A Good Friday
Good Friday/Passover/Easter, 2002
Dear friends,
I've never quite figured out why they call it "Good Friday." I mean, for
Christ's sake, a guy got nailed to death on a cross! Actually it was THREE guys
on that hill in Jerusalem -- the other two being petty thieves who apparently
had run afoul of Rome's three-strikes-and-you're-out policy. Maybe someone came
up with the term "Good Friday" to try and put a positive spin on things,
realizing it's hard to attract converts to your religion with such a downer
image of its leader being executed. I've often wondered why the Catholic Church
doesn't use Jesus rolling back the stone and rising from the dead as its chief
icon, something we'd all like to be able to do someday. Instead, we get his
corpse hammered into wood and hung above every altar. It's like the Democrats
deciding to replace the donkey as their symbol with JFK's brains being blown out
the back of his head. Who'd vote for the candidate with that image next to his
or her name on the ballot?
I am being evicted today, Good Friday, from my office. I had just one week left
to edit my film, but the landlord -- heartless bastard! -- is having me tossed
out for non-payment of rent. Back in October, my publisher, HarperCollins, was
supposed to pay me for the work I did in writing "Stupid White Men." Citing "the
tragic events of 9-11" (a mantra that seems to have been repeated by every
business in America as they've shamelessly used the dead of that day to justify
their obscene layoffs and cutbacks) the publisher claimed they did not have to
pay me until the book was "published." I said, "What do you call 50,000 copies
of this very book that have already been printed and are now sitting in your
warehouse?" They said, "We call that printing 50,000 copies of a book that's now
sitting in a warehouse, but not yet 'published.'"
Well, once you head down the road trying to fight that kind of logic, you are
lost in a vortex from which you may never return. So, the book didn't really
"exist" (and it sat in "nonexistence" in that warehouse for another 4 months).
Meanwhile, I had no paycheck. Now, I don't want to bore you with my financial
situation, and I certainly don't want you feeling sorry for me. I have done
better than I have ever dreamed of with my high school education, and I'm sure
most of you could fill both my ears with what it takes for YOU just to make it
through the week. My current problems were compounded by the fact that I had
decided to spend the bulk of 2001 making the documentary film that I am now
finishing. I got my last paycheck for this film 12 months ago, so I was counting
on the fee for the book to get me through the rest of 2001.
When that didn't happen (as most of you know, the publisher wanted me to "tone
down" the stuff about Bush in the book, and I wouldn't, so there was a standoff
until they finally backed down), things began to fall apart. After I had already
gone a few months without being able to pay the office rent where our edit room
was located, the landlord went to court and got an order -- to have the sheriff
toss me out on the curb! Suddenly, visions of Deputy Fred from "Roger & Me" were
dancing in my head! Well, I negotiated with the landlord to give me a little
more time, and the angels from Salter Street Films in Canada (who have backed
this documentary from the start) agreed to pay some of the rent. But the
landlord would only accept the money on the condition that we leave the premises
on Easter weekend.
And, thus, here I am, using the last computer still hooked up to electricity,
writing you this letter. I can't get past either the irony or the yin/yang of
this moment: I've got the number one bestselling book in the country -- and the
landlord has just cut my off my electricity in the middle of this sentence! I
don't even know if the computer has backed-up this letter! Agggghhh!!...
Okay, I've returned from my encounter with the landlord in the hallway and the
lights are back on. How surreal is this? Now comes a message from the publisher
that the book goes on sale in the U.K. and Ireland this week, and they've also
just sold the rights for the book in China, Japan, Korea, France, Germany,
and... THE LINE JUST WENT DEAD! The phone company has disconnected our phone
lines. AARRRGGHH!!...
Okay, the phones are back up. And, lucky for me, just in time, because the guy
who does our taxes is calling to tell me that our tax returns are all filled
out... "But there's just one little problem -- you have no money in the bank to
pay your taxes!" he says.
"You know that home improvement loan you got to fix up your apartment? We'll
have to borrow that money from the bank instead to pay your taxes!"
Waahhhggggghhh!!!
What is next? Please, Supreme Being in Charge Up There -- I GET IT!: "You wanna
sell 400,000 books? A pound-and-a-half of flesh, sonny boy!"
The credit card company has now called because they have cut off our card. But,
wait, we paid THAT bill! People in our building have heard we are moving and are
stopping by to see if they can pick over our furniture and equipment at fire
sale prices. I see my desk being hauled away one minute... then I see someone
trying to walk off with our Ficus tree that we ran for Congress in 2000... and
now some stranger is swiping the third reel of our film! SOMEBODY STOP HIM!
The phones, though, are still working. I know this to be a fact because on the
phone is the lawyer helping us avoid yet another court appearance. The British
TV network, Channel Four (the people who produced the first season of "The
Awful Truth"), have not paid one of their bills here in New York, and it is now
way overdue. The guy wants to be paid -- he should be! -- but he hasn't sued
Channel Four for the money. He has come after us! And why not? Why go 4,000
miles across an ocean to try and collect when the Channel Four employee whose
name is on the bill -- mine! -- is just down the street from you?! So, just days
short of completing my documentary, I have now had to sell off half our edit
equipment to pay off the creditor whom Channel Four failed to pay. MOMMMYYYY!!!
Does it get worse? Of course it does! And this time, the news is tragic. My wife
and I have had four deaths in our extended family in the past four months -- and
now word comes today, Good Friday, that an in-law has had a horrible accident in
Michigan and is in critical condition. He was in Michigan to attend his mother's
funeral, just four days ago... she was a wonderful woman whose simple presence
brought happiness to all around her. I can still remember Maryann decorating the
church for us the night before our wedding, an inner-city church that had seen
its day and not many weddings of late. She had transformed it into a beautiful
place for my wife and I. Now her son lays unconscious in a hospital fighting for
his life.
The TV is on, blaring in the background... suicide bombers strike again in all
their horror and a former butcher-now-prime minister appears ready to slaughter
as many people as he can, their blood on their doorsteps will not protect them,
no angel will pass over to spare them... and my wife is on the phone with her
sister who is telling her this bad news about the accident and it all just
becomes too much to handle... my petty problems are reduced to the significance
they deserve, and I quietly go into the other room and start to cry. After a few
moments, I suck it in and get back to work boxing up my belongings, listening to
a producer tell me why "10 minutes HAS to come out of the film" (it won't), and
talking to my daughter who, out of the blue, just wanted to thank me for working
so hard so she can go to college.
And that made it all worthwhile.
Yours from Inside His Own Private Golgotha,
Michael Moore
Author
Filmmaker
Dad
Good Friday/Passover/Easter, 2002
Dear friends,
I've never quite figured out why they call it "Good Friday." I mean, for
Christ's sake, a guy got nailed to death on a cross! Actually it was THREE guys
on that hill in Jerusalem -- the other two being petty thieves who apparently
had run afoul of Rome's three-strikes-and-you're-out policy. Maybe someone came
up with the term "Good Friday" to try and put a positive spin on things,
realizing it's hard to attract converts to your religion with such a downer
image of its leader being executed. I've often wondered why the Catholic Church
doesn't use Jesus rolling back the stone and rising from the dead as its chief
icon, something we'd all like to be able to do someday. Instead, we get his
corpse hammered into wood and hung above every altar. It's like the Democrats
deciding to replace the donkey as their symbol with JFK's brains being blown out
the back of his head. Who'd vote for the candidate with that image next to his
or her name on the ballot?
I am being evicted today, Good Friday, from my office. I had just one week left
to edit my film, but the landlord -- heartless bastard! -- is having me tossed
out for non-payment of rent. Back in October, my publisher, HarperCollins, was
supposed to pay me for the work I did in writing "Stupid White Men." Citing "the
tragic events of 9-11" (a mantra that seems to have been repeated by every
business in America as they've shamelessly used the dead of that day to justify
their obscene layoffs and cutbacks) the publisher claimed they did not have to
pay me until the book was "published." I said, "What do you call 50,000 copies
of this very book that have already been printed and are now sitting in your
warehouse?" They said, "We call that printing 50,000 copies of a book that's now
sitting in a warehouse, but not yet 'published.'"
Well, once you head down the road trying to fight that kind of logic, you are
lost in a vortex from which you may never return. So, the book didn't really
"exist" (and it sat in "nonexistence" in that warehouse for another 4 months).
Meanwhile, I had no paycheck. Now, I don't want to bore you with my financial
situation, and I certainly don't want you feeling sorry for me. I have done
better than I have ever dreamed of with my high school education, and I'm sure
most of you could fill both my ears with what it takes for YOU just to make it
through the week. My current problems were compounded by the fact that I had
decided to spend the bulk of 2001 making the documentary film that I am now
finishing. I got my last paycheck for this film 12 months ago, so I was counting
on the fee for the book to get me through the rest of 2001.
When that didn't happen (as most of you know, the publisher wanted me to "tone
down" the stuff about Bush in the book, and I wouldn't, so there was a standoff
until they finally backed down), things began to fall apart. After I had already
gone a few months without being able to pay the office rent where our edit room
was located, the landlord went to court and got an order -- to have the sheriff
toss me out on the curb! Suddenly, visions of Deputy Fred from "Roger & Me" were
dancing in my head! Well, I negotiated with the landlord to give me a little
more time, and the angels from Salter Street Films in Canada (who have backed
this documentary from the start) agreed to pay some of the rent. But the
landlord would only accept the money on the condition that we leave the premises
on Easter weekend.
And, thus, here I am, using the last computer still hooked up to electricity,
writing you this letter. I can't get past either the irony or the yin/yang of
this moment: I've got the number one bestselling book in the country -- and the
landlord has just cut my off my electricity in the middle of this sentence! I
don't even know if the computer has backed-up this letter! Agggghhh!!...
Okay, I've returned from my encounter with the landlord in the hallway and the
lights are back on. How surreal is this? Now comes a message from the publisher
that the book goes on sale in the U.K. and Ireland this week, and they've also
just sold the rights for the book in China, Japan, Korea, France, Germany,
and... THE LINE JUST WENT DEAD! The phone company has disconnected our phone
lines. AARRRGGHH!!...
Okay, the phones are back up. And, lucky for me, just in time, because the guy
who does our taxes is calling to tell me that our tax returns are all filled
out... "But there's just one little problem -- you have no money in the bank to
pay your taxes!" he says.
"You know that home improvement loan you got to fix up your apartment? We'll
have to borrow that money from the bank instead to pay your taxes!"
Waahhhggggghhh!!!
What is next? Please, Supreme Being in Charge Up There -- I GET IT!: "You wanna
sell 400,000 books? A pound-and-a-half of flesh, sonny boy!"
The credit card company has now called because they have cut off our card. But,
wait, we paid THAT bill! People in our building have heard we are moving and are
stopping by to see if they can pick over our furniture and equipment at fire
sale prices. I see my desk being hauled away one minute... then I see someone
trying to walk off with our Ficus tree that we ran for Congress in 2000... and
now some stranger is swiping the third reel of our film! SOMEBODY STOP HIM!
The phones, though, are still working. I know this to be a fact because on the
phone is the lawyer helping us avoid yet another court appearance. The British
TV network, Channel Four (the people who produced the first season of "The
Awful Truth"), have not paid one of their bills here in New York, and it is now
way overdue. The guy wants to be paid -- he should be! -- but he hasn't sued
Channel Four for the money. He has come after us! And why not? Why go 4,000
miles across an ocean to try and collect when the Channel Four employee whose
name is on the bill -- mine! -- is just down the street from you?! So, just days
short of completing my documentary, I have now had to sell off half our edit
equipment to pay off the creditor whom Channel Four failed to pay. MOMMMYYYY!!!
Does it get worse? Of course it does! And this time, the news is tragic. My wife
and I have had four deaths in our extended family in the past four months -- and
now word comes today, Good Friday, that an in-law has had a horrible accident in
Michigan and is in critical condition. He was in Michigan to attend his mother's
funeral, just four days ago... she was a wonderful woman whose simple presence
brought happiness to all around her. I can still remember Maryann decorating the
church for us the night before our wedding, an inner-city church that had seen
its day and not many weddings of late. She had transformed it into a beautiful
place for my wife and I. Now her son lays unconscious in a hospital fighting for
his life.
The TV is on, blaring in the background... suicide bombers strike again in all
their horror and a former butcher-now-prime minister appears ready to slaughter
as many people as he can, their blood on their doorsteps will not protect them,
no angel will pass over to spare them... and my wife is on the phone with her
sister who is telling her this bad news about the accident and it all just
becomes too much to handle... my petty problems are reduced to the significance
they deserve, and I quietly go into the other room and start to cry. After a few
moments, I suck it in and get back to work boxing up my belongings, listening to
a producer tell me why "10 minutes HAS to come out of the film" (it won't), and
talking to my daughter who, out of the blue, just wanted to thank me for working
so hard so she can go to college.
And that made it all worthwhile.
Yours from Inside His Own Private Golgotha,
Michael Moore
Author
Filmmaker
Dad
