Joe Queenan: Stop Picking on Fat People
[Mr. Queenan, a satirist, is the author, most recently, of the memoir "Closing Time" (Viking, 2009).]
The debate regarding the American "obesity plague" has taken on an increasingly rancorous tone. On one side are those who honestly believe that we cannot repair our imperiled health-care system without addressing the enormous strains placed on that system by the seriously overweight. On the other side are those of a Rubenesque stature who are enraged that they are routinely the targets of catcalls, epithets and even job discrimination, and who have had it up to here with the fatty jokes.
Lost in all this is an appreciation of how much the chubby, the plump, the tubby and even the massively overweight have contributed to society down through the ages. Henry VIII, whose rupture with the Catholic Church was a pivotal moment in history, was by no means immune to a case of the munchies. Johann Sebastian Bach, viewed by many as the greatest composer who ever lived, was a charter member of the Clean Plate Society. Queen Victoria, who presided over a golden age such as no nation had experienced since the collapse of the Roman Empire, certainly didn't miss many meals. And anyone who has ever seen a statue of Gautama Buddha realizes that he too knew how to hold up his end of the feedbag.
Those of us who are overweight, have been overweight, or have close friends and relatives who are overweight understand that carrying a few extra pounds does not necessarily make a person any less effective as an employee, a spouse, a parent or a citizen. History bears this out. Where would jazz be without the seminal influence of Louis Armstrong, the greatest trumpeter of them all? And how do we know that it was not those few extra pounds that gave him the pep to belt out such crowd-pleasing numbers as "St. James Infirmary" and "Hello, Dolly"? The same case can be made for Ella Fitzgerald, never the svelte type; for James Levine, the pudgy yet peerless opera conductor; and for Luciano Pavarotti, whose legendary chunkiness did not prevent him from becoming one the most beloved singers ever.
The list of portly geniuses goes on and on. Honoré de Balzac, the most prolific and in many ways the most gifted of the great novelists, literally lived to eat. Alexandre Dumas, whose stubby fingers gave us "The Count of Monte Cristo" and "The Three Musketeers," never saw a macaron d'Amiens or a plate of petits fours he wouldn't scarf down. Nor was Sir William Gilbert, of "The Mikado" and "The Pirates of Penzance" fame, a stranger to the late-night assault on the pantry.
It's all well and good to say that excess weight puts a strain on the heart, leads to many premature deaths, and dramatically inflates our national health-care bill. But the very same arguments can be applied to workaholics, alcoholics or garden-variety idiots, none of whom violate any specific law by indulging in a lifestyle others deplore. And once a society starts down the slippery slope toward deciding which behaviors are acceptable and which are not, it's time to assemble kindling for the funeral pyre of democracy. First they told people to stop smoking. Then they told them to lay off the hooch. Then they told them to stop eating between meals. And then they told them to stop being neurotic. Pretty soon, no one in New York City could be seen in public anymore. ..
Read entire article at WSJ
The debate regarding the American "obesity plague" has taken on an increasingly rancorous tone. On one side are those who honestly believe that we cannot repair our imperiled health-care system without addressing the enormous strains placed on that system by the seriously overweight. On the other side are those of a Rubenesque stature who are enraged that they are routinely the targets of catcalls, epithets and even job discrimination, and who have had it up to here with the fatty jokes.
Lost in all this is an appreciation of how much the chubby, the plump, the tubby and even the massively overweight have contributed to society down through the ages. Henry VIII, whose rupture with the Catholic Church was a pivotal moment in history, was by no means immune to a case of the munchies. Johann Sebastian Bach, viewed by many as the greatest composer who ever lived, was a charter member of the Clean Plate Society. Queen Victoria, who presided over a golden age such as no nation had experienced since the collapse of the Roman Empire, certainly didn't miss many meals. And anyone who has ever seen a statue of Gautama Buddha realizes that he too knew how to hold up his end of the feedbag.
Those of us who are overweight, have been overweight, or have close friends and relatives who are overweight understand that carrying a few extra pounds does not necessarily make a person any less effective as an employee, a spouse, a parent or a citizen. History bears this out. Where would jazz be without the seminal influence of Louis Armstrong, the greatest trumpeter of them all? And how do we know that it was not those few extra pounds that gave him the pep to belt out such crowd-pleasing numbers as "St. James Infirmary" and "Hello, Dolly"? The same case can be made for Ella Fitzgerald, never the svelte type; for James Levine, the pudgy yet peerless opera conductor; and for Luciano Pavarotti, whose legendary chunkiness did not prevent him from becoming one the most beloved singers ever.
The list of portly geniuses goes on and on. Honoré de Balzac, the most prolific and in many ways the most gifted of the great novelists, literally lived to eat. Alexandre Dumas, whose stubby fingers gave us "The Count of Monte Cristo" and "The Three Musketeers," never saw a macaron d'Amiens or a plate of petits fours he wouldn't scarf down. Nor was Sir William Gilbert, of "The Mikado" and "The Pirates of Penzance" fame, a stranger to the late-night assault on the pantry.
It's all well and good to say that excess weight puts a strain on the heart, leads to many premature deaths, and dramatically inflates our national health-care bill. But the very same arguments can be applied to workaholics, alcoholics or garden-variety idiots, none of whom violate any specific law by indulging in a lifestyle others deplore. And once a society starts down the slippery slope toward deciding which behaviors are acceptable and which are not, it's time to assemble kindling for the funeral pyre of democracy. First they told people to stop smoking. Then they told them to lay off the hooch. Then they told them to stop eating between meals. And then they told them to stop being neurotic. Pretty soon, no one in New York City could be seen in public anymore. ..