Vagaries of Memory; Fear

We watched the last ten minutes of an early 30s James Cagney crime film. I don't know its title because we came in very late and didn't catch the name. The concluding bit of the film was very good: a chase scene (rather tame by modern standards) and then unrepentant Cagney in the hoosegow, facing a long stretch. A gloomy prison cell. Cagney's girlfriend (a familiar face but not one I can identify) comes for a visit. She promises, as is the custom in such films, to wait patiently for him until he's released. An empty promise?  I don't know. But Cagney perks up and delivers the film's last line: "If I had the wings of an angel over these prison wall I would fly." Followed by a fade. The End.  

I immediately said to my companion, "I know what he's quoting;  it's "The Prisoner's Song" by Vernon Dalhart." I looked it up and I was correct: the lines are right there in stanza 5. 

Now if I had wings like an angel
Over these prison walls I would fly
And I'd fly to the arms of my poor darlin'
And there I'd be willin' to die.

"The Prisoner's Song" (1924) was a big hit;  in fact, according to Wik, the first "country" song to sell a million copies. I imagine that Cagney's 1930s audience would be expected to recognize the allusion. But ninety years have passed and the lyric is pretty much forgotten today. Except, of course, by me. An amazing recall. What a guy!

I have to tell you, I wallowed in self-congratulation. Preened. Demanded extravagant praise. For twenty-four hours I was the cock of the memory dunghill. But how quickly glory transits. 

The next afternoon, I watched, with my 6-year-old grandson Luke, the re-play of an NBA basketball game. Houston versus Toronto. I had seen the game a couple of days before, so I knew it was a good one. But (and here comes the memory horror) I couldn't remember who won. True that I remembered various plays and players, but true also that I thought the game went into overtime and Toronto won. Not so; James Harden, one of my least favorite players, "took over" the last couple of minutes and Houston won decisively. I had simply forgotten. Blanked.

I was deflated, memory-wise. And scared. One day you can remember Vernon Dalhart and the wings of the angel, and the next day you can't recall James Harden and who won and who lost.  

Here's the fear: it's obvious that the moments of memory-triumph are going to be fewer and fewer and the moments of memory-failure are going to increase. And continue to increase. Burgeon. Yikes. Double yikes.

This is Vernon Dalhart. 

But who the heck is this?

By the way, has anyone  seen my keys?  I left them right there on the desk. Didn't I?

Comments

[David Shallcross]

Late comment I know, but I just watched that movie. It was "Blonde Crazy", co-starring Joan Blondell. The last line seemed significant enough that I just had to do a search on it.

But song lyrics are supposed to be memorable, and basketball games not.