On a funny story from Woody Allen
by Bob on January 12, 2007
Here is an excerpt from an interesting short story of Woody Allen called "Mr. Big". It was in an interesting compendium of stories compiled by Thomas Godfrey called "Murder for Christmas" in 1982. It also appeared in Woody's book, "Getting Even" in 1971.
It was adapted into a short film "Somebody or The Rise and Fall of Philosophy" in 1989.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0197901/
I have always loved Woody's earlier work ... my neighborhood and all ! He used to live in my neighborhood twice. More recently on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
Quintessential old-style Upper West Side New York City humour.
....
from the short story "Mr. Big" by Woody Allen (1971) ...
"No. My name is not Heather Butkiss, either. It's Claire Rosensweig
and I'm a student at Vassar. Philosophy major. History of Western
Thought and all that. I have a paper due January. On Western religion.
All the other kids in the course will hand in speculative papers. But
I want to _know_. Professor Grebanier said if anyone finds out for
sure, they're a cinch to pass the course. And my dad's promised me
a Mercedes if I get straight A's"
I opened a deck of Luckies and a pack of gum and had one of
each. Her story was beginning to interest me. Spoiled coed. High IQ
and a body I wanted to know better.
"What does God look like?"
"I've never seen him"
"Well, how do you know He exists?"
"That's for you to find out."
"Oh, great. Then you don't know what he looks like? Or where to
begin looking?"
"No, not really. Although I suspect he's everywhere. In the air, in
every flower, in you and I --- and in this chair."
"Uh huh." So she was a pantheist. I made a mental note of it and said
I'd give her case a try --- for a hundred bucks a day, expenses, and a
dinner date. She smiled and okayed the deal. We rode down in the
elevator together. Outside it was getting dark. Maybe God did exist
and maybe He didn't, but somewhere in that city there sure were
a lot of guys who were going to try to keep me from finding out.
My first lead was Rabbi Itzhak Wiseman, a local cleric who owed me
a favor for finding out who was rubbing pork on his hat. I knew
something was wrong when I spoke to him because he was
scared. Real scared.
"Of course there's a you-know-what, but I'm not even allowed to
say His name or He'll strike me dead, which I could never understand
why someone is so touchy about having his name said."
"You ever see Him?"
"Me? Are you kidding? I'm lucky to get to see my grandchildren."
"Then how do you know he exists?"
"How do I know? What kind of question is that? Could I get a suit
like this for fourteen dollars if there was no one up there? Here,
feel a gabardine --- how can you doubt?"
"You got nothing more to go on?"
"Hey --- what's the Old Testament? Chopped liver? How do you
think Moses got the Israelites out of Egypt? With a smile and a
tap dance? Believe me, you don't part the Red Sea with some
gismo from Korvette's. It takes power."
"So he's tough, eh?"
"Yes, very tough. You'd think with all that success he'd be a lot
sweeter."
"How come you know so much?"
"Because we're the chosen people. He takes best care of us all
His children, which I'd also like to someday discuss with Him."
"What do you pay for being chosen?"
"Don't ask."
So that's how it was. The Jews were into God for a lot. It was
the old protection racket. Take care of them in return for a price.
And from the way Rabbi Wiseman was talking, He soaked them
plenty. I got into a cab and made it over to Danny's Billiards on
Tenth Avenue. The manager was a slimy little guy I didn't like.
* * *
"Does the name Claire Rosensweig mean anything to you?"
"No."
"Heather Butkiss?"
"Oh, wait a minute. Sure. She's that peroxide job with the
bazooms from Radcliffe."
"Radcliffe? She told me Vassar."
"Well, she's lying. She's a teacher at Radcliffe. She was mixed
up with philosopher for a while."
"Pantheist?"
"No. Empiricist, as I remember. Bad guy. Completely rejected
Hegel or any dialectical methodology."
"One of those."
"Yeah. He used to be a drummer with a jazz trio. Then he got
hooked on Logical Positivism. When that didn't work, he tried
Pragmatism. Last I heard he stole a lot of money to take a
course in Schopenhauer at Columbia. The Mob would like to
find him --- or get their hands on his textbooks so they can
resell them."
....