[Marxism] Fred Newman, Jane Scott dead

Andrew Pollack acpollack2 at gmail.com
Wed Jul 6 07:27:19 MDT 2011

1. Fred Newman of the wacko New Alliance, later Independence, Party,
is dead. Just tiny items in the News, NY1. Might lead to some relevant
comparisons to other wackos past and present.

2. On a much more socially-redeemable front, longtime Cleveland rock
critic Jane Scott is dead. Times obit below by a writer with a good
sense of humor.

July 6, 2011
Jane Scott Is Dead at 92; Veteran Rock Music Critic
It was the singular combination of Kleenex, peanut butter, a shower
cap and earplugs that let Jane Scott thrive in her chosen field for
nearly 40 years.

Ms. Scott, who long before her retirement in 2002 was widely described
as the world’s oldest rock critic, never went to a concert without
these essentials. Peanut butter gave her strength for a long night
ahead. The shower cap, for rain-swept outdoor events, let her keep her
preternaturally blond pageboy dry.

The Kleenex was for the inevitable. (“One time, I was at a Bob Dylan,
Tom Petty and Grateful Dead concert — phew, wasn’t that a strange
combination? — and they ran out of lavatory paper,” she once told The
Independent of London.) The earplugs came out when things, even by her
accommodating standards, grew a wee bit too loud.

In four happy decades as a rock writer for The Cleveland Plain Dealer,
Ms. Scott, who died on Monday at 92, braved mud and mosh pits, foul
weather and fouler language, “a drop of bleached blond and pink
polyester in a roiling sea of blue denim and black leather,” as The
Philadelphia Inquirer once described her.

Her death, in Lakewood, Ohio, was of complications of Alzheimer’s
disease, her lawyer, William Fulton, said. No immediate family members

Ms. Scott, who took up her beat in 1964 at 45 and retired nine years
ago at nearly 83, was often called the world’s oldest teenager, a
description she hastened to correct. “Second-oldest,” she would say.
“After Dick Clark.”

At a time when newspapers were famously inhospitable to women, Ms.
Scott made her career by tackling a beat that few writers of either
sex wanted — a beat that barely existed when she began writing about
rock ’n’ roll in the mid-1960s.

Over the years, she interviewed many of the biggest names in pop
music, including Paul McCartney (“such a nice boy,” she said
afterward); Mick Jagger (“sweet and funny”); and Jim Morrison and Jimi
Hendrix (“I loved them both”).

Ms. Scott adored much of the music she heard, and was overwhelmingly
positive about it in print. This incurred criticism from some
journalists but won the devotion of readers and many musicians.

She was also an astute handicapper. “He looked like a cross between a
dockhand and a pirate,” she wrote in The Plain Dealer in 1975,
reviewing a young musician. “He stood on the darkened Allen Theater
stage last night in a black greaser jacket, blue jeans, a gray wool
cap pulled over an eye and a gold earring in his left ear. ... His
name is Bruce Springsteen. He will be the next superstar.”

In Cleveland, Ms. Scott could scarcely walk down the street without
fans stopping to take her picture. But she was known far beyond the
city, profiled in print, on radio and on television throughout the
country and abroad.

This renown was a far cry from the days when she had to carry a
homemade placard reading “Yes, I’m a reporter.” In the netherworld of
rock-star dressing rooms, it was assumed that anyone as
respectable-looking as she must be an undercover narcotics agent.

Jane Marie Scott was born in Cleveland on May 3, 1919. The first
record she bought was Jimmy Rushing singing “Sent for You Yesterday,”
which she played on her hand-cranked Victrola. (A Victrola is
something like an iPod, only larger.)

After earning a bachelor’s degree from the University of Michigan, Ms.
Scott was a Navy cryptographer during World War II.

In 1952, she joined The Plain Dealer and was assigned, typically for
the time, to the society pages.

She found her lifework on Sept. 15, 1964, the day four lads from
Liverpool came to Cleveland. No one at the paper was interested in
covering the Beatles, and Ms. Scott volunteered.

That night, amid a sea of screams, Ms. Scott was transformed. “I
realized this was a phenomenon,” she told The Plain Dealer in 2002.
“The whole world changed.”

Ms. Scott was fazed by little she encountered in her new world, though
the language sometimes gave her a turn. Among the worst offenders were
the Beastie Boys, who favored a particular epithet in telephone
conversations with her. “I think when you’re talking to someone old
enough to be your mother,” she told The Washington Post in 2002, “you
don’t have to use that on the phone, do you?”

But what troubled Ms. Scott far more was her inability to share her
passion with her peers.

“I finally convinced a friend to come see Deep Purple with me,” she
told The Post in the same interview. “I called her before the show to
confirm, and she said, ‘Oh, Jane, I can still remember dancing with
Ben at Beta Theta Pi fraternity, and we danced, “When the deep purple
falls over sleepy garden walls.” ’ ”

“I thought: ‘Oh dear. I hate to tell you ...’ ” Ms. Scott continued.
“I ended up taking her grandson.”

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