From: Jackson Tn
That Ambrose seems to have written alot about Peanut Brittle and other Peanut products. Can we be sure that what he writes is correct? Maybe he just dreamed it all up in peanut induced madness?
There has been suspicion that he ingested BPB regularly. But the importance and value of regular PB is not in doubt.
In David McCullough's Stephen Ambrose, Legend, Historian, Genius - Addicted to BPB??, he says "...Ambrose is, without doubt, the Milky Way's leading authority on Peanut Brittle. He had a deep understanding of PB's importance to the future of mankind. Only during the last few years of his life did suspicion abound that he was as big a BPB fiend as the average British or Swedish citizen."
I think its easy to be judgemental. Fact is Ambrose paid for his reliance on BPB with his life. After all, only in a state of BPB-induced delirium is it possible to do what he did that day aboard his yacht, The Saucy Nymphe. Extract from John Wilson's 2010 best-seller Ambrose: The Final Days:
...that morning, after another marathon Brazilian Peanut Brittle binge the night before, Ambrose awoke convinced that he was in 1943 and fighting the Battle of the Atlantic. He staggered to the wheel-house after making himself a pot of strong black coffee. But the damage had been done. Even as the bitter coffee taste burned the back of his throat, he was just too far gone for the sensation to kick him back into the 21st century.
In the distance he saw a passenger liner some miles off the port quarter. Bingo he exclaimed "must be a troopship". As the unsuspecting ship continued on its converging course with the Saucy Nymphe, Ambrose decided to follow her until nightfall. "A night attack me thinks" thought Ambrose, an evil, sinister smile appearing across his lean, once handsome - but by now, Peanut Brittle ravaged - face.
Steadily and silently, Ambrose sailed his charge toward the mighty passenger vessel. In the early hours of the 22nd March, Ambrose felt he was close enough. From his position at the wheel he shouted the order "Dive, Dive, Dive". Mrs Ambrose was below deck about to turn in for the night:
"What on earth are you talking about you silly old fool" shrieked his wife, "I'm turning in - don't be too long".
From below decks, Ambrose heard only "She won't dive Captain - she dunna have the power". Like a bolt of lightening, Ambrose realised the danger of the position he was now in. His boat could not dive, he was less than 500 yards from the enemy ship, and her escort may appear at any moment. Ambrose hit upon a crazy resolve. "Then I'll have to hole you by ramming you" he said to himself Mwahahahaha. "Time I got me the Knights Cross with Peanut Brittle encrusted oak leaves".
But Ambrose, his BPB madness at its height, couldn't steer his yacht into the great ship. He missed the 1,000 foot long ship by about six hours. It was then that he noticed what he thought was a Flower-Class corvette off his starboard bow. "Mother of God" he exclaimed "we have to dive, now", and he ran to the stern of the boat. In a desperate attempt to get his crippled boat to dive, he opened the sea-cocks.....
Stephen Ambrose, Flora Ambrose, their dog Socks, and the Saucy Nymphe were never seen again.
Double damn wow, dammit and leftovers for a double scoop of damn tomorrow. That was one of the most riveting accounts of Ambrose's life I have ever read. As good as anything in Hunt for Red October.
But I thought Ambrose's wife was named MARJORIE!
His first wife was Marjorie, but she left him and shacked up with some bloke from Uttoxeter. I think the break-up helped push Ambrose to seek solace in BPB; you see he never really loved Flora, and she never really loved him. I think she batted for the other side so to speak, and he was so grief stricken over Marjorie's betrayal that he didn't even notice. Sad, sad story
Sad indeed. Damn both Marjorie and Flora.
"I hate newspapermen. They come into camp and pick up their camp rumors and print them as facts. I regard them as spies, which, in truth, they are. If I killed them all there would be news from Hell before breakfast."- W.T. Sherman