Magic table

(This was one of my Sunday morning newspaper columns some time or another)

Steve Allen, who some of you may remember as the original host of the Tonight Show and others won’t remember at all, used to host a show on PBS called “Meeting of Minds”. 

I loved it.  Every week four or five actors and actresses in period costumes portraying famous folks from the past would sit down at a table with Mr. Allen and have a conversation.  In English.

One week there might be, say, Albert Einstein, Emily Dickinson, Genghis Khan, Michelangelo, and Harriet Tubman. The next week a whole new group would show up, maybe Thomas Jefferson, Frederick Douglas, Mozart, Poncho Villa, Picasso, and Eva Peron.

Now, I can’t imagine what Emily Dickinson and Genghis Khan would possibly find to talk about, but Steve Allen could.  Being the genius that he was, he wrote the script, served as moderator, composed the theme song, and produced and directed the show.  He probably swept out the studio when everybody left.

Those discussions were inspired and witty and razor sharp.  I learned a heck of a lot of history, and I liked it best when diametrically opposed people, like Gandhi and Napoleon, would first argue and then grope for some little piece of common ground.  If there was an overall theme to that show, it had to be that when we, as a worldwide jumble of cultures and beliefs, quit looking for common ground we might as well close up shop.

“Meeting of Minds” ran for only four seasons, from 1977 to 1981.  It was billed as the “ultimate talk show”, but it was probably a little highbrow for many viewers.  Any title with the word “mind” in it will likely send a significant percentage of the television audience in search of another channel.

I’ve long imagined my own Meeting of Minds scenario, not with actors but with real people magically brought back to life.  You can play, too. But you have to follow the rules.

Choose six people, from any era, who you would like to sit down and have a conversation with. They can’t be people you actually know, or have known.  You can never have met them, even when you were a small child. You can choose a family member, but not one you’ve ever actually touched.  They had to be out of the picture before you were in it.

Here, after much deliberation, are who I would invite to my table.

Two of my favorite writers of fiction – Flannery O’Conner and W. Somerset Maugham – will have to attend; if I’m going to do this, why not get some useful information on how they crafted such perfect stories?  They were both still alive when I was a child, but if they ever made their way to Oakwood I missed them. Thomas Jefferson, who came up with some of the finest wordsmithing in history for the Declaration of Independence, will sit between them.  Sam Houston will sit right beside me.  I recently spent three years researching and writing about him so I feel like we’re already buddies.  Cardinal John Henry Newman will be there; in addition to being a writer of remarkable clarity and power he was recently canonized, and a saint might come in handy in case we feel the need to start with a prayer.  Rounding out the group will be my paternal grandmother, who died a decade before I was born.  By all accounts, she was a pistol: a gifted teller of stories, a practical joker, and a big laugher.  Who knows?  This group might need a little levity.

Steve Allen, who started all of this, might have made my short list.  But I actually met him once, for just a couple of minutes, so choosing him would be a violation of my own rules.  We were both guests at a talk radio station in Houston not long before he passed away, and I only had time, during the commercial break as he was being hustled out of the booth and me in, to shake his hand and thank him for “Meeting of Minds.” He thanked me, but looked a little confused as he was led out by his handler to another radio station; I’m sure most compliments that came his way were for his stint on Tonight or for the many songs and books he wrote.

But “Meeting of Minds” was his masterpiece, in my opinion.  And I wanted him to know that.

So, who will be on your list?  Narrowing it down will most probably prove a harder task than you think. Flannery O’Conner once said anything done well is difficult.

At least I think she said that.  I’ll ask her when we sit down at my table.

This process of resurrecting people in my imagination, much as Steve Allen did in his, has actually been helpful to me as a novelist.  When I need to see and hear the characters I’ve invented as clearly as if they were real people, I simply give myself a magic budget and cast people, be they actors or personal acquaintances, who I’ve watched closely enough to see how they walk across a room, open a door, speak, or eat a sandwich.  Spencer Tracy was an amazing eater of sandwiches as he pondered whatever was on his mind in at least three of his films.

When I was writing a novel called Leaving the Country of Sin I needed a fellow of a certain age and disposition with a mellow voice, a lanky frame and a particular gait to watch and listen to.  I needed the gifted actor Morgan Freeman. 

So I hired him.  In my mind, of course.  Mr. Freeman was never aware of the transaction.