When he had first been asked to make an inspirational speech at Francesco P. Ribiero’s retirement party, he had agreed, in part because his manager told him never to turn down a gig, especially one with an appreciable fee, and in part because he thought he knew something about Ribiero’s career, beginning with his invention of the Sound Engine in 1978, continuing through his late resurgence as a newspaper opinion columnist. Perhaps he was also taken by Ribiero’s height and his fashionable mustache. Many were. But when he conducted further research to fill out his speech, he found that the man was odious in every respect: a brat as a child, a cheat as a schoolboy, cruel to his wife and children, peremptory in nearly every opinion column. The Sound Engine, in conception and execution both, had most likely been stolen from Ribiero’s colleague Anton Whisperton, who had died in poverty and shame. Even the mustache was allegedly horsehair. The extravagance of the party now felt curdled. The check burned in his pocket. He didn’t think he could do much with the material. To go through with it was a type of atrocity. And yet, he was a professional. The run of show had him on at eight-fifteen. Two minutes prior, he was in the wings, looking at his notes.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
No comments:
Post a Comment