Dark Materials

poor georgie’s almanack

His Dark Materials #1. 




A true Presidential Debate story that ends in a terrible pun.

While flying into St. Louis in 2000 to work behind the scenes at a presidential debate I read a review that said a trilogy of books written by Philip Pullman was even better fantasy than the Harry Potter.  Nineteen years later, Pullman’s trilogy is the basis for the HBO series “His Dark Materials.”

When the first day of set-up for the TV debate finally ended I set out to buy Pullman’s “The Golden Compass, and a cigar, a bottle of red wine and a big chunk of cheese.

The team working with the nonpartisan Commission on Presidential Debates was very comfortably housed in a Ritz-Carlton hotel.  My upper floor room featured a glass paneled door with a permanently attached gauze-like curtain inside.  The door opened to reveal  a small balcony with a small round table and a small chair.   I rearranged a couple floor lamps just inside the air-conditioned room to shed just enough light through the curtain to be able to read the book on the balcony.

Then I dug into the cheese and filled the big wine glass.  A hotel towel was my placemat.  Immediately, I was enveloped by Pullman’s writing.  

At about page three, with eyes riveted on the words, I reached for the glass and inadvertently tipped it over.  The contents spilled out onto the rim of the patio.

Glass didn’t break.  Cleaned the table with the towel.  No harm done.  Refilled the goblet, and on to page four.

Maybe 15 minutes later, the book’s fantasy spell was abruptly broken by a very scary real-life rustling noise from behind the glass door.  A huge shadow appeared on the gauze curtain … it looked like a very big man, or maybe a Rottweiler standing on two legs, a top leg touching the door knob.

I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no way to yell or even breath because my wildly beating heart was exploding inside my narrowly constricting esophagus.

The door slowly swung open and a dapper giant of a man quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

It took but seconds for my heart to slither back into it’s assigned cavity and the reason for an unexpected visit from Hotel “Security.”  

Someone below had seen red drops dripping from my balcony and assumed it was vital fluids.

Thus explaining why, in fantasy cops and robbers tales, police officers often are called bloodhounds.