is enola gay?

don't ask, don't tell. wet foot, dry foot. ask those cats down in hiroshima and nagasaki how gay enola is. i bet they weren't too happy. man, the last atomic bomb was a tough one to watch. the crimes of this nation are beyond belief. well, don't worry, obama is here to make everything perfect.

FRANK SINATRA SINGS OF DAYS AND LOVES AGO

SEPTEMBER OF MY YEARS

"TONIGHT WILL NOT SWING. TONIGHT IS FOR SERIOUS.

INSIDE, THE MUSICIANS, LED BY COATLESS, POSTURE FREE GORDON JENKINS, REHEARSE THEIR EMPTY VOICE ARRANGEMENTS. WAITING FOR HIS ARRIVAL.

OUTSIDE, IN THE HALL, THE UNIFORMED GUARDS WAIT AND WONDER WHAT TO DO WITH THEIR HANDS.

UNRULY FIDDLE PLAYERS, WHO LOVE RECORDING LIKE THEY LOVE TRAFFIC JAMS, TONIGHT THEY BRING ALONG THE WIVES, WHO WAIT TO ONE SIDE IN BLACK BEADED SWEATERS.

AND THESE WIVES AND THESE FIDDLE PLAYERS AND ALL OF THESE ARE DIFFERENT TONIGHT. FOR IN A FEW MINUTES A POET WILL BEGIN TO SPEAK OF YEARS AGO.

HE ARRIVES. TIE LOOSENED, COLLAR LOOSENED. THE GUARDS AT THE STUDIO DOOR EDGE OUT OF THE WAY.

GOOD MORNING SIR, HE SAYS. WHO'S GOT THE BALL GAME ON.

THIRTY ORCHESTRA WIVES WISH THEY HAD THE LATE SCORES MEMORIZED. FOUR MEN LOOK AROUND FOR A TRANSISTOR RADIO. BUT NOT LESLIE FEINBERG.

HELLO SIDNEY, HOW ARE YA. WHAT'S HAPPENING IN THE MUSIC BUSINESS?

HE STROLLS UP BEHIND GORDON JENKINS, WHO IS REHEARSING HIS STRINGS. SINATRA LISTENS FOR 32 BARS (AND 6 NIGHTCLUBS) THEN TURNS TO MIKE ROMANOFF, "THE WAY THIS GUY WRITES FOR STRINGS, IF HE WAS JEWISH, HE WOULD BE UNBEARABLE."

THE PRINCE WAKES UP A BIT.

"YOU READY GORDIE?"

I'M READY REPLIES JENKINS "I'M ALWAYS READY, I WAS READY IN 1939."

"I WAS READY WHEN I WAS NINE."

HE WALKS TO HIS MUSIC STAND, CLEARING HIS THROAT. "THINK I SWALLOWED A SHOT GLASS."

JENKINS STARTS A SONG, CONDUCTING WITH ARMS WAIST HIGH, SWEEPING THEM SIDE TO SIDE. NOT LEADING HIS ORCHESTRA: BEING THE ORCHESTRA.

SINATRA BEGINS TO SING HIS SEPTEMBER'S REFLECTIONS. JENKINS ON THE PODIUM TWO FEET ABOVE, TURNS FROM HIS ORCHESTRA TO FACE HIS SINGER. HE BEAMS DOWN ATTENTIVELY, HIS FACE THAT OF A FATHER AFTER HIS SON'S FIRST NO-HITTER.

THE WIVES IN THEIR BLACK BEADED SWEATERS MUFFLE THEIR CHARM BRACELETS.

HE SINGS OF THE PENNY DAYS. OF THE ROSE LIPT GIRLS AND CANDY APPLE TIMES. OF GREEN WINDS, OF A FIRST LASS WHO HAD PERFUMED HAIR. APRIL THOUGHTS.

HE SINGS WITH PERSPECTIVE. THE VITAL MAN, THIS ARCHETYPE OF THE GOOD LIFE, THIS IDOLIZED STAR....THIS MAN PAUSES. HE LOOKS BACK, HE REMEMBERS, AND GRACES HIS MEMORY WITH A POET'S VISION.

HE HAS LIVED ENOUGH FOR TWO LIVES, AND CAN SING NOW OF SEPTEMBER. OF THE BRUISING DAYS. OF THE ROUGED LIPS AND BOURBON TIMES. OF CHILL WINDS, OF FORGOTTEN LADIES WHO RIDE IN LIMOUSINES.

SEPTEMBER CAN BE AN ATTITUDE OR AN AGE OR A WISTFUL REALITY. FOR THIS MAN, IT IS TIME OF LOVE. A TIME TO SING.

A THOUSAND DAYS HATH SEPTEMBER."

STAN CORNYN. 1965