((I finish reading this article to a group of "I love Leo D." gals.)
"Yes ladies, I can see the dissapointment on your faces, but that's the way the cards can fall at times.
Heck, I was dissapointed to find out that the 101st Airborne is in the wrong town (history-wise) at one point in "Saving Private Ryan", so welcome to the club.
Anyhoo, any of you chicks here who are about the same age as me care for a date with a regular guy like moi?..."
Sorry, couldn't resisit a little satire there. Vive le femmes!
)
Kudos to Sean Molony!
Reading your superb article was a treat which brought LOTS of long-lost facts to life about a man who suffered a fate much like what happened to George A. Custer when the film "Little Big Man" came out: had a movie character who happened to share his name be mistaken for the real person of history (though of course, Joe's first name wasn't Jack, so it wasn't exactly like what happened to Custer, but still quite like it.)
(Sigh!) And in regards to what happened to Joe Dawson: Sean, did you hear that pieces of Mr. D.'s grave had been CHIPPED OFF by unscrupulous souvenier hunters? That even...er, to put it delicately, articles of ladies undergarments had been left at the grave? Candles were left there, too, as well as love poems to Mr. DiC., IIRC.
And the crowing insult: a flower shop in Halifax offered, to those who wished to put flowers on Mr. D.'s grave, that the shop would put the flowers there themselves for a fee.
(To the owner(s) of that establishment, I hereby scream: "Eight ulcer soul(s) on four ulcer pay! Eight ulcer soul(s) on four ulcer pay!
You just wanted some non-ulcer money, didn't you, by pulling a tacky, decadent, tasteless stunt like that?!
Okay, okay, meebe it just might not have been because of that, but I still think you all ought to be ashamed for partaking in the defacing of a grave.")
""It is a must-see site for the passengers of cruise liners that placed Halifax on their itinerary after the success of the highest grossing motion picture of all time.""**
Three groans and countless "boos" and "Bronx cheers" for those who thought up that one!
That decadent stunt pulled by those cruise lines DEFINETLELY must be the work of eight ulcer souls on four ulcer pay who saw a chance for their companies to make some non-ulcer money by cashing in on the tastelessness fest at grave 227 in the Titanic victim's section of Fairview Cemetery, Halifax.
As for the gals who started it all, WHERE were their parents? Didn't they tell their daughters NOT to tamper with or deface that grave when they stopped by at Fairview?
It's a crying shame that, just to get close to a movie star whom they were just bonkers for, those chicks went in and trashed up the grave of a man who had stared right into the hideous, eyeless sockets of the skull of Death itself upon a cold April morning aboard a doomed ocean liner LONG before any of the dames who would beset his grave one day were born.
(I confess I feel sorry for those girls, btw. Knowing what real-life love can be like, I certainly hope their first experience with heartbreak or being in love alone isn't as hard a blow for them as it was for me. Both of those happened to me in 1998, btw. An event in my life I'll always see in stark contrast to a mere cinemactic love story which got overblown out of all proportion the same year I tasted heartbreak and frustration....but I digress big time here).
I'll conclude this post with this comment: all the superflous, poppycock, hype about "Jack Dawson" can go to Hades for all I care, and that I hope to someday go to Halifax and clean up Joe Dawson's grave personally if it hasn't been already.
Nuff said.
Richard K.
**Who are the cruise lines that do this, Sean? I'm dying to know, for I want to raise my voice over this. R.K.