- Elinor Ostrom, Nobel Prize, economics
- Clarence Page, Pulitzer Prize, commentary
- Dick Locher, Pulitzer Prize, editorial cartoonist
- Gary Snyder, Pulitzer Prize, poetry
- Jeff MacNally, Pulitzer Prize, editorial cartoonist
- Jesse Haines, Baseball Hall of Fame, pitcher
- Jesse Owens, Olympic gold medalist, runner
- Marcy Nighswander, Pulitzer Prize, photography
- Ritter Collett, Baseball Hall of Fame, sportswriter
- Steve Curwood, Pulitzer Prize, investigative reporting
Tag: Musings
Is this how A.I. is supposed to improve our lives?
I don’t know about you, but I’m finding myself spooked when another social media platform suggests I “friend” someone I know has deceased. It’s not just a one person, either.
It’s even scarier when the next suggestion in their line is a former lover who scooted off from our engagement.
Even if there are some things I’d like to clear up with them, I must admit it’s too late for this round of mortal life. In one case, I was set for reconnecting only to hear she was in the final stages of Hospice care.
Another disturbing reaction to these pitches is the seeing how hard it is to remove an outdated site by anyone other than the account holder. Yes, as I was saying about deceased. Perhaps you’ve been a member of a group that’s run into a similar problem, where someone set up the site and then moved on without leaving the administrative details. Beyond that I’m seeing instances involving people who live alone, or did, and receive no obituary. That’s where I find this can get creepy.
As I said, how about you?
Can we really communicate with the dead?
What’s love got to do with it?
In research for my novel What’s Left, I wound up learning about the people we now call Roma. I won’t say how it applied, but it was an eyeful.
For instance.
- All Roma are expected to marry – and to another Roma, not an outsider.
- In many tribes, the parents arrange the marriage.
- Rejection of a formal proposal is considered a disgrace.
- Acceptance leads to the negotiation of a bride price to compensate her parents for their loss.
- A festive ceremony may follow a few days later, signifying the engagement.
- No formal ritual is required as a wedding itself, though some tribes turn the occasion into a multiday celebration.
- Wedding gifts almost always consist of money.
- After the wedding, the bride is never seen in public without wearing her headscarf.
- They settled into the groom’s parents’ home, and cannot move to a place of their own until after the birth of their first child.
- The couple cannot refer to each other as husband and wife until their first child is born. Up to that point, it’s only their first names when speaking to each other or about the other in public.
Gee, we haven’t even touched on the death customs and rituals.
Drawn from Gypsy at larp.com.
Holding on, one way or another
the powerful image of tree roots in a rock fissure
one I hold from Little Miami River trails in Greene County, Ohio
repeated once again along the Isinglass, in New Hampshire, just below the landfill a half-century later
the memory, all the same
Take up a new activity means learning words that go with it
My week on a schooner enlarged my vocabulary.
For instance.
- A quarterboard proclaims the name of the ship at the bow.
- Quarterdeck, the little raised house behind the main mast, where the wheel is. The forecastle is the one at the other end, up by the bow.
- Dropping the hook, meaning anchor.
- Gaff, the more or less horizontal spar at the top of the mainsail and foresail. It makes those sheets irregular quadrilaterals in shape rather than triangular.
- Beam, the width. Crown, the roll of the deck for water to roll off. Sheer is the cut of the profile, usually voiced with aesthetic appreciation or disproval.
- Hatch, with the ladders down into the hold.
- Stern, the back, where we steer.
- Transom, the flat back of the boat , or, as you know now, at the stern.
- Yawl. It can be a kind of auxiliary sail, but in a schooner’s case, usually refers to the yawl boat riding at the stern when it’s not off somewhere on its own.
- Windward, meaning the direction the wind’s coming from, and leeward, the direction the wind’s headed. In a heavy wind, the windward side of the ship’s higher, while the leeward one dips toward the water. (When it’s really touching the water, the ship’s “running the rail,” meaning ripping along.)
I also like the term “running on one screw,” meaning propeller, except we didn’t have one.
We won’t even start talking tonnage, which seems to mean a lot for insiders.
Another oddity I’ll claim
There’s no Ellis Island in my ancestry. All of my roots on my father’s side arrived earlier, via other ports, and came mostly through Pennsylvania.
My mother’s are a bit more tangled.
Do I really miss caffeine?
But somehow, I manage to write without it.
Memories of Cincinnati
As I mentioned in a previous Tendrils (June 10), Cincy was the “big city” of my youth, an hour drive to the south once Interstate 75 opened.
Here are some memories.
- Music Hall: Completed in 1878 and newly renovated, including a meticulous shrinking of the breathtakingly gorgeous main auditorium, this Venetian Gothic classic is the home of the Cincinnati Symphony and Pops orchestras, May Festival Chorus, and opera and ballet companies. I treasure the concerts I’ve heard there, often from the second balcony. It’s certainly among the oldest concert halls in America, with the Central City Opera House in Colorado being the closest rival for the title I’ve found so far.
- Carew Tower and Fountain Square: The observation tower 49 stories above the downtown, accessed by a “rocket speed” elevator, was my introduction to skyscrapers. It’s architect, William Lamb, went on to be one of the chief designers of New York’s Empire State Building, completed the following year. Fountain Square, in a dark canyon when I knew it, has since been given an airy plaza and become even more of a gathering place.
- Taft Museum: This small art collection celebrates one of the residents of the historic 1820 home at the edge of downtown, Charles Phelps Taft, half-brother of President and Supreme Court Justice William Howard Taft, who had accepted his nomination to the candidacy from its portico. The house fronts Lytle Park.
- Mount Adams: With the major art museum, repertory theater, Mahoghany Hall bookstore and jazz bar, a family-run Italian sub shop, and a once-famous Rookwood pottery operation at its edge, this was a bohemian center when I knew it.
- Izzy Kadetz: Legendary Jewish delicatessen downtown where customers obeyed the owner’s orders, including, “Eat and get out!” He also charged customers based on their ability to pay.
- Zoo: I mentioned the opera in a previous post, and it’s no joke, but there’s more to the zoological and botanical garden. Home of the last known passenger pigeon, the institution has since pioneered species preservation and been a leader in creating habitats shared by various species.
- Union Station: I vaguely remember a childhood train ride from Dayton and our late-night return. The grand 1933 train terminal was considered a masterpiece, one of the last, and today stands as the Cincinnati Museum Center, including the historical, children’s, and natural history and science museums. I think we went to the zoo during the day.
- Riverboats: Several times during my youth, I found myself part of a group taken out on the Ohio River for a paddleboat trip. I heard a real calliope in the process.
- Shillito’s: Cincy’s oldest department store was boldly art deco when my paintings and designs were included in the annual Scholastic Art competition displays on one of the upper floors. It was quite an honor and thrilling. Pogue’s, a somewhat more old-fashioned department store, was also fun to pass through. Shillito’s, Rikes of Dayton, and Lazarus of Columbus eventually became Federated Department stores, which ultimately took over Macy’s, including its name. Got that? Macy’s headquarters wound up in Cincinnati, returning to Herald Square in Manhattan only in 2020.
- King’s Island: The amusement park famed for its huge wooden roller coasters is my most recent encounter with the Queen City of the West, as Cincy had become known by 1820. I remember the park’s earlier incarnation as Coney Island – or Coney Island of the West, to distinguish it from the tip of Brooklyn – where it was prone to flooding from the Ohio River. I did, in fact, visit once on a riverboat outing that originated and ended downtown. I’m surprised to see the first site survives as a water park. The visit to the current operation came while visiting my hometown. Accompanied by my two daughters, we ventured forth to the outskirts of Cincy facing Dayton and had a most memorable day.
My outdated travel wishes
A season in Kyoto, Barcelona, or back in the Pacific Northwest.
Extended genealogical research in England, Ireland, and Alsace.
The Peruvian Andes.
Alaska or Iceland.
Ascending Mount Rainier or Adams.
Weekends of concerts, museums, and theater in Boston.
A week at the Metropolitan Opera.
Visiting friends in Baltimore, New York, and the Pacific Northwest.
Canoeing or kayaking in northern Maine.
On the other hand, I’d still love to experience the Orthodox icons in the churches of Macedonia.
And even some time on Grand Manan Island, New Brunswick,
Recalling some favorite magazines
As an editor and a writer, I’ve long been inspired by a stream of classy, glossy magazines with outstanding illustrations and design supporting sharply edited, masterful writing.
In this category, I’m skipping over purely literary periodicals, even the ones with deep pockets, as well as newsweeklies and many other kinds of magazines.
The ones I’ve admired, as I’m seeing now, all reflected a single editor’s voice and vision, not that I remember all of their names now. Maybe that’s for another Tendril.
For now, here’s what I mean.
- The New Yorker. The writing and editing, of course. I was captivated way back in high school – the staff of the Hilltopper even gave me a year’s subscription when we graduated – and still a delight in my retirement, maybe even more, in its current direction. Still, there’s no way to keep up. I should mention, in passing, its assiduous fact checkers, a vexation for many famed writers.
- Fortune, back when it was big and classy. Big? The pages were large, like 10 or 11 inches by 12 or 13 inches deep — often on high quality paper, and each issue was fat and thoughtful. Artists were commissioned to create portfolios, with authors to match. It definitely reflected wealth and luxury, unlike other business publications, which often felt pinched. And then the U.S. Postal Service began charging extra for oversize mailings, leading many magazines to shrink their formats. Titles like Life, Look, and Vogue lost their impact, and photographers, especially, took a hit.
- New York. Originating as the Sunday magazine of the New York Herald Tribune, this one took off on its own in 1968 after the newspaper’s demise. Brash and definitely connected to everyday life on Manhattan streets, it was an avatar of New Journalism and Push Pin graphics. Still has that cutting edge.
- Esquire. By the late ‘60s this former cheesecake vehicle had evolved into a champion of New Journalism and high-impact graphics. Some of the covers remain classic. More recently, Vanity Fair continued in that vein until its solid content evaporated in a demographic desert.
- Evergreen Review. Another of the late ‘60s blossoms, this one had a West Coast perspective, openly leftist leanings, and literary ambitions, including Beat poets. Its cartoon serial “Phoebe Zeitgeist” became an underground cult item of a scandalous sort.
- Playboy. As a matter of candor, consider its now-classic interviews, plus the fiction, and, yes, the cartoons, a nearly extinct venue these days. The photography was often masterful, no matter the content. The editor in this case did go on to become a pathetic caricature of himself, reflecting the vapid “philosophy” he was espousing.
- GEO. This hip German-based alternative to the National Geographic debuted in 1976, distinctive for its green-bordered covers, trend-catching photography, and progressive topics and awareness. The English editions blossomed and then trickled from sight. Much of it, like the international hippie roots it reflected, looks dated today.
- New England Monthly. Published from 1984 to 1990, it was an epitome of ambitious, sophisticated, city- and region-based magazines that flourished during the decade. It ran into an identity problem when big advertisers wanted a Greater Boston focus, while important regional issues spilled over into western Massachusetts and Cape Cod as well as Connecticut, Rhode Island, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine, where subscribers existed. The final edition featured a devasting account of the high-level executive arrogance regarding the Seabrook nuclear power plant in New Hampshire led to its corporate bankruptcy, rather than the commonly blamed regulations and enraged environmental protests. After revenue shortfalls shuttered the magazine, some of its writers went on to stardom.
- Elle. This upstart to established fashion bastions Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar was actually founded in 1945 in Paris as a newspaper supplement but came to prominence with a monthly American edition in 1969. Propelled by Gilles Bensimon’s inspired, fresh, even exciting photography and sharp page layouts that delivered in tight spaces, there was no mistaking this entry from its rivals. Another upstart, Sassy, a feminist teen platform aimed at well-healed Seventeen, lacked gloss and polish but sizzled on editor Jane Pratt’s brilliant assignments from 1988 to 1996, when it finally succumbed to a longstanding boycott by an evangelical women’s organization. As a former lifestyles editor, I found Pratt to be most refreshing.
- Harper’s. These days, it rules the roost for me. Its monthly index of seeming random statistics and trends, toward the beginning of each issue, even provided inspiration for these weekly Tendrils.