Maybe all those years of living in Northbrook while writing about Chicago have made my brain soft. But when constructing Monday's gathering of Irish poets for St. Patrick's Day, I tucked in Dylan Thomas. Who of course was Welsh. Having been born in Wales. And lived his life there. As a Welshman.
I knew that. I've written about the pride Wales has for him. The information was somewhere in my brain.
Yet not readily accessible when the moment called for it. Because there was Thomas, on page two, tucked after W.B. Yeats and before Seamus Heaney and Oscar Wilde.
My blog readers leaped on the error when the column posted at the stroke of midnight — well, 12:13 a.m.
"Dylan Thomas is Welsh, not Irish," someone commented, anonymously.
The only thing worse than being awake at 4 a.m. is confronting your failings at 4 a.m.
"Ah," I replied, at 4:03 a.m. "You'd think 'A Child's Christmas in Wales' would have been the giveaway. Do you think I can get through today saying I consider him Irish by marriage? Probably not. Maybe I'll try saying, 'We're all Irish on St. Paddy's Day.'"
I went online and tucked a version of that into the column, pretending that I knew all along. I often wish I were as smart, or as eloquent, as the guy whose thoughts run under my picture in the newspaper.
Shamefully, some rebellious mental sub-circuit immediately tried to justify the error. Well, I thought, we consider Oscar Wilde Irish, even thought he lived for years in London, so why couldn't...
No.
Wales isn't that far from Ireland...
Don't.
I actually checked: 154 miles from Swansea, where Thomas was born, to Dublin. That's like saying someone residing in Peoria lives in Chicago.
Mistakes are a good way to air whatever corrosive narrative is running in the back of your mind, unnoticed. Mine, apparently, goes something like this: "You're a hack and a bumbler who can't do his job properly, who puts on this pretense of knowing stuff but in fact is the kind of ignorant stumblebum who would include Dylan Thomas among IRISH POETS when in fact he famously, no, VERY famously, is a [obscene gerund] Welshman from [the same obscene gerund] WALES!"
It's good to get that out, from time to time. Cleansing.
I don't like to make mistakes. But I do like copping to them, just because the ability to do so is rare. When you see someone whose ego is so inflamed — no names, please! — that any suggestion of error is an impossible affront, then taking responsibility for mistakes is a sign of confidence, almost a superpower.
Still, gaffes in print make for a long day. The first newspaper reader weighed in at 9:03 a.m.:
"No, to the beer, green or otherwise. But yes, you are right. I own the sin. Maybe seeing his face on all those pub walls led me astray. It's fixed online. As for the print edition, you are the first to point it out. No doubt there will be more. Thank you for writing."
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| Dylan Thomas |
Yet not readily accessible when the moment called for it. Because there was Thomas, on page two, tucked after W.B. Yeats and before Seamus Heaney and Oscar Wilde.
My blog readers leaped on the error when the column posted at the stroke of midnight — well, 12:13 a.m.
"Dylan Thomas is Welsh, not Irish," someone commented, anonymously.
The only thing worse than being awake at 4 a.m. is confronting your failings at 4 a.m.
"Ah," I replied, at 4:03 a.m. "You'd think 'A Child's Christmas in Wales' would have been the giveaway. Do you think I can get through today saying I consider him Irish by marriage? Probably not. Maybe I'll try saying, 'We're all Irish on St. Paddy's Day.'"
I went online and tucked a version of that into the column, pretending that I knew all along. I often wish I were as smart, or as eloquent, as the guy whose thoughts run under my picture in the newspaper.
Shamefully, some rebellious mental sub-circuit immediately tried to justify the error. Well, I thought, we consider Oscar Wilde Irish, even thought he lived for years in London, so why couldn't...
No.
Wales isn't that far from Ireland...
Don't.
I actually checked: 154 miles from Swansea, where Thomas was born, to Dublin. That's like saying someone residing in Peoria lives in Chicago.
Mistakes are a good way to air whatever corrosive narrative is running in the back of your mind, unnoticed. Mine, apparently, goes something like this: "You're a hack and a bumbler who can't do his job properly, who puts on this pretense of knowing stuff but in fact is the kind of ignorant stumblebum who would include Dylan Thomas among IRISH POETS when in fact he famously, no, VERY famously, is a [obscene gerund] Welshman from [the same obscene gerund] WALES!"
It's good to get that out, from time to time. Cleansing.
I don't like to make mistakes. But I do like copping to them, just because the ability to do so is rare. When you see someone whose ego is so inflamed — no names, please! — that any suggestion of error is an impossible affront, then taking responsibility for mistakes is a sign of confidence, almost a superpower.
Still, gaffes in print make for a long day. The first newspaper reader weighed in at 9:03 a.m.:
"Steinberg. Have you been drinking that green beer? The author of A Child’s Christmas in Wales? Maybe we say in Chicago that everyone’s Irish on St. Patrick’s Day but Thomas was not.I sighed, deeply, then replied:
John D Cameron
(former waiter at the Quadrangle Club, not Irish either)"
"No, to the beer, green or otherwise. But yes, you are right. I own the sin. Maybe seeing his face on all those pub walls led me astray. It's fixed online. As for the print edition, you are the first to point it out. No doubt there will be more. Thank you for writing."
To continue reading, click here.
I didn't catch it at first, but then all of those you mentioned were notorious drunks. So they have that in common!
ReplyDeleteI also remember reading about Brendan Behan's benders in the papers decades ago, when I was a young teen
A former neighbor named Donovan once said to us, the #1 problem all the Irish have is drinking.
But then whenever I watch any Rick Steves travel show, he always ends up drinking in a bar in every episode.
I however have never been a drinker, simply because I think it all tastes terrible. I'll take Dr Pepper over any beer, wine or hard liquor any day of the week!
Clark: if you haven't reveled in nights of glorious gaiety, unrivaled sagacity and unwonted oratorical splendor, followed by days of excruciating pain from head to toe, agonizing pangs of intestinal disorder and bewildering general confusion, you have no right to call anyone a "drunk."
Deletejohn
Beer tastes bad and Dr. Pepper tastes good? It truly takes all kinds.
DeletePerhaps it was a senior moment? A little goof? What do they call it, a brain fart? Not so long ago I was singing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah while polishing a pair of Mephisto walking shoes out in the mud room. For some reason I sang, "Mister Banjo's on my shoulder!" Substituting Banjo for the correct lyric Bluebird. It is of course "Mister Bluebird's on my shoulder!" Got a fine horse laugh from the assembled peanut gallery still loafing over Sunday brunch at the nearby kitchen table. I shrugged. I rather liked Mister Banjo and have kept it. Nerts to the critics!
ReplyDeleteI didn't think it was permissible to sing that song in public anymore. Be careful if you have the impulse to do it again. Look around first to make sure there are no woke Gen Zers within hearing distance.
DeleteThe ability to admit a mistake is an admirable trait. It means you're not a narcissist. I doubt Trump or Musk or any of their ilk of sociopaths have ever admitted one mistake in their whole entire lives. Sorry to bring them up. At least no one died or had their life ruined as a result of yours. After that cargo ship got stuck blocking the Suez canal a couple years ago my favorite toast is "May none of our screw ups be visible from space".
ReplyDeleteOf course,Neil,
ReplyDeleteI have great sympathy Neil, having had my share of goofy errors sneered at by the public, but don’t be too hard on yourself. There was once a day, which you surely recall, when a person called a “copy editor” was often a savior but who, for budgetary reasons, is not as readily available any longer. Makes being a newspaper reporter more of tight-wire act than it needs to be. But that, as the saying goes, is the business we’ve chosen (or at least I did until I left it some months ago).
ReplyDeleteThat was my job, for years, in the magazine biz. Also did proofreading. Saved a lot of people a lot of headaches and embarrassment. Also probably saved the jobs of a number of freelance writers. Some of them were just awful, and i had to rewrite a lot of bad copy...and catch and correct countless mistakes, grammatical goofs, and factual errors.
DeleteWorked from home, so I would edit and proof pages of copy between midnight and dawn, when it was as quiet as the surface of the moon. Except for the memorable night that one of my cats went skittering across the linoleum, chasing a centipede the size of a Buick. Almost had a heart attack.
Admitting a mistake is just one of your many superpowers!
ReplyDeleteIn today's day and age admitting to a mistake and then correcting it nears the level of godliness.
ReplyDeleteLies make it around the world twice before the truth has a chance to put on its pants. I'm glad there are still people who wish put their pants on and chase after the lie or the error.
Thanks, Neil
I like to write, but I don't pretend to be even close to your level of writing. One, no need to kick yourself. You're good. I recently wrote a post about comfort food. I was describing a dish my grandmother made and trying to inject some sentimentality in it, I wrote, "The only ingredient missing was Grandma." Sounded like something Hannibal Lechter would say. If you love writing, who cares about the blips.
ReplyDeleteSome time in the late 80s/early 90s, the White Sox ran a commercial in which Joan Cusack remarked that she'd been a Sox fan since her brother was in Eight Men Out. Her male opposite said, "Yeah, he played Joe Jackson."
ReplyDeleteI wrote a letter to to Sox stating that John Cusack played Buck Weaver. It was D.B. Sweeney who played Joe Jackson.
Never saw the commercial again
Hate when that happens, when it's right out there for everyone to see. On the other hand, a benefit of the printed error is that the only way to handle it is cop to it and correc it.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure that I'll remember that Dylan Thomas was Welsh, if anyone asks.
A fine column today. It's so infuriating that the orange felon and his toadies wail and gripe about the "fake news media" all the time. Meanwhile, newspapers usually promptly print a correction to something that is found to be in error. (Though not one nearly as prominent, funny or self-reflective as this one!) But the liar-in-chief lards almost every speech with numerous falsehoods, which he either never, or almost never admits.
ReplyDelete"The Sun-Times and I regret the error." You clearly do. That being said, even before reading Mr. Uphues comment above I was going to ask, (if it's not out-of-line), whether anybody who might have been supposed to catch such a slip-up at the Sun-Times apologized to YOU, N.S.
"154 miles from Swansea ... to Dublin. That’s like saying someone residing in Peoria lives in Chicago." Given that they're separated by the Irish Sea, it's more like saying that someone residing in Ludington, Michigan lives in Chicago. ; )
For the 1976 bicentennial, Chevrolet ran a two page spread in national magazines with a headline something along the lines of "Available in America's Favorite Colors." Unfortunately, none of the 70+ people who reviewed the ad before it made it to print noticed America was spelled without the "i". There are errors and mistakes and there are lies. Hopefully one is intelligent enough to recognize the difference.
ReplyDeleteNeil, you are [obscene gerund] amazing. Thank you for this new way of getting around the grammar cops. We all get our day of atonement and when we do it feels [same obscene gerund] great. In the early years of running my small graphics business, I learned quickly to proof everything. My first major client fired their previous typesetter after printing and distributing 5 million catalogues that featured a "Westclox Wall Cock". Your faux pas was mild by comparison. Glad you fessed up, but my guess is this won't be the last time. I hope that won't stop you from writing. We need your voice.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the laugh. I loved Neil's [obscene gerund], but your catalogue typo was toppy.
DeleteAnd then there was the supermarket ad that touted the sale on Schitz Beer...
Delete