Tuesday, October 2

Charlton Heston's Last Stand

A fascinating story about a big man in the movies son. And the love story that USA has with guns and a piece of advise which is so true. 

If you want to have a good relationship with women, the 3 key magic words are not ' I love you' (although that helps. Say it often and frequently) but 'I was wrong'. 



Charlton Heston's Last Stand - Features - Los Angeles magazine


Charlton Heston’s Last Stand
In the Democrats, he’s found an enemy more formidable than a planet full of apes. He may well have swung the election toward Bush. How did the veteran actor become Hollywood’s most effective political activist?

By Ed Leibowitz

IN THE GILDED BALLROOM OF THE JOHN Marshall Hotel, they have gathered to bear him witness. Richmond, Virginia, is the last stop on the grueling October campaign swing that has hurled Charlton Heston through America’s heartland like a righteous plague upon the Democrats. On Tuesday, he mustered voters in Grand Rapids and Flint, Michigan; Wednesday, he marched across Pennsylvania. Just this morning, his bass resonated in Roanoke, stirred the Chesapeake Conference Center at noon. As darkness now settles on the capital of the Old Confederacy, it is about to make its final call.

Two thousand National Rifle Association members press their bodies toward a stage where two video screens project Heston’s colossal image. There he is, wielding the staff of Moses, holding the reins of Ben-Hur’s horses, staring piercingly into the distance with a shotgun broken open at his shoulder.

“Actor! Author! Civil Rights Champion! Patriot!” the film’s narrator cries above the trumpets’ blare. “He hasn’t just spoken the word of God, he’s also spent his life defending the freedoms God has given us. Today, with your rights under the fiercest attacks in history, Heston is there.”

A figure emerges from the wings, more than six feet tall but appearing shorter, his torso inclined forward. Speedo propylene beach slippers make the journey to the podium with hesitant steps. Hip-replacement surgery and old age have dampened the fabled dynamism: no more battles with broadswords; no more chariot races for him. But above the uncertain legs, the chest is still massive, the cheekbones still chiseled, the broken nose as resolute as the NRA eagle on all those baseball caps bobbing above the crowd. As Charlton Heston approaches the microphone, his lungs swell, the vocal cords making their splendid, vibrant music out of ordinary air. “I’m inclined to quit while I’m ahead,” he jokes. “But I won’t. No!”

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