Rupert Hughes
Rupert Hughes was an American novelist, screenwriter, and film director known for his diverse contributions to literature and cinema. Born into a prominent family, he carved out a unique niche for himself in the early 20th century. Hughes's most notable work is his three-volume biography of George Washington, which was groundbreaking in its effort to demythologize the first president, providing a more nuanced and human portrayal that was well received by historians. His literary output spanned various genres, reflecting his versatility as a writer and his keen interest in American history and culture. In addition to his literary achievements, Hughes was a prominent figure in the film industry, earning an Oscar nomination for his screenwriting. He was also a military officer and a music composer, showcasing his multifaceted talents. A staunch anti-Communist, Hughes played a significant role in the American Writers Association during the 1940s, advocating for writers who opposed Communist ideologies. His legacy is marked not only by his contributions to literature and film but also by his efforts to shape public discourse during a tumultuous period in American history.
Famous Quotes
View all 1 quotes“Sideshows in wooden shacks, peanuts and popcorn, rag-throated barkers, hot babies spilling out of tired arms, petty swindles, puerile divisions, a wooden elephant, a Ferris Wheel, an observation tower, hot sands, squalling children, bathers indecently fat or inhumanly lean shrieking in a crowded and dirty ocean, sweaty citizens, pickpockets picking empty pockets, lung-testers, noisome bicyclists, merry-go-rounds, weight-pounding machines, punching machines, “one-baby-down-one-cigar!” – ring throwing at ugly canes, ball throwing at coons, “guess your weight!” – tintype tents, dusty clam chowder served by toughs in maculate aprons, reliques of old picnics, a captive balloon, squalling babies covered with prickly heat, drooling sots and boozy women with their hair in strings, a boardwalk fetid with sweaty citizens, museums with snake-charmers who could charm nothing else, pretzels, fly-haunted pyramids of mucilaginous pies, shrieking babies with pins sticking in them, spanked by weary mothers and sworn at by jaded fathers, lemonade where overfed flies commit suicide, only to be disinterred by unmanicured thumbs, nigrescent bananas, heel-marked orange peelings, fractured chicken bones, shooting galleries snapping and banging and smelly of powder, saloon odious with old beer slops and inebriates, umbrellas on the sand where gap-toothed bicyclists grin at fat beauties of enormous hip, little girls and boys with bony legs all hives and scratches paddling in the surf-lather with dripping drawers and fife-like shrieks, gaily bedight nymphs proud of their shapes and dawdling about in wet bathing suits that keep no secrets, poor mewling babies that really need to go home, dance halls where flat-headed youths and women with plackets agape spiel slowly in a death-clutch, German bands whose music sounds like horses with the heaves, the steeplechase, where men and women straddle the same hobbyhorse and slide yelling down the ringing grooves of small change, rancid sandwiches, sticky candies made of adulterated sweets and dye, more clam chowder, banging, bumping cars on creaking trestles filled with yowling couples, tangle-faced babies howling toward apoplexy, dusty shoes, obsolete linen, draggle skirts, sweat, fatigue, felicity – that is the Coney Island of long memory.”
Books from the author
