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	<title>norman-lear-and-the-subliminal-underpinnings-of-a-70s-childhood &amp;laquo; WordPress.com Tag Feed</title>
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	<pubDate>Sat, 25 May 2013 02:27:42 +0000</pubDate>

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<title><![CDATA[Redd Foxx, Demond Wilson, Norman Lear and the Subliminal Underpinnings of a 70's Childhood]]></title>
<link>http://octoberbabies.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/redd-foxx-demond-wilson-norman-lear-and-the-subliminal-underpinnings-of-a-70s-childhood/</link>
<pubDate>Wed, 08 Feb 2012 04:25:00 +0000</pubDate>
<dc:creator>Susan Scutti</dc:creator>
<guid>http://octoberbabies.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/redd-foxx-demond-wilson-norman-lear-and-the-subliminal-underpinnings-of-a-70s-childhood/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Susan Scutti Like a derelict Lazarus the theme song to “Sanford and Son” startles awake in my memory]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p style="text-align:left;"><strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Susan Scutti</strong><br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
Like a derelict Lazarus<br />
the theme song to<br />
“Sanford and Son” startles awake in<br />
my memory &#8230;<br />
with it an image of Redd Foxx:<br />
gutter-theme comic<br />
excavated from triple x<br />
-rated dives,<br />
sanitized with fresh cash<br />
and prime-time televised.<br />
Every episode showcased his same schtick.<br />
Something beyond remedy or repair<br />
happens<br />
so the old black man fakes a heart attack.<br />
Rolling his eyes<br />
clutching his chest<br />
he staggers<br />
a stiff-legged Frankenstein.<br />
Clawing at his heart<br />
stumbling within soundstage living room<br />
he calls for his dead wife:<br />
“Elizabeth? I&#8217;m comin&#8217; to join you!”</p>
<p style="text-align:left;">Lamont freezes, Lamont frets.<br />
The good son<br />
kind-hearted one<br />
stays behind to help Dad<br />
run the business<br />
junkyard but business<br />
private enterprise<br />
(goddamit)<br />
they own it it is theirs.<br />
Week after week after week after week</p>
<p style="text-align:left;">we who were white<br />
living separate yet near lives<br />
watched the hilarious scene<br />
transpire on a small screen.<br />
Half an hour<br />
to forget<br />
broadcast beatings<br />
and diode drive-bys<br />
trespass on both sides<br />
race war undeclared outside<br />
locked doors.<br />
Turned on &#38; tuned in<br />
we stared into vacuum tubes<br />
to understand<br />
the Other&#8217;s life<br />
this price of strife:<br />
an old man grasping at his heart<br />
his wounded heart<br />
his father&#8217;s heart<br />
his human heart<br />
his heart his heart his heart his heart.<br />
Feeling him<br />
the one way possible at that time<br />
we began the healing<br />
a resurrected dream of<br />
freedom.</p>
<p><strong><br />
</strong></p>
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