What We Can Learn From Leslie Jordan

Brace yourselves. I'm about to use a baseball metaphor.

Last Sunday night, we delighted in seeing character actor Leslie Jordan performing Show Pony, a one-man performance about his recent Hollywood adventures. When I wasn't laughing out loud at his breathlessly recounted stories, I couldn't help but admire what he has accomplished.

OK, now the baseball metaphor. As far as traditional Hollywood goes, Leslie Jordan had three 'strikes' against him—and still managed to hit a home run.

Arriving in Los Angeles in 1982 with "dreams as big as the California sky," Leslie's first potential strike was his height. At 4 feet 11 inches, he wasn't exactly of leading-man stature.

Then there was his deep Tennessee accent, which apparently hasn't diminished despite living in Los Angeles for over 30 years. Leslie has the kind of accent you could stick a spoon into and it would stand straight up.

The third potential strike? Leslie Jordan is "the gayest man I know," he says. In his book and stand-up show My Trip Down the Pink Carpet, he shares tales of Hollywood directors trying in vain to "butch" him up, such as the time he played an FBI agent in an early TV role.

When you put the pieces together, Leslie's chances of success seemed dim at best. In 1982, he was already 27, which is bordering on retirement age by Hollywood casting standards. He was diminutive, had a thick Southern accent, and was obviously gay. Was he out of his mind, thinking he could have a movie/TV career?

Absolutely. And being out of his mind clearly worked for him.

Leslie confesses on stage and in his book that when he arrived in Los Angeles, he struggled with religious shame and self-confidence, along with alcohol and drug abuse. Despite the internal struggles and the big odds against him, he worked hard, learned how to showcase and fine-tune his inimitable style, became sober, and eventually won an Emmy (for Will and Grace).

Not surprisingly, Leslie has become a hero to the gay community. I think his amazing life illustrates an important lesson for everyone: That our self-perceived limitations can actually be assets in disguise. All we have to do, as Leslie might say, is to learn how "to work it, y'all."

Left to right: Me, Bob Wheeler, Leslie Jordan, Kurt Kleespies, Nick Parham (March 2014)

What's Your Honey Boo Boo Nickname?

While looking at my Google Analytics, I discovered that a sizable number of people have discovered this blog by doing a Google search for Honey Boo Boo name generator.

I had no idea such a thing existed, though I have written a couple of Honey Boo Boo-related blog posts, so I guess Google took a wild leap of faith sending those unsuspecting searchers to my blog. I've since learned that Honey Boo Boo Nickname Generator is a Facebook app that, when you input a name, automatically creates the kind of nickname Honey Boo Boo might give you.

Naturally I wanted to see what HBB might call me. The answer: Jabber Maverick. I didn't care for that one, so I tried again. The second time around, HBB called me Jaclynn Mamie. On the third-ground, I became Jinxy Mini-Belle. I'll go with that one.

Curious, I typed in the names of some other Southerners. Here's what Honey Boo Boo would call them.

Scarlett O'Hara: Skylar Oinker

Blanche DuBois: Boo Boo Doodle

Tennessee Williams: Tutu Wonderful

Bill Clinton: Beauty Crustie

Rosalynn Carter: Raspberry Crybaby

William Faulkner: Willy Fairy

Lee Thompson (the real name of Honey Boo Boo's 'Uncle Poodle'): Love Trouble

Alana Thompson (Honey Boo Boo's real name): Aishlynn Trixie

It's not quite as funny as I was hoping, though I did get a chuckle out of "Raspberry Crybaby" and "Boo Boo Doodle." If you give it a try, please share your Honey Boo Boo nickname in the comments below.

Are Southerners Natural-Born Storytellers?

"Southerners love a good tale. They are born reciters, great memory retainers, diary keepers, letter exchangers...great talkers."

Eudora Welty

The above quotation comes from a woman who epitomized Southern storytelling to generations of readers, Eudora Welty. The Mississippi writer's quote evokes images of Southern folk in creaky rocking chairs on weathered front porches, drinking bourbon out of Mason jars, swapping stories late into the night, to an hour when even the crickets and 'lightning bugs' (aka fireflies) have retired.

But was Welty right? Are Southerners inherently good at spinning a compelling yarn? Or is it a myth, perpetuated by the enduring reputations of Southern writers (Welty, William Faulkner, Margaret Mitchell, Truman Capote, Harper Lee, Flannery O'Connor and such)? And if it was true in Welty's time (1909 to 2001), is is still true today in the age of Facebook, Twitter, and text messaging?

Truman Capote

I think there is some reality to Welty's quote, but there's also some wishful thinking behind it--which, come to think of it, are frequently the ingredients for a good Southern story.

It's true that Southerners tend to be 'great talkers,' but that's not the same as being a great storyteller. Ask the typical Southerner a question about, say, a favorite food, and he or she is likely to tell you the entire recipe or the name of the restaurant that serves the particular dish plus directions for how to get there--all without a pause.

Flannery O'Connor

One of my closest Southern friends has this habit, especially when talking about someone else (something we Southerners love to do). He'll start off with an interesting piece of information but soon gets bogged down in irrelevant details. When I see this happening, I try to stop him by saying "Mother's maiden name!" This is code between us that means: Stop before you tell me everything I don't need to know about this person including her mother's maiden name!

I've known some fascinating Southern storytellers, but they're usually not great conversationalists. Recently, I ran into a man I knew years ago when I lived in Charleston. He was seated at a table in a San Francisco cafe. Once I said his name and he recognized me, his one-man show began. What followed were a string of hilarious, witty, and at times poignant stories. But not once did he ask how I was doing, as I had a few stories of my own to share. When I tried to tell him, he changed the subject back to himself. Narcissists, whether of Southern, Yankee, Midwestern, or Japanese extraction, are often fascinating but ultimately tiresome people.

Southerners, in general, often have a heightened sense of drama and frequently possess a terrific sense of humor, especially about themselves, which helps a lot when telling a good story. The Southerner's slower sense of pacing also contributes, as does the accent. Some Southerners are keenly aware of their region's reputation for good storytelling and feel a duty to preserve it, as well. There's even an organization called the Southern Order of Storytellers, based in Atlanta, whose mission is "to bring storytelling to wider audiences and help make storytelling once again an integral part of culture and entertainment."

Finally, there are lots of eccentrics in the South--people who know they are outside the mainstream. Rather than denying it, they flaunt it; eccentricity is their calling card. These are the characters who tell the richest stories, or who are the basis of stories others tell about them.

In other words, a Southerner isn't by nature a great storyteller, but the South has its fair share of them. But for how long? The Internet, globalization, and other forces are flattening out regional and cultural differences, so it's only a matter of time before Southern storytelling becomes yet another lost art form.

In the meantime, however, we have Leslie Jordan.

Jordan is a gifted actor from Tennessee best known for his roles in Will and Grace and Sordid Lives, the film and the TV series. During a recent one-man show in San Francisco, Jordan held his audience in rapt attention for two hours as he spun one Southern story after another, many of them featuring eccentric characters (himself included). If Southern storytelling is a dying art form, Jordan is single-handedly keeping it alive. I'll conclude with two examples.

Leslie Jordan

An anecdote Jordan re-enacted on stage was about how, as a boy, he would hang out in the local beauty parlor with his mother. One day, in walked the town tramp, her torpedo tits "entering before she did." Jordan's recounting of this story was full of small details, from the clothes the woman wore to the cigarettes she smoked. At one point, the hair stylist asked the town trollop if she wanted her hair teased. "Teased?," the woman responded. "I want it terrorized!"

In another anecdote, Jordan recounted a chance meeting with a Southern drag queen who called herself Kitty Litter. Jordan had been friends with Kitty in Atlanta years ago, in their wilder days. During their unexpected encounter years later, Kitty asked Jordan if he still drank; Jordan said he stopped long ago. "Me too," said Kitty. "I only have a little Peppermint Schnapps now and then to sweeten my breath."

And then, after a beat, Kitty added, "Sometimes, my breath is so sweet, I can hardly stand up."

----- What do you think? Are Southerners great storytellers? Do you have a great 'Southern' story to share? Let me know in the comments below.

Bless Their Hearts: Five Favorite Famous Southern Women

Why didn't someone freeze former Texas governor Ann Richards' brain before it was too late?

People like her don't come along every day. Richards was smart, spunky, deeply Southern and proud of it. Who could ever forget her "that dog won't hunt" keynote address to the 1988 Democratic National Convention? Not me, that's for sure.

I was thinking of Richards recently, perhaps because I'd love to see a Southern woman with her fire and spirit out on the campaign trail this year, elbowing out some of these tired presidential candidates. And thoughts of Richards led me to ponder the famous Southern women, past and present, I've greatly admired.

Frankly my dears, Southern women are my favorite type of female--and not just because I grew up in a house full of them. Here are five of my favorite, well-known Southern women, with more to come in future blog posts.

Lillian Hellman, born in New Orleans, didn't really have a strong Southern sensibility, though she wrote beautifully of her Southern roots in her autobiographical works such as An Unfinished Woman and Pentimento. Her play The Little Foxes is a grand piece of Southern melodrama, and the Bette Davis movie version is superb. Hellman's 1934 play The Children's Hour was perhaps the first Broadway production to tackle the highly taboo topic (at the time) of lesbianism. She fought with lots of other writers (most notably Mary McCarthy), she had an off-and-on relationship with Dashiell Hammett for decades, she was accused of fabricating her memoirs. I guess she was pretty Southern after all.

Holly Hunter, Georgia-born, is one of my favorite Southern actors ever. She's excellent in every film or TV show in which she appears, most notably Broadcast News, The Firm, The Piano (she won an Oscar), Copycat, and Living Out Loud. She still has that thick Southern accent, she still talks out of one corner of her mouth, and we don't get to see her nearly as often as we should.

Pearl Bailey, from Virginia, had a hit cabaret act decades ago known for its playfully randy songs. Pearlie Mae, who called most people "honey," had style to spare. She exuded warmth, humor, and a slight air of mischief. And honey, girlfriend had pipes. Her rendition of Supper Time was one of the best I've ever heard. Pearl won a Tony for playing Dolly in an all African-American production of Hello, Dolly! in 1968 and injected some real emotion in that show's rousing show stopper, Before the Parade Passes By. At age 67, Pearl received a B.A. degree from Georgetown University, and she wrote several books. Note to Queen Latifah: Please play Pearl in a movie. I'll even write the screenplay, honey.

Dixie Carter, Tennessee born, was due to appear in a cabaret show in San Francisco shortly before she passed away in 2010. I'd love to have heard her sing, to have basked in her awesome Southern womanhood. Designing Women, for which she was most famous, wasn't a terribly good sitcom, in my humble opinion. But when someone crossed Julia Sugarbaker (Dixie's character), and I pity the fool who did, you sat back and watched Dixie have at 'em all. "And that's the night the lights went out in Georgia!" was the climax of one of Dixie's most memorable tirades. If you've never seen it, treat yourself to the clip below.

What to do when a monkey snatches off your wig

Tallulah Bankhead remains one of my Southern heroines. Alabama-born and bourbon-infused, she conquered the London stage in the 1920s, made a dozen bad movies and one great film (Hitchcock's Lifeboat), and in general did as she damn well pleased, which, toward the end of her life, included emerging from an oxygen tent whenever she felt like smoking.

In the early 1920s, she was cast in a costume drama in London, Conchita. It was her first starring role. On opening night, Tallulah, improbably playing a Cuban heroine in a black wig, entered dramatically carrying a monkey. The monkey, apparently not a Tallulah fan, promptly snatched off her wig (exposing Tallulah's blonde bob), ran down to the footlights, and waved the wig about. The audience tittered. Tallulah's response? Despite the fact that this was supposed to be a serious drama, she turned a cartwheel. The audience roared, and the legend of Tallulah kicked into high gear.

I see several valuable life lessons in this story.

1. Never appear on stage with a monkey unless you're prepared to upstage your simian co-star.

2. Never take yourself too seriously.

3. When the unexpected occurs, go with it; don't fight it.

4. When it looks like the joke's on you, turn the tables and do whatever you can to turn it into your joke.

For instance, an old friend of mine once tripped on a staircase in a fancy Atlanta restaurant and tumbled down six or seven steps. The restaurant went silent. He got up, dusted himself off, and said to the restaurant's patrons, "I hope you enjoyed my impersonation of a slinky." They did; he received a round of applause.

I've experienced my share of highly public gaffes as well.

One of worst faux pas occurred on the morning of my first day at a new job in Atlanta. I went to the office building's elegant cafeteria for breakfast. Back then I rarely ate before noon and didn't know what to order. A hefty, friendly African-American woman behind the counter guided me through the choices, with the patience of a mother teaching her child how to walk. Overwhelmed, I went with a bottle of Coke and a hardboiled egg. (I was in my mid 20s, what can I say?)

I didn't want to eat the egg cold, so I microwaved it for 30 seconds. Still cold, I gave it another 30 seconds, and then another, and by now you probably can guess where this is heading but I had no clue. Confounded that my egg stubbornly refused to warm, I decided to test it with a fork.

The explosion shocked the crowded cafeteria into stunned silence.

All eyes were upon me. There were bits of egg in my hair, on my face, on my clothes. I glanced around to survey the damage. I saw bits of egg floating in a woman's coffee cup. The face of then-President Reagan, in a front page newspaper photo, was covered in egg.

"Talk about having egg on your face," I said to the crowd, and laughed. I thought the whole scene was hilarious and still do, but the only other person who laughed was the woman who had served me the egg. As I left the cafeteria to do some grooming in the bathroom, she caught my eye and put her hands together in silent applause.

I'll close where I stared: with Tallulah. A friend of mine and a fellow Southerner living in San Francisco, David, whom we've nicknamed The Sorcerer, is another Tallulah admirer. He and I have coined a phrase to describe the actress's bravado, wit, deep Southern style and wacky lifestyle: Tallunacy. So the next time you find yourself in a potentially embarrassing situation, whether it's on stage or in the shopping mall or in a crowded Chick-fil-A, turn the situation to your favor with a little Tallunacy. Instead of slinking away red-faced, you might receive a round of applause.

Oh thank God - Apple's new CEO is a Southerner

As the world reacted to the news of Steve Jobs stepping down as Apple CEO, my thoughts turned to fried chicken.

Tim Cook, the man Steve Jobs chose to succeed him as Apple's CEO, is a Southerner. So it was only natural that I wondered if this meant Apple's company cafeteria will now be serving fried chicken? (Perhaps it already does?)

Cook is an Alabama native. He majored in industrial engineering at Auburn University, is a big Tigers football fan, and claims his office is covered in Auburn memorabilia. He gave the 2010 commencement address at Auburn's graduation ceremony. Cook earned an MBA at Duke University.

It's truly sad to see Jobs, who's had more impact on our lives as CEO than most government leaders could ever hope to achieve, resigning. It's obvious Jobs departed for health reasons. I sincerely hope he grows stronger and, a bit selfishly, I also hope he will continue to enrich our lives in ways we can't imagine (which was always his specialty). But hey, at least we've got a Southerner as CEO at the world's most valuable technology company.