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Warning! This Product Contains Nuttiness
As seen through the eyes of Sam Venable, the world is indeed bizarre and filled with nuttiness. The archives of the Knoxville News Sentinel offer ample evidence that Venable is a bit of the former and has made a career out of drawing attention to the latter.For his latest book, Venable has gathered and organized 139 of his newspaper columns—his biggest collection yet—to create a trove of wit and wisdom. In the spirit of “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” he points a finger at human nature, the environment, civil rights and wrongs, and an eclectic mix of other targets, drawing our attention to the foibles, failings, and just plain absurdities that surround us all.As a native son and treasured institution in East Tennessee, Venable has earned the right to poke fun at its local history, habits, and happenings. He takes full, loving advantage of this license in essays such as “How to Tawlk Good,” “Shall We Gather with a Reptile,” and “The Good, the Bad, the Kudzu.” He takes on the government in a section titled “A Two-Ring Circus with Elephants and Donkeys,” and in another called “Still Waiting for Y2K,” he offers up “A Lesson in Dollars and Sense” and “Blowing the Budget for Bowser.”Some have called him a modern-day Mark Twain, others the Dave Barry of Knoxville; but while there may be some similarities, Sam Venable is wonderfully unique. He sees—and sees through—the pervasive silliness and stupidity in our world. It evokes wonder in him, and with many a deft turn of phrase, he interprets that wonder for us. Warning! This Product Contains Nuttiness will make you smile, certainly, but it will also make you think and sometimes even touch your heart.
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How the Few Became the Proud
For more than half its existence, the U.S. Marine Corps and its members largely self-identified as soldiers. In the early decades, being a Marine did not yet mean something distinct, either to Marines or to the public at large. The Corps’ peculiar position resulted in a sort of identity crisis: Being neither a land-based organization like the Army nor an entirely sea-based one like the Navy, the Corps’ role overlapped with both institutions. While the Army and Navy easily could define their respective domains, Marines inherently shouldered a more varied array of land-and-sea responsibilities. Author Heather Venable argues that, since the Marine Corps could not readily rally around a sole defining mission, it turned instead to an image to ensure its institutional survival. As Marine officers immersed themselves in the Corps’ historical records, they initiated a process by which a maligned group of nineteenth-century naval policemen eventually would come to be regarded as elite warriors. Embracing their storied past, fin-de-siècle Marines began to justify their existence by invoking their traditions, celebrating their many martial engagements, and claiming to be the nation’s oldest and proudest military branch. A new and enduring institutional persona emerged—that of a fighting force ultimately superior to soldiers and sailors. Although there are countless works on the Marine Corps, How the Few Became the Proud is the first to explore the origin of the myths behind the mystique.
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Rock-Elephant
Two years after Sam Venable became the outdoor editor for the Knoxville News-Sentinel, he began receiving photographs of fish marked with only a phone number and the mysterious words “top-water Hubbard.” Curious, Venable called the number and reached Ray Hubbard, a lay preacher, sewing machine repairman, and top-notch bass fisherman. Thus began an extraordinary twenty-seven-year friendship between two men who had little in common but a serious love of fishing and the outdoors.Venable wrote a story about Hubbard for the newspaper and began joining him for more fishing trips. Armed with unusual homemade lures and a friendly smile, Hubbard taught Venable the art of buzzbaiting, the joys of fishing pungent “slop holes,” and the secrets of a bass-catching technique Hubbard called “mesmerizing.” Soon the two men were subjecting one another to practical jokes and merciless teasing, but according to Venable, attempting to best his buddy was “like trying to argue with the captain of an international championship debating team.” They also developed an intricate verbal shorthand for the launch ramps, restaurants, and fishing spots they encountered. Venable soon discovered that the upstanding reverend was not averse to telling an occasional white lie, especially if it protected a prized location or coveted angling secret.Over the years, the size of their catches ceased to matter. Hubbard, a straitlaced country preacher, and Venable, a veteran journalist fluent in the language of the newsroom, simply enjoyed each other’s company, overcoming differences in age, educational background, and vocational calling. (It was Hubbard who continually suggested that Venable say “rock-elephant” in place of saltier expressions.) What they experienced together, Venable believes, was best understood by Henry David Thoreau, who observed that “many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”The Author: Sam Venable is an award-winning columnist for the Knoxville News-Sentinel and a contributor to such publications as Outdoor Life, Sports Afield, and Waterfowler’s World. His books include Mountain Hands: A Portrait of Southern Appalachia and From Ridgetops to Riverbottoms: Celebrating the Outdoor Life in Tennessee.
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