He was a tough guy. The toughest. People would take one look at him and say, quietly, to themselves or perhaps the person next to them, �There�s none tougher.� And they were right. There was no one tougher than Edward G. Robinson. I was trying to explain this to my younger brother, also named Edward, but he didn�t seem to be grasping the idea. �You know when you�re eating beef jerky and there are a few pieces that are real easy to just rip right into? And then there are the pieces that you tug on with your teeth forever and they never rip? Well Edward G. Robinson makes those pieces look like taffy. � I had him interested, but I could tell he didn�t really appreciate just how tough Edward G. Robinson really was. How could he? How could anyone? �Is he tougher than dad?� �Of course!� I held up a picture of Edward G. Robinson from a magazine I was reading. �Look at this guy. He makes dad look like mom!� �What about Uncle Bill?� �He makes uncle Bill look like Gerdy.� Gerdy was our cousin, uncle Bill�s daughter who I still think has a mild case of autism. She was obsessed with television, but not the way most people are obsessed with television. Most people find the types of shows they like, maybe cop shows or lawyer shows or westerns or whatever, and they stick to those types of shows and maybe the news. Not Gerdy. Gerdy didn�t give two craps in a basket what she was watching. I�ve seen her watch fishing shows and home repair shows and Spanish soap operas and even that celebrity fashion show where all the hosts do is gossip like school yard brats. Whenever I was at their house, I�d always turn the television on American Movie Classics, because Uncle Bill liked old movies and so did I. And of course Gerdy didn�t give a damn what she was watching. I remember us all watching Key Largo this one time, Uncle Bill with a Budweiser Dry in his hand, and I was drinking a Capri Sun pouch, which made me feel like I was five or something, but it was worth it, because Edward G. Robinson was slapping Humphrey Bogart in the face. And you don�t do that, normally. You don�t slap someone like Humphrey Bogart in the face. But Edward G. Robinson did. He was probably the only guy who could get away with something like that. �I bet he isn�t as tough as He-Man,� Edward said. �Give me a break, dude! He makes He-Man look like She-Ra.� I like proving Edward G. Robinson�s toughness by saying he makes males look like the females they associate with. Sometimes it works, but sometimes it doesn�t. For instance, She-Ra is actually pretty tough herself, so saying he makes He-Man look like her doesn�t really work. But I knew Edward wouldn�t catch on to that. He always just accepted that what I said made sense. Then, as if he was some sort of croupier, Edward said, �Edward G. Robinson versus God. Who would win?� I put my magazine down. �I don�t know. Odds are probably ten to one that God would win, seeing as how he�s omnipotent and he created the universe and all, but I might take that bet. EGR can surprise you sometimes.� I had taken to call him EGR. When you call guys by their initials, you tend to raise their status, immortalize them. And that�s exactly what I wanted to do to him. I wanted to put him right up there with FDR or JFK. Sometimes Jesus is known as JC. That�s the type of company EGR needed to be with. �I bet I could beat him up,� said Edward, spitefully, just to get a rise out of me. �Yeah right, dork. He�d slap you like Bogart. He�d bitch slap you like he does everyone. And then he�d pull out a Tommy Gun and it�d be all over.� �What�s a Tommy Gun?� �It�s one of those big gangster guns with the circle on it. Like in Dick Tracy.� �Oh yeah!� �Gangsters had Tommy Guns before cops did. Cops were still using pistols and stuff when Tommy Guns were manufactured. When the cops would see all those bullets in the wall, they thought it was some sort of massive bloodbath with tons of guys involved. But really, it was just some mobster with a big gun and a bad attitude.� �I heard all those mobsters were drunks. And they were all mad because the cops made it illegal to drink. So that�s why they always killed cops.� Edward always got stories wrong. Certain details were always a little bit correct, but mostly he was way off base. I didn�t really feel like correcting him, though, because I�d have to explain prohibition and all that racketeering stuff. And that would all go way over Edward�s head. And it would take time out of talking about EGR. Although, to be honest, I would tell Edward was getting a little tired of talking about EGR. I waited for Edward to speak, remaining stoic in my thoughts of mobsters. Finally, Edward said something peculiar. �I don�t think I like this Edward G. Robinson guy. I mean, he�s really a bad guy. If he�s so tough, he should use his powers for good. But he doesn�t. He hurts people and he slaps people. Good people like Humphrey Bogart. People that don�t need to be slapped. And that, to me, isn�t tough at all. That�s weak. Being tough is about helping people who are weak being a good person and only getting down and fighting when you have to.� �But he�s just an actor, Edward. In real life, I�m sure he�s a good guy. But if he didn�t play those evil type of characters, what would occupy Bogart�s time? In those roles, EGR makes heroes out of his enemies just by being vile. And if you can make a hero out of someone, if you can personify evil so much that the audience hates you, they will inevitably route for good. He�s just another perpetuator of good�s triumph over evil. And he�s so great to watch. He�s so great to watch.� With that, I walked into the other room and turned on the television. The movie channel was showing some dumb Audrey Hepburn movie that I didn�t really care for, so I just sat on the couch with my thoughts. I thought about how insignificant everything is and how, when I die, the world will eventually forget me, unless I did something amazing and grand. And I could. But if I didn�t, I wouldn�t beat myself up over it. There were still so many little experiences to be had. And so many amazing figures to behold. I walked back into the room where I had left Edward. I was about to say something to him, possibly something great and poetic, but I saw him laying on his stomach, staring at that picture in the magazine. And I wanted to ask him what was going through his mind right now, but I just shut the door and let him think his own thoughts, without my pesky interference. |