Connect with us

Culture

James Earl Jones’ voice marked the time, in baseball and beyond

Published

on

James Earl Jones’ voice marked the time, in baseball and beyond

James Earl Jones, who was 93 when he died Monday, will be remembered by baseball purists for the stirring, soul-reaching words he delivered in the 1989 film “Field of Dreams.”

Cast as a fictitious writer named Terence Mann, Jones is nominally speaking to Kevin Costner’s Ray Kinsella. But what he’s really doing is speaking to anyone in the audience who has long wondered whatever became of the baseball cards they collected growing up. He’s speaking to anyone who ponders what Babe Ruth would hit today, or what Shohei Ohtani would have hit yesterday. He’s speaking to anyone who’s ever held a baseball glove up to their nose just to smell the leather.

We know this to be true partly because of the staging. Mann is facing the camera while standing on the edge of a baseball field that’s been carved out of an Iowa cornfield. But the real magic comes from Jones, who uses his rich baritone voice in such a way that we want to go outside and build a ball field:

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.

These words have become a baseball anthem without music, in much the same way Jones, accompanied by the Morgan State University choir, recited “The Star Spangled Banner” before the start of the 1993 All-Star Game at Oriole Park at Camden Yards.

Advertisement

And yet Jones was not a baseball fan growing up. And he did not fall hopelessly in love with the game as a result of appearing in such baseball-themed movies as “The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings” (1976) and “The Sandlot”(1993), as well as the Phil Alden Robinson-directed “Field of Dreams.”

But neither was Marlon Brando a mafia boss before “The Godfather,” or Margaret Hamilton a witch, wicked or otherwise, before “The Wizard of Oz.” What we see from Jones in “Field of Dreams” is an actor who pulled all the necessary dramatic levers and pulleys inside him to become a baseball fan, or, in my case, the kind of baseball fan I remember as a kid growing up just two miles from Fenway Park.

In the scene in which Kinsella has somehow convinced Mann to attend a Boston Red Sox game at Fenway, we see Jones watching the action in a manner that jumped out at me when I first watched “Field of Dreams.” While Costner’s Kinsella is busily jotting down the name “Moonlight Graham” on his scorecard, Jones’ Terence Mann shows us a look of earnestness mixed with a dash of serenity as he watches the game action. In an era before mobile phones, before the wave, before beer decks, before walk-up music, that’s how people watched baseball. It’s such a small thing, but Jones figured it out.

Yes, it’s the “people will come” exhortation on the ballfield in Dyersville, Iowa, that transformed Jones into a baseball icon. But it’s what happens just before the speech that had me wanting to stand up and applaud when I first watched “Field of Dreams.” As Kinsella’s brother-in-law (played by Timothy Busfield, who happens to be a for-real baseball fan) charges into the scene to announce that Ray is bankrupt and must sell the farm, we see Mann with a copy of “The Baseball Encyclopedia.” In the pre-internet days, it was the baseball bible. And Mann treats it as one. It’s on his lap, open, perhaps to the page revealing the lifetime stats of Shoeless Joe Jackson, Eddie Cicotte, Buck Weaver or any one of those baseball-playing ghosts on the field.

Advertisement

That struck a note with Larry Cancro, a senior vice president with the Red Sox who has worked on the marketing side of things for nearly four decades. He told of a time when he was around 10 years old and his family was visiting relatives in Melrose, Mass. “I was sitting there with my three sisters,” he said, “and my father’s cousin had a copy of ‘The Baseball Encyclopedia.’ It was the first time I’d ever seen one. And I started poring through it. In the years to come, I ended up getting several copies. When you see that scene in ‘Field of Dreams,’ there’s James Earl Jones, proudly holding a copy. Only a real baseball fan sits there looking through ‘The Baseball Encyclopedia.’”

Cancro helped facilitate the Fenway Park scene in “Field of Dreams,” shot while the Red Sox were on the road. Costner and Jones are seated in Loge Box 157, Row PP, Seats 1 and 2.

Cancro is happy to report that the two actors were “gracious and friendly” to all Red Sox employees who were involved in the shoot. Even better, Cancro remembers the bond that formed between Jones and the late Joe Mooney, the longtime Fenway Park groundskeeper who was one of those old-timey curmudgeons with a way of being standoffish to strangers. He could also display exaggerated disinterest when dealing with celebrities whom he perceived as not being real fans, or not knowing the history of Fenway Park, or both.

“The way Joe operated, if you were there to show off or trying to be a big deal, he wanted nothing to do with you,” Cancro said. “Joe was a sweet guy, of course, if he knew you. But he and James Earl Jones really hit it off. Kevin Costner, too. But the thing with James Earl Jones, they were laughing and having a good time. Joe liked him, which is really all you need to know about James Earl Jones being at Fenway Park.”

Now, there are baseball purists who have their issues with “Field of Dreams.” There’s the late Ray Liotta’s Shoeless Joe Jackson batting right-handed. (Shoeless Joe was a left-handed hitter.) There’s Kinsella navigating his Volkswagen bus the wrong way on Lansdowne Street behind Fenway Park. But there can be no denying what Jones brought to the production, from his spoken baseball anthem to his very believable portrayal of Terence Mann, who, we learn, grew up loving the game and dreaming of playing alongside Jackie Robinson at Ebbets Field.

Advertisement

GO DEEPER

‘One constant through all the years’? The ‘Field of Dreams’ speech meets 2020

As Jones often said, he considered himself more of a stage actor than a film actor. He won three Tony Awards. Nor was “Field of Dreams” his most famous film role. Providing the voice of Darth Vader in the “Star Wars” films pretty much ends that discussion. In terms of honors, he earned an honorary Academy Award in 2011 and was nominated for best actor in “The Great White Hope” (1970).

He won Primetime Emmy Awards for “Heat Wave”(1990) and “Gabriel’s Fire” (1991), a Daytime Emmy for “Summer’s End” (2000) and a Grammy Award for “Best Spoken Word” in “Great American Documents” (2000). When joined with his three Tonys — “The Great White Hope” (1969), “Fences” (1987) and a Lifetime Achievement Award (2017) — and his honorary Oscar, he is in the rare company of actors who achieved EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony) status. In “Fences,” he plays the role of Troy, a former baseball player in the Negro Leagues. Other notable film roles include “Coming to America” (1988), “Claudine” (1974), “Cry, the Beloved Country” (1995) and the voice of Mufasa in “The Lion King” (1994).

And yet in an interview for “Field of Dreams at 25,” he called the film “one of the very few movies I’ve done that I really cherish.”

Advertisement

Looking back on the film, Jones said, “Magic can happen if you just let it happen and don’t force it. And that was (director) Phil Robinson’s choice with ‘Field of Dreams.’”

The same could be said of his portrayal of Terence Mann. He just let it happen. He didn’t force it. In doing so, his voice marks the time.

(Photo: Kevin Winter / Getty Images for the American Film Institute)

Culture

Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

Published

on

Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

Advertisement

Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).

This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.

Advertisement

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

We have to dread from man or beast. 

Advertisement

Ada Limón, poet

Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.

Advertisement

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Advertisement

David Sedaris, writer

The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.

Advertisement

If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

Advertisement

Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet

Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:

Come live with me and be my love,

Advertisement

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

Christopher Marlowe, “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Advertisement

Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:

Advertisement

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Josh Radnor, actor

Advertisement

And it features strong end rhymes:

If equal affection cannot be, 

Advertisement

Let the more loving one be me. 

Samantha Harvey, writer

These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:

Advertisement

I do not like thee, Doctor Fell

The reason why I cannot tell.

But this I know and know full well

Advertisement

I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.

There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.

This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.

Advertisement

W.H. Auden as a young man. Tom Graves, via Bridgeman Images

Advertisement

But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.

What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.

This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:

Advertisement

As lines, so loves oblique may well

Themselves in every angle greet;

But ours so truly parallel,

Advertisement

Though infinite, can never meet.

Andrew Marvell, “The Definition of Love

The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”

Advertisement

The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:

Advertisement

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Mary Roach, writer

Advertisement

The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:

If equal affection cannot be, 

Advertisement

Let the more loving one be me. 

Tim Egan, writer

Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.

Advertisement

Your task today: Learn the second stanza!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.

Advertisement

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Advertisement

Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

Advertisement

Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

Advertisement

Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

Continue Reading

Culture

What America’s Main Characters Tell Us

Published

on

What America’s Main Characters Tell Us

Literature

Oedipa Maas from ‘The Crying of Lot 49’ (1966) by Thomas Pynchon

Advertisement

Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

“The unforgettable, cartoonish protagonist of this unusually short novel is a California housewife accidentally turned private investigator and literary interpreter, and the mystery she’s attempting to solve — or, more specifically, the conspiracy she stumbles upon — is nothing less than capitalism itself,” says Ngai, 54. “As Oedipa traces connections between various crackpots, the novel highlights the peculiarly asocial sociality of postwar U.S. society, which gets figured as a network of alienations.”

Advertisement

Sula Peace from ‘Sula’ (1973) by Toni Morrison

Advertisement

Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

“Sula arguably begins to disappear as soon as she’s introduced — despite the fact that the novel bears her name. Other characters die quickly, or are noticeably flat. This raises the politically charged question of who gets to ‘develop’ or be a protagonist in American novels and who doesn’t. The novel’s unusual character system is part of its meditation on anti-Black racism and historical violence.”

The speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ (1964) by Frank O’Hara

Advertisement

Karl Leitz for Anthony Cotsifas Studio

Advertisement

“Lyric poems are fundamentally different from narrative fiction in part because they have speakers as opposed to narrators. Perhaps it’s a stretch to nominate the speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ as a main character, but this book changed things by highlighting the centrality of queer counterpublics to U.S. culture as a whole, and by exploring the joys and risks of everyday intimacy with strangers therein.”

This interview has been edited and condensed.

More in Literature

See the rest of the issue

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Culture

Poetry Challenge: Memorize “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden

Published

on

Poetry Challenge: Memorize “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden

Advertisement

Let’s memorize a poem! Not because it’s good for us or because we think we should, but because it’s fun, a mental challenge with a solid aesthetic reward. You can amuse yourself, impress your friends and maybe discover that your way of thinking about the world — or even, as you’ll see, the universe — has shifted a bit.

Over the next five days, we’ll look closely at a great poem by one of our favorite poets, and we’ll have games, readings and lots of encouragement to help you learn it by heart. Some of you know how this works: Last year more Times readers than we could count memorized a jaunty 18-line recap of an all-night ferry ride. (If you missed that adventure, it’s not too late to embark. The ticket is still valid.)

This time, we’re training our telescopes on W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — a clever, compact meditation on love, disappointment and the night sky.

Advertisement

Here’s the first of its four stanzas, read for us by Matthew McConaughey:

Advertisement

The More Loving One by W.H. Auden 

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

Advertisement

We have to dread from man or beast. 

Matthew McConaughey, actor and poet

In four short lines we get a brisk, cynical tour of the universe: hell and the heavens, people and animals, coldness and cruelty. Commonplace observations — that the stars are distant; that life can be dangerous — are wound into a charming, provocative insight. The tone is conversational, mixing decorum and mild profanity in a manner that makes it a pleasure to keep reading.

Advertisement

Here’s Tracy K. Smith, a former U.S. poet laureate, with the second stanza:

Advertisement

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

Advertisement

Tracy K. Smith, poet

These lines abruptly shift the focus from astronomy to love, from the universal to the personal. Imagine how it would feel if the stars had massive, unrequited crushes on us! The speaker, couching his skepticism in a coy, hypothetical question, seems certain that we wouldn’t like this at all.

This certainty leads him to a remarkable confession, a moment of startling vulnerability. The poem’s title, “The More Loving One,” is restated with sweet, disarming frankness. Our friend is wearing his heart on his well-tailored sleeve.

Advertisement

The poem could end right there: two stanzas, point and counterpoint, about how we appreciate the stars in spite of their indifference because we would rather love than be loved.

But the third stanza takes it all back. Here’s Alison Bechdel reading it:

Advertisement

Admirer as I think I am 

Of stars that do not give a damn, 

I cannot, now I see them, say 

Advertisement

I missed one terribly all day. 

Alison Bechdel, graphic novelist

The speaker downgrades his foolish devotion to qualified admiration. No sooner has he established himself as “the more loving one” than he gives us — and perhaps himself — reason to doubt his ardor. He likes the stars fine, he guesses, but not so much as to think about them when they aren’t around.

Advertisement

The fourth and final stanza, read by Yiyun Li, takes this disenchantment even further:

Advertisement

Were all stars to disappear or die, 

I should learn to look at an empty sky 

And feel its total dark sublime, 

Though this might take me a little time. 

Advertisement

Yiyun Li, author

Wounded defiance gives way to a more rueful, resigned state of mind. If the universe were to snuff out its lights entirely, the speaker reckons he would find beauty in the void. A starless sky would make him just as happy.

Though perhaps, like so many spurned lovers before and after, he protests a little too much. Every fan of popular music knows that a song about how you don’t care that your baby left you is usually saying the opposite.

Advertisement

The last line puts a brave face on heartbreak.

So there you have it. In just 16 lines, this poem manages to be somber and funny, transparent and elusive. But there’s more to it than that. There is, for one thing, a voice — a thinking, feeling person behind those lines.

Advertisement

W.H. Auden in 1962. Sam Falk/The New York Times

When he wrote “The More Loving One,” in the 1950s, Wystan Hugh Auden was among the most beloved writers in the English-speaking world. Before this week is over there will be more to say about Auden, but like most poets he would have preferred that we give our primary attention to the poem.

Advertisement

Its structure is straightforward and ingenious. Each of the four stanzas is virtually a poem unto itself — a complete thought expressed in one or two sentences tied up in a neat pair of couplets. Every quatrain is a concise, witty observation: what literary scholars call an epigram.

This makes the work of memorization seem less daunting. We can take “The More Loving One” one epigram at a time, marvelling at how the four add up to something stranger, deeper and more complex than might first appear.

Advertisement

So let’s go back to the beginning and try to memorize that insouciant, knowing first stanza. Below you’ll find a game we made to get you started. Give it a shot, and come back tomorrow for more!

Your first task: Learn the first four lines!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

Advertisement

Let’s start with the first couplet. Fill in the rhyming words.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

Advertisement

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

Advertisement

Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

Advertisement

Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

Advertisement

Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

Advertisement

Continue Reading
Advertisement

Trending