her family to the State Theatre because there was a gay wedding there: Keep your 25 cents and your family out of Traverse City...

Celebrating Moore And A Theatre I was 10 years old when I had the privilege to see my first film at the State Theatre. I will never forget that experience. The screen was almost the size of my bedroom I shared with my older sister. The bursting sounds made me believe I was part of the film...

Outdated Thinking This letter is in response to Colleen Smith. She made public her choice to no longer go to the State Theater due to the fact that “some homosexuals” got married there. I’m not outraged by her choice; we don’t need any more hateful, self-righteous bigots in our town. She can keep her 25 cents...

Mackinac Pipeline Must Be Shut Down Crude oil flowing through Enbridge’s 60-yearold pipeline beneath the Mackinac Straits and the largest collection of fresh water on the planet should be a serious concern for every resident of the USA and Canada. Enbridge has a very “accident” prone track record...

Your Rights To Colleen, who wrote about the State Theatre: Let me thank you for sharing your views; I think most of us are well in support of the first amendment, because as you know- it gives everyone the opportunity to express their opinions. I also wanted to thank Northern Express for not shutting down these types of letters right at the source but rather giving the community a platform for education...

No Role Model [Fascinating Person from last week’s issue] Jada quoted: “I want to be a role model for girls who are interested in being in the outdoors.” I enjoy being in the outdoors, but I don’t want to kill animals for trophy...

Home · Articles · News · Books · Great Samaritan
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Great Samaritan

Nancy Sundstrom - February 6th, 2003
It has been four years since Richard Price wrote his last book, the vastly underrated “Freedomland,“ which was a follow-up to the brilliant “Clockers.“ For those, like this reviewer, who had to tough out the wait, the promise of good things to come began with the fact that Price had returned to the muse he has found in the fictional setting of Dempsey, New Jersey. Dempsey is the blighted, gritty city that has served as the backdrop for his past three novels, and just like those tour-de-force works of urban drama and despair, his newest, “Samaritan,“ builds its moral complexity from the streets on up to create a modern parable.
In his books and in numerous screenplays like “Ransom,“ “Sea of Love“ and “The Color of Money,“ Price’s calling card has become a meld of social conflict, taut mystery, razor-sharp dialogue, vividly drawn characters, and an attention to detail that has earned him a reputation as one of the best chroniclers of big city experience.
It is no surprise that all of those elements are here again, in one big, gripping, suspenseful, and challenging work. It is also not surprising that peers like Stephen King describe “Samaritan“ as “absolutely riveting“ and a master such as Elmore Leonard to opine ecstatically, using terms that range from “beautiful“ and “a gem“ to “terrific.“ Even the Wall Street Journal has weighed in with the assessment that “It all makes for an extraordinary novel, with the gritty plot of a hard-edged thriller and the cosmic concerns of a streetcorner Dostoyevsky.“
The protagonist in “Samaritan,“ is Ray Mitchell, a former high school teacher whose more recent and highly lucrative career as a TV writer has just come to an abrupt end, sending him back to his birthplace of Dempsey in an effort to rethink his life. Also on the agenda are reconnecting with Ruby, his teenage daughter, taking a stab at teaching again, and becoming a mentor to a former student who just got out of jail.
In the following two excerpts from the book’s prologue, “Out of Time: Ray - January 10,“ and then from the first chapter, respectively, we meet Ray as he orients himself to life back in Dempsey, at home and at his new place of employment:

“Ray Mitchell, white, forty-three, and his thirteen-year-old daughter, Ruby, sat perched on the top slat of a playground bench in the heart of the Hopewell Houses, a twenty-four-tower low-income housing project in the city of Dempsy, New Jersey.
It was just after sundown: a clear winter‘s night, the sky still holding on to that last tinge of electric blue. Directly above their heads, sneaker-fruit and snagged plastic bags dangled from bare tree limbs; above that, an encircling ring of fourteen-story buildings; hundreds of aluminum-framed eyes twitching TV-light silver, and above all, the stars, faintly panting, like dogs at rest.
They were alone, but Ray wasn‘t too concerned about it -- he had grown up in these houses; eighteen years ending in college, and naive or not he just couldn‘t quite regard Hopewell as an alien nation. Besides, a foot and a half of snow had fallen in the last two days and that kind of drama tended to put a hush on things, herd most of the worrisome stuff indoors. Not that it was even all that cold-they were reasonably comfortable sitting there under the yellow glow of sodium lights, looking out over the pristine crust under which, half-buried, were geodesic monkey bars, two concrete crawl-through barrels and three cement seals, only their snouts and eyes visible above the snow line, as if they were truly at sea.
Two Hispanic teenaged girls cocooned inside puffy coats and speaking through their scarves walked past the playground, talking to each other about various boys‘ hair. Ray attempted to catch his daughter‘s eye to see if she had overheard any of that but Ruby, embarrassed about being here, about not belonging here, studied her boots...
“Dad?“ Ruby said in a soft high voice. “When you were a child, did Grandma and Grandpa like living here?“
“When I was a child?“ Ray touched by her formality. “I guess. I mean, here was here, you know what I‘m saying? People lived where they lived. At least, back then they did.“
And from Chapter 1: Ray - January 4: “Entering Paulus Hook High School for only the second time since graduation twenty-five years earlier, Ray approached the security desk, a rickety card table set up beneath a blue-and-gold Christmas/Kwanza/Hanukkah banner, which still hung from the ceiling in the darkly varnished lobby four days into the New Year. The uniformed guard standing behind the sign-in book was a grandmotherly black woman: short, bespectacled, wearing an odd homemade uniform of fuzzy knit watch cap, gray slacks and a commando sweater, a khaki ribbed pullover with a saddle-shaped leather patch straddling the left shoulder.
“You got a visitor‘s pass?“ she asked Ray as he hunched over the sign-in sheet.
“Me? I‘m here to guest-teach a class.“
“They give you a teacher‘s ID?“
“A what?“ Then, “No...“
Straightening up, he was struck with a humid waft of boiled hot dogs and some kind of furry bean-based soup that threw him right back into tenth grade.
“Today‘s my first day.“

Ray is just beginning to settle into this new phase of his life when disaster strikes, and he is brutally beaten and left to die of a crushed skull in his own apartment. He knows who the attacker was, but won’t say or press charges, even though Nerese Ammons, a childhood friend who grew up to be a detective, keeps the pressure on him as he slips in and out of consciousness in ICU. As she furthers her investigation, she learns that there are a number of possible perpetrators with a motive to want to see Ray hurt, But even more frightening is that the victim himself seems more afraid of the truth than he does his own death.
Price skillfully weaves together the storylines attached to Ray’s past and his recovery with Nerese’s investigation, and it’s a testament to his considerable skills as a storyteller that even though all the clues are there, readers will be guessing the identity of the assailant right up until the end. And when that denouement is reached, the walloping punch it delivers has the impact it does not because of the identity that is revealed, but the superb way that Price dissects the motive, all of which is closely linked to some powerful assessments about human behavior, the nature of giving and forgiveness, and how easy it is to mistakenly believe we are doing someone a favor, when the opposite is, in fact, true. Price is a first-rate writer who seems to be at the height of his game, and “Samaritan“ is not only good, it aspires to greatness and achieves it. Even if we have to wait another four years for his next work, it will be worth it.

 
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