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6Humanity space International almanac VOL. 2, No 1, 2013: 154-159
The Enigma of A Certain Mr Starkey
Yu. M. Leshchev
2 Цви Франк Ришон Лецион 75660 Израиль
2 Zvi Frank Rishon Lezion 75660 Israel; e-mail: leschev2@bezeqint.net Key words: Ringo Starr, Yaser Arafat, Israel, showbiz.
Abstract: This short story is based on a bit from a CNN interview with a Jethro Tull frontman Ian Anderson, who jokingly compared Ringo Starr and Yaser Arafat, citing obvious similarity in their appearance. It's pure fiction. Or is it?
Truth is stranger than fiction they say, which is a laudable assumption and in my case this was confirmed recently by a most amazing story which a certain underworld figure, whom I had a chance to have known quite intimately, narrated to me over a glass of wine. It would be too vulgar to picture this person as some sort of a modern-day Robin Hood, as he was of excellent upbringing and education and of noble ancestry - his grandmother was a Pole and his grandad used to boast of long wine sessions with Bakunin in persona.
His loot would come mostly from international trains, where he picked pockets of fellow travellers of a languid disposition. He had accumulated considerable wealth and as his manners were refined he even attended soirées at several European embassies, pretending to be a Romanian attaché in Honduras - a claim that could hardly be challenged or verified. However, I will not divulge the name of this honourable gentleman, as this was his wish. I still cherish a black-and-white photo of him which sits comfortably on my bed-side table next to a snapshot of Marilyn Monroe in all her glory.
He started his story by showing me the photos, at which I giggled half-heartedly, but stopped abruptly under his leaden gaze. "This is the same person on both photos", he roared. "Isn't it obvious?" he proceeded, visibly agitated. They're both known by their stage names, and their real names are fictitious as well. Look at their lips, and noses! How can people be so blind?"
Yaser Arafat was also known by his nom de guerre, Abu Amar - note that there's a Mount Arafat in Iran, and he was born,
according to some sources, in Cairo, while other sources suggest that he was a Jerusalemite by birth.
Ringo Starr's infancy also started in murky waters, his birthplace Liverpool, but his grandmother mentioned once that he actually came into the world in Brighton after the season was over, while his name was entered in Registry of Births in Glasgow."Ringo Starr" is considered to be a pseudonym of Richard Starkey, but his father's name was Rudimir Starsky (Terz), who was a Lithuanian Jew.
My gangland friend met him briefly at a transit prison in Dubrovna, from where he made a stunning escape, and later saw him again in England and learnt that already then he went by the name of Robert Starkey. His son had fully absorbed his father's adventurous nature and the resourcefulness characteristic of those of his ethnicity. The boy was a born rebel and had started a most grandiose scam, dividing his life between the drum kit in the world's biggest band and the limelight of revolutionary zeal.
His cover was nearly blown by a colleague - Ian Anderson from Jethro Tull - who once called Arafat "a tea-towelled Ringo". The interviewer was confused by this and asked for clarification, to which Anderson explained that Arafat's head kerchief was nothing else than the MacKenzie clan's tartan. For good measure a cynical Anderson added - "Did you notice that when you see Ringo on TV, Arafat is never seen around or heard from - and vice versa?"
Unfortunately this bit was censored by the BBC chief editor, and the interviewer was sworn to an oath of silence, under threat of being sent as a field reporter to Cambodia. "Or Siberia might do very well for you, son," said the editor. "The Russians are building a major railway there. How about that?" The trembling journalist mumbled something vaguely coherent about a sick uncle in Oxford he had to look after. So far so good.
It's worth mentioning that Anderson wasn't entirely amused by this intervention and took his revenge by penning a song "Thick as a Brick", but as his lyrics are always full of hints and innuendos, no-one really noticed this petard of an outburst.
The next time the truth nearly became known was when The Beatles were engaged to play Israel in the late 60s. The Israeli leadership, who knew very well who was who, were faced with
dilemma of how to bar the band's entry to the country. This task was, of course, delegated to Mossad and its then boss, whose name was a state secret, while his nickname of 'Gershele' was widely known.
An old premier Aron Levy received Gershele in his residence and inquired what Mossad could do.
"We'll say that they are anti-Semites and that their song -'Hey Jude' - was originally called 'Hey Jew', and has very offensive lyrics", was Gershele's reply.
"But this is preposterous: no-one will believe a lie like that!" said the premier doubtfully.
"The bigger the lie, the easier it is to believe it," parried Gershele, belatedly recognizing a direct quote from Dr Goebbels. Mr Levy, who had lost nearly all his family in Treblinka, hit the roof and punched Gershele so hard that he was transported back to Mossad headquarters on his own overcoat with a letter of appointment as cultural attaché to Ivory Coast. A sinecure? Probably. A demotion? Definitely.
Having lost his faith in the secret services, Mr Levy decided to look for spiritual guidance from the Chief Rabbi of Israel, Moses Zwingli, but a visit proved to be a spectacular failure as, being a man of the Book, the Rabbi had little taste for pop music, and he misinterpreted the premier's anxiety as the result of possible disagreements in his family. Well, it's quite a thing to deal with a Jewish wife and therefore he decided to read the Book of Job in order to give support to the premier's shaken spirit.
Mr Levy on the other hand was as secular as one can be and had last read the Torah at his own bar-mitzve, so it was no surprise that Job's lamentations made his hair (or what was left of it) stand on end:
3:20 Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul;
3:21 Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures;
3:22 Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave?
3:23 Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?
3:24 For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are
poured out like the waters.
3:25 For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.
3:26 I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came.
Having been so badly failed on all flanks, the premier decided to use the simplest and surest way of erecting bureaucratic barriers to the band's visit. The band's local promoter Shmulik Steingoltz, who arranged the visit, and who by then had already put a lump sum of 50,000 British pounds in the bands' escrow account, had to obtain work permits for the musicians and their entourage. Such permits are granted against letters of recommendation from the British Council and the local Ministry of Culture. The former had given such a letter to Shmulik on the spot, while during his visit to the latter entity he was informed that such a letter could only be issued by the department manager Yossi Ashendorf, who at that moment was doing his reserve duty on the border with Syria as the situation there wasn't exactly calm. " When are you due to do your reserve duty, Mr Steingoltz?" asked a wise-ass clerk at the Ministry, at which point the hapless promoter said goodbye and left, as he was evading his duty, claiming that he had a hernia, which of course didn't exist.
That same evening he sent a telegram to London informing the band that due to "technical difficulties" he was forced to cancel the engagement. The down-payment was halved by the band's lawyer, and even that wasn't paid back. People say that since then he has turned a purple red colour at the sound of any Beatles tune.
Premier Levy was very pleased with the outcome of his little schticks, which he celebrated with a glass of Romanian zuika and made another visit to Rabbi Zwingli, which also proved unsuccessful. It happened to be the anniversary of the Temple's destruction by Titus's soldiers, and Rabbi met Mr Levy with an apocalyptic prayer: "... my eyes have dried up, my arms have lost their power, the Almighty has lessened the strength of my bows, and crashed the wheels of my chariots. Till when, oh Lord, will Philistines be burning my crops and desecrating your synagogues ?"
The Premier uttered several expletives and went home, mentally quoting Marx's words that "Die Religion ist das Opium des Volkes". He also remembered that when he went to a Jewish Youth
school in Krakow - he was known then as Alexander Levinsky - he had had an argument with his young Zionist friends about how to correctly translate this passage. Some, highlighting the obvious similarities between German and Yiddish, had claimed that it meant "Religion is the opium of the people", while others had countered that it meant "Religion is the opium for the people". "What's the difference, kurwa?" mused the premier.
Meanwhile things were getting really out of hand. In 1970 The Beatles split up and poor Yoko Ono was accused by all and sundry of being instrumental in helping conflict to brew between John and Paul. Little did they know that Ringo carefully plotted the animosity between the band's members, as he was too tired of studio work - his soul was yearning for action on a grander scale.
Do you remember the 70s? Brezhnev kissing Arafat, Arafat rides in Beirut, Arafat gives a speech at the UN, Arafat says - "My wife is revolution" (it'd be interesting to know what Dr Freud would say to that) while there was no sign of Ringo. Then the tide was reversed - Arafat got off the public stage, and a resurrected Ringo toured the world with his All Stars Band, and sang 'With a Little Help from my Friends, with a visible smirk.
This could have gone on forever, but the whole thing was demolished by a woman - anyone surprised? During the siege in Ramallah, Ringo-Arafat started an intimate relationship with a BBC journalist by name of Barbara Plett. Stupid as she was, she couldn't keep it a secret after wining-and-dining with colleagues in the Colony Hotel in East Jerusalem, which is a popular hub for foreign journalists in Israel and a beautiful place in itself.
Ringo's wife Barbara Cox, who had had enough, threatened to call a press conference and lay everything out on the table for everyone to see. The message sank in loud and clear, and Mr Starsky-Terz got rid of his quasi-military garb, changed into mufti and, claiming an incurable illness, left Ramallah for Paris in a French military helicopter. As the plane took off, Ms Plett was crying as if this was the end of the world, which greatly puzzled the local inhabitants of Ramallah, who are a rather unemotional lot.
Later she received a fair amount of criticism for compromising her duty to be impartial and unbiased while covering this never-ending conflict, but that was too much to ask of a woman
in love. Especially vile were the attacks of Zionists who treated her coverage with inhumane cynicism.
"...when the helicopter carrying the frail old man rose above his ruined compound, I started to cry... without warning", she wrote in a editorial.
The Zionist Times retorted angrily:
"One shoots from the hip without warning, Ms Plett. Your revelations of scandalous involvement with one of the players of the conflict cast a huge doubt on your integrity. How could you get so carried away, for God's sake? He ain't no Beckham."
Here ends the saga. Arafat is no more. Ringo is fine and well, and is rumoured to be playing Israel in the near future. No-one will object this time - Mr Levy departed into another realm long ago, and Rabbi Zwingli is too old to remember even himself.
Received: 22.02.2013 Accepted: 25.02.2013
