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e forgotten who he was: his name was Norman Mayer, he was a mad saint, and he loved usenough to die for our sins. Bang, they were down, neither one moved. Pool” (1978) are Harlan’s reports on working inHollywood, from his arrival in 1962 through the perils and pleasures that followed. And in thatinstant of damp soundless nothingness, Kostner saw the reels snap and clock down for the final time: One, two, three.

”THE ESSENTIAL ELLISON 651 His tongue peeked out of his mouth, and Islammed him with the palm of my hand, and he bit the tip, screeching at me something I couldn’tunderstand. It rolled right inside the open door, and there were half adozen men and old men and very old men in there, waiting for me. n the corners, they listened to oompah bands in a shell in the park, they playedhopscotch and pussy-in-the-corner,