While millions of Americans spent the Labor Day weekend doing as little as possible, aging contrarian Diana Nyad decided to swim from Cuba to Key West. When she finally arrived and staggered onto the beach of America’s hottest city 2 1/2 days after cannonballing into Havana Harbor, she looked like, well, someone who had just spent 2 1/2 days swimming from Castroland to Margaritaville.
I have been to Havana — went fishing out of Havana Harbor, actually — and I have been to Key West. But I don’t remember much about Key West other than descendents of Hemingway’s six-toed cats still roam his place and the bars pour liquor into cocktails by the liter instead of the jigger.
I also remember the Conch Republic’s debilitating heat and humidity; and wonder why any 64-year-old woman would voluntarily choose to splash ashore there on a hot-sun summer afternoon.
But Nyad is no ordinary dreamer. Her life has been devoted to long distance swimming and she viewed this particular challenge as the capstone to her legacy. Everyone has a different gift. Hers is horizontal self-propulsion.
Since 2 1/2 days gives a person plenty of time to think of things other than texting and Facebook, Nyad splashed ashore in Key West with a simple mantra the nation happily embraced and her obituary will some day remind: “Find a way.”
Such self-confidence is refreshing when backed up by achievement but is blah-blah braggadoccio when it is not. Nyad backed it up — she shut up and did it and willed herself to a feel-good moment applauded by gray hairs everywhere.
I was never a swimmer, so I cannot relate to what she accomplished other than to say it seems a uniquely harmless blend of lunacy and determination. Nyad had a vision, a determination, and a team that shared her dream. The rest she owned.
One of my heroes as a pup was comedy legend Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin was — and probably remains — the world’s most famous filmmaker if judged by the number of people who have watched his work. The vast majority of Charlie’s filmography came nearly a century ago during the Silent Era, when a film had no synchronized recorded sound. Instead of spoken dialogue, words and meaning were transmitted via gestures, pantomime, and title cards.
Because of the technical challenges involved, synchronized dialogue did not arrive in film until the late 1920s. When the 1927 release of the historic musical film The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson, exploded onto the scene, the imminent demise of film’s Silent Era was obvious.
Talking pictures became common and within a decade the widespread production of silent films had ceased. Even Chaplin, the titan of cinema during his legendary run through World Wars I and II, was forced to adapt. While he stubbornly made silents long after other directors surrendered, even Charlie eventually faced the inevitable: He had to make talking pictures.
Chaplin’s was a circuitous route from London poverty to worldwide legend. His mother pawned his spare clothes and was institutionalized due to ravages of advanced syphilis. Charlie was a street urchin who scraped to get by; and he even enjoyed a brief stint as a butler — until being fired for playing a trumpet he found in the boss’s attic.
His trademark character The Tramp appeared in 70 movie shorts and features over a span of 26 years, debuting with the one-reeler Kid Auto Races at Venice (1914, for which he was paid $150 a week) and continuing through his triumphant talking feature, “The Great Dictator” (1940) – his greatest commercial success. Charlie’s remarkable run as The Tramp rocketed him into the stratosphere of fame and fortune. He was, for a very long time, the world’s highest paid entertainer.
Of The Tramp’s creation he said, “I had no idea of the character. But the moment I was dressed, the clothes and makeup made me feel the person he was. I began to know him; and by the time I walked onto the stage he was fully born.”
Revered around the world, Chaplin directed and starred in four of the top 40 comedic films on the American Film Institute’s list of 100 Funniest Movies, each of which involved The Tramp: The Gold Rush (1925, #25), Modern Times (1936, #33), The Great Dictator (1940, #37), and City Lights (1931, #38).
Chaplin dismissed adulation much the same as he waved off wealth. Asked about The Tramp’s long-lasting popularity he said, “The summation of my character [The Tramp] is that I care about my work. I care about everything I do. If I could do something else better, I would do it, but I can’t.”
Chaplin liked his privacy. In his spare time he enjoyed tennis, hated golf, and was a liberal who loved to tease his conservative pal Winston Churchill. His home had a pool but he never considered swimming 110 miles.
Late in Chaplin’s life, CBS TV interviewer Morton Dean got his dream assignment: a sit-down interview with Chaplin, his idol. Morton worshipped Chaplin and prepared diligently.
As the interview neared its hour-long conclusion, Morton asked Charlie the one question he most wanted to ask.
“What’s the secret — how did you make the whole world laugh?”
Charlie sat back in his rocking chair, thought about the question, smiled, and leaned forward.
“You have to believe in yourself,” he said. “That’s the secret.”
Satisfied with his answer, Chaplin sat back in his chair and smiled again. There wasn’t an ounce of BS in his response. I watched that interview and never forgot it.
So whether you are a long-distance swimmer, a diminutive filmmaker who only needs a park, a policeman, and a pretty girl to make people laugh, a lover of dance, romance, parenting, or any passionate pursuit, the recipe for success is clear: If you believe in yourself, you will find a way.
Thank you, Charlie. And thank you, Diana. Sometimes saying a whole lot requires speaking very little.
“Words are cheap. The biggest thing you can say is “elephant”.”
— Charlie Chaplin