Reformation Day 2018

Luther As An Augustinian Monk     Lucas Cranack the Elder, 16th century

On this day in 1517, Martin Luther posted ninety-five theses on the door of All Saints Church in Wittenburg, Germany. He could no longer tolerate the Catholic practice of collecting indulgences from sinners seeking salvation. Today, Protestants commemorate this event every October 31 as Reformation Day. He chose this day, All Hallows Eve, because he knew the church would be filled with influential people within and outside the church as they gathered to celebrate All Saints Day.

Johann Sebastian Bach, the musical voice of the Reformation in the Baroque period, wrote the following cantata for Reformation Day 1725:

1. Chorus

God the Lord is sun and shield. The Lord gives grace and honor, He will allow no good to be lacking from the righteous.


2. Aria A

God is our sun and shield!
Therefore this goodness
shall be praised by our grateful heart,
which He protects like His little flock.
For He will protect us from now on,
although the enemy sharpens his arrows
and a vicious hound already barks.

3. Chorale

Now let everyone thank God
with hearts, mouths, and hands,
Who does great things
for us and to all ends,
Who has done for us from our mother's wombs
and childhood on
many uncountable good things
and does so still today.

4. Recitative B

Praise God, we know
the right way to blessedness;
for, Jesus, You have revealed it to us through Your word,
therefore Your name shall be praised for all time.
Since, however, many yet
at this time
must labor under a foreign yoke
out of blindness,
ah! then have mercy
also on them graciously,
so that they recognize the right way
and simply call You their Intercessor.

5. Aria (Duet) S B

God, ah God, abandon Your own ones
never again!
Let Your word shine brightly for us;
although harshly
against us the enemy rages,
yet our mouths shall praise You.

6. Chorale

Uphold us in the truth,
grant eternal freedom,
to praise Your name
through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Martin Luther Seminary, Mequon, Wisconsin

We can only imagine the exhilaration Luther had on posting his objections.  He placed his worldly apprehensions in the hands of Jesus,  continued to call for reform within the Catholic Church, and eventually developed a new vision of faith. I think this piece by Charles Marie Widor captures not only the joy of such a liberation but also the power that may be unleashed when just one man takes a stand.

Thanks be to God!

Sources:

Photos and Illustrations:
Conrad Schmitt Studios, Milwaukee, Wisconsin


Text:
Bach translation, emmanuelmusic,org

Halloween: 2018

We hope you're having a Happy Halloween. Although the Atlanta weather was perfect

this year - clear and warm - very few trick-or-treaters climbed our hill to enjoy the giant spider, assorted pumpkins, mummy, dancing clown, scary tree, and skeleton guarding the door. The benefit of few visitors is a candy supply that should last us well into the coming year. 

In closing here is Robert Burns's wonderful description - granted it's a long poem - of the Halloween traditions of Scotland. If you enjoy language it will be a special treat. Here is the introduction in the poet's own words:

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; butfor the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions ofthe country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account ofthe principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to thepeasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makesa striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in allages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, ifany such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among themore unenlightened in our own. R.B. 1785

[Notes appear after the poem. Some readers may find them more helpful if read before the poem.]

Halloween (1)

Upon that night, when fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans (2) dance, 

Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance; 

Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams; 

There, up the Cove, (3) to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night; 

Amang the bonie winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear; 

Where Bruce (4) ance rul'd the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear; 

Some merry, friendly, countra-folks 

Together did convene, 

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 

An' haud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine; 

Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': 

The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs

Weel-knotted on their garten; 

Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast at night. 

Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks (5) maun a' be sought ance; 

They steek their een, and grape an' wale

For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, 

An' wandered thro' the bow-kail, 

An' pou't for want o' better shift 

A runt was like a sow-tail 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; 

The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin, 

Wi' stocks out owre their shouther: 

An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them; 

Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 

To lie that night. 

The lassies staw frae 'mang them a', 

To pou their stalks o' corn; (6) 

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn: 

He grippit Nelly hard and fast: 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; 

But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

Whan kiutlin in the fause-house (7)

Wi' him that night. 

The auld guid-wife's weel-hoordit nits (8)

Are round an' round dividend, 

An' mony lads an' lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided: 

Some kindle couthie side by side, 

And burn thegither trimly; 

Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; 

But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel': 

He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part: 

Till fuff! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; 

An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie: 

Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit, it brunt it; 

While Willie lap, and swore by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min', 

She pits hersel an' Rob in; 

In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin: 

Nell's heart was dancin at the view; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 

Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou', 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell: 

She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out-by hersel'; 

She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' for the kiln she goes then, 

An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 

And in the blue-clue (9) throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat- 

I wat she made nae jaukin; 

Till something held within the pat, 

Good Lord! but she was quaukin! 

But whether 'twas the deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 

Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

Wee Jenny to her graunie says, 

"Will ye go wi' me, graunie? 

I'll eat the apple at the glass, (10)

I gat frae uncle Johnie:" 

She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 

She notic't na an aizle brunt

Her braw, new, worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! 

I daur you try sic sportin, 

As seek the foul thief ony place, 

For him to spae your fortune: 

Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it; 

For mony a ane has gotten a fright, 

An' liv'd an' died deleerit, 

On sic a night. 

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 

I mind't as weel's yestreen- 

I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen: 

The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

An' stuff was unco green; 

An' eye a rantin kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fallow; 

His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That lived in Achmacalla: 

He gat hemp-seed, (11) I mind it weel, 

An'he made unco light o't; 

But mony a day was by himsel', 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 

That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense: 

The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him; 

Syne bad him slip frae' mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 

An' try't that night. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin; 

The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin: 

And ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

"Hemp-seed I saw thee, 

An' her that is to be my lass 

Come after me, an' draw thee 

As fast this night." 

He wistl'd up Lord Lennox' March 

To keep his courage cherry; 

Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie: 

Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grane an' gruntle; 

He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbled wi' a wintle

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation! 

An' young an' auld come rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration: 

He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie- 

Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; 

And wha was it but grumphie

Asteer that night! 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, 

To winn three wechts o' naething; (12)

But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in: 

She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 

To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 

That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An'owre the threshold ventures; 

But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne baudly in she enters: 

A ratton rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd Lord preserve her! 

An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane; 

It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice (13)

Was timmer-propt for thrawin: 

He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak 

For some black, grousome carlin; 

An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin 

Aff's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie as a kittlen; 

But och! that night, amang the shaws, 

She gat a fearfu' settlin! 

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin; 

Whare three lairds' lan's met at a burn, (14)

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't; 

Whiles round a rocky scar it strays, 

Whiles in a wiel it dimpl't; 

Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickerin', dancin' dazzle; 

Whiles cookit undeneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel 

Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 

The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' ga'e a croon: 

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 

But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies (15) three are ranged; 

An' ev'ry time great care is ta'en 

To see them duly changed: 

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year did desire, 

Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary; 

And unco tales, an' funnie jokes- 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery: 

Till butter'd sowens, (16) wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin; 

Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night.

[Footnote 1: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other
mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands;
particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold
a grand anniversary,.-R.B.]
[Footnote 2: Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the
neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.-R.B.]
[Footnote 3: A noted cavern near Colean house, called the Cove of Colean;
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a
favorite haunt of fairies.-R.B.]
[Footnote 4: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the
great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.-R.B.]
[Footnote 5: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a "stock," or
plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the
first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is
prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells-the
husband or wife. If any "yird," or earth, stick to the root, that is "tocher,"
or fortune; and the taste of the "custock," that is, the heart of the stem, is
indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to
give them their ordinary appellation, the "runts," are placed somewhere above
the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings
into the house are, according to the priority of placing the "runts," the
names in question.-R. B.]
[Footnote 6: They go to the barnyard, and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the "top-pickle," that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.-R.B.]
[Footnote 7: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet,
the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment in
his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind:
this he calls a "fause-house."-R.B.][Footnote 8: Burning the nuts is a favorite charm. They name the lad and lass
to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they
burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue
of the courtship will be.-R.B.]
[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly
observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling,
throw into the "pot" a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old
one; and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, "Wha
hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by
naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.-R.B.]
[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple
before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time; the
face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if
peeping over your shoulder.-R.B.]
[Footnote 11: Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed,
harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and
then: "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is
to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder,
and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of
pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is,
show thyself; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and
say: "Come after me and harrow thee."-R.B.]
[Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a "wecht," and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.-R.B.]
[Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a "bear-stack," and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-R.B.]
[Footnote 14: You go out, one or more (for this is a social spell), to a south running spring, or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-R.B.]
[Footnote 15: Take three dishes, put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty; blindfold a person and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand; if bychance in the clean water, the future (husband or) wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three
times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.-R.B.]
[Footnote 16: Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.-R.B.]

Sources

Photos and illustrations:

Postcards are from the family archives

Text:

The Burns poem, footnotes, and introduction were taken from robertburns.org.

Dylan Thomas: Master Of Words And Imagery

This day marks the birth (1914) of  Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet who produced some of the most extraordinary lyrical imagery found modern English. Thomas holds a very special place in my being. My grandmother's parents immigrated to the United States from Cardiff, Wales, in the 1870's. Although I don't remember my grandmother - she died before my second birthday - my father always reminded me of her Celtic pride and Welsh ancestry expressed especially in a love for song and singing.

My family likely became aware of Thomas through his trips to the U.S. made over a span of about four years beginning in 1950. His trips always made sensational news for he was not only a rising star worshiped in metropolitan and university salons but also a boisterous character prone to drunkenness and colorful language. Indeed, his trip in 1953 ended in death from pneumonia while in New York. One could say he covered the full spectrum of life and when he spoke of it in verse or prose he made music. I've read and listened to him recite his music since the mid-1950's.

Here he is reading a poem about visits to his aunt and uncle's farm, Fernhill, near Llangain, Carmarthanshire, in the 1920's.

And for good measure, Poem in October and In my Craft or Sullen Art.

What an unforgettable voice. And what imagery.

I first heard a recording of Thomas sometime in elementary school. There's a good chance few students in any grade have that opportunity today. How unfortunate. We often think education has come a long way over the last seven decades. Perhaps it has, but somewhere on that journey we have undoubtedly lost some very precious cultural experiences. If we could hear Thomas's truth singing every year, we would know so much better who we are as individuals and as a people.

Remembering The Fire In October

When an early autumn walks the land and chills the breeze

and touches with her hand the summer trees,

perhaps you'll understand what memories I own.

There's a dance pavilion in the rain all shuttered down,

a winding country lane all russet brown,

a frosty window pane shows me a town grown lonely.

In October 2008 I wrote the first of many revised editions of the story of the annual October closing of my family's "summer place" in the West Virginia mountains south of Cumberland, Maryland, in the Patterson Creek valley. Those who follow this blog likely know more about the Burlington campground than most current residents of that village. Still, it's an important story in the Old Tybee Ranger's formative years and it's worth repeating. There is one significant change in the story this year. The magnificent two-story cedar pavilion that stood for nearly a century as the focal point of the property has been demolished. For much of the last forty years it served more as a landscape feature than a facility and had been abandoned to the elements and, now reduced to a memory.  And speaking of memories, from 2008...

Every October 15, my mind floods with wonderful memories. From birth through my 27th year, the date marked an important event in my life. The story descends from my dad's membership in the Uniform Rank of the Knights of Pythias. The URKP was an elite military-style company within a fraternal organization born out of the search for national reconciliation following the Civil War. Every good military organization needed a campground, with lodging, mess hall, recreation pavilion, and parade. The URKP had theirs in the small village of Burlington, West Virginia. It also served as a regional park, complete with playground, ball fields, and swimming in the creek.  It was often rented for the day for family reunions, company picnics, church functions, and other large gatherings.

Hulling walnuts, 1967

"Camp" at Burlington was paradise for a young boy. A creek bordering the camp offered hours of fun. You could explore the woods and fields forever. The frequent social events made the playground a great place to meet new friends. But "camping" at Burlington was by no means a wilderness experience. We were lucky to use a cottage that had every comfort of home. There was a drive-in theater next door where I enjoyed the snack bar as much as the movies. Across the road was a small airfield with a few Aeroncas,  Taylorcrafts and Piper Cubs, and a hangar that gave birth to many "homebuilts" over the years. I can say with confidence that Burlington was never boring. The drive-in and airport were owned and operated by Dave and Georgia Baker, an entertaining and lovable couple I came to respect as family.  

Today, the sycamores along the river may be a bit taller, but they still explode in yellow this time of year along with my favorite walnut tree. And the young maple I climbed as a boy has matured into a massive Fall fire tree. In 1950, I watched when the men brought in their bulldozers to shape a new channel and level the bank of Patterson Creek. The stone beach they built was much safer for the generation of bathers who enjoyed it, but creeks have a way of remembering affronts. By the mid '70's, the creek's waters restored the original course and bank to a scene my grandfather enjoyed in the 1930s. Although time changed the place I called "Camp" it will never erase the memories of this childhood paradise.

1959

Through the summer of 1974, I spent many weeks at "camp" every year, including several weekends of "cold camping" in the off-season. Opening the cottage and grounds for the summer, though exciting, was not especially memorable. Freezing temperatures lingered into May, so the campground usually opened on Memorial Day weekend. On the other hand, winterizing the place was like saying "Goodbye" to an old friend. Thoughts of family, friends, the big fish, fireworks, that scary movie, the old biplane, all those memories accumulated over the past six months filled your mind. Amid the blazing gold sycamores, brilliant fire oaks and maples, the smell of wood smoke, and a harvest of black walnuts, we went through the years-old closing procedure until the last item - pouring anti-freeze into sink traps - was checked. At that point, it was time to load the car, proceed with all those repetitive tasks one does "just to be sure," then close and lock the big red door until Spring.

ca. 1971

As American society changed, the URKP fell out of fashion. Lodge members grew old and passed away. In 1974, the lodge itself and all its assets dissolved. I haven't locked that big red door for 44 years now, but I still have the key and a remarkably detailed mental picture of the cottage and landscape that I loved.

1949

In many ways, Burlington is with me every day, for my experiences there helped shape my values, and define my career, hobbies, and general interests. The impact has been so profound that I have asked my children to do their best to provide the same opportunity for their own families.

In weaving all of the memories about this weekend, I ask you, my readers, to do the same: Find a nearby paradise and escape to it often while your children are young. There will be no sorrow there.

Sources

Illustrations and Photos:
all photos from OTR family archive

Text:
opening quote, Early Autumn, lyrics, by Johnny Mercer, The Complete Lyrics of Johnny Mercer,  edited by Kimball, Day, Kreuger, and Davis; Knopf 2009

Chuck Yeager's Big Day

The legendary test pilot, Chuck Yeager, is 95. Although he may be a bit slower these days he remains very active managing his foundation, traveling to select events from his home in California, and maintaining an interesting presence on Twitter. On this day in 1947 he was also in California and about to achieve a landmark in aviation when he flew his Bell X-1 into history on the shoulders of scores of aerospace pioneers who helped him reach that speedway in the sky.

Here, from is autobiography, is his description of that event:

... Bob Cardenas, the B-29 driver, asked if I was ready.

"Hell, yes," I said. "Let's get it over with.

"He dropped the X-1 at 20,000 feet, but his dive speed was once again too slow and the X-1 started to stall. I fought it with the control wheel for about five hundred feet, and finally got her nose down. The moment we picked up speed I fired all four rocket chambers in rapid sequence. We climbed at .88 Mach and began to buffet, so I flipped the stabilizer switch and changed the setting two degrees. We smoothed right out, and at 36,000 feet, I turned off two rocket chambers. At 40,000 feet, we were still climbing at a speed of .92 Mach. Leveling off at 42,000 feet, I had thirty percent of my fuel, so I turned on rocket chamber three and immediately reached .96 Mach. I noticed the faster I got, the smoother the ride. Suddenly the Mach needle began to fluctuate. It went up to .965 Mach - then tipped right off the scale. I thought I was seeing things! We were flying supersonic! And it was as smooth as a baby's bottom: Grandma could be sitting up there sipping lemonade. I kept the speed off the scale for about twenty seconds, and raised the nose to slow down. I was thunderstruck. After all the anxiety, breaking the sound barrier turned out to be a perfectly paved speedway.

I radioed Jack in the B-29,

"Hey, Ridley, that Machmeter is acting screwy. It just went off the scale on me."

"Fluctuated off?""Yeah, at point nine-six-five."

"Son, you is imagining things."

"Must be. I'm still wearing my ears and nothing else fell off, neither."

                                                                       . . .

And so I was a hero this day. As usual, the fire trucks raced out to where the ship had rolled to a stop on the lakebed. As usual, I hitched a ride back to the hangar with the fire chief. That warm desert sun really felt wonderful. My ribs ached.

His ribs ached but that ache had nothing to do with his record flight. He cracked two of them in a horseback riding accident a day and a half earlier but wasn't about to let the issue keep him from an important mission. This was but one example of many obstacles Yeager overcame on his way to legendary status in American aviation history.

Interested readers can learn more about the man and the early years of the nation's military aviation and aerospace history in Yeager: An Autobiography, an outstanding read originally published in 1985. A valuable companion book providing context and additional history on the nation's early manned space program is Tom Wolfe's 1979 classic, The Right Stuff.





Sources

Photos and Illustrations:
Yeager with Bell X-1, U.S. Air Force, www.af.mil
Cover photo, Yeager: An Autobiography, General Chuck Yeager and Leo Janus, Bantam, 1985.

Text:

quotation, Yeager: An Autobiography, General Chuck Yeager and Leo Janus, Bantam, 1985.
www.wikipedia.com
www.chuckyeager.com

Art Tatum: A Jazz Piano Magician

He had perfect pitch and came from a musical family. He was virtually blind but that did not stop him from reaching the pinnacle of piano jazz. Art Tatum's piano technique was all his own. As a child he learned compositions by ear listening to recordings, piano rolls or the radio. He often had no idea that he was copying in two hands a musical performance by four hands. In time his skills made him a magician at the keyboard. Here is Tatum's famous 1933 rendition of Tea For Two:

And a bit more up-tempo, here is the master of improvisation with the tune, Tiger Rag, also recorded in 1933: 

When you have enjoyed jazz for fifty years and listen to Art Tatum you'll hear Oscar Peterson, Billy Taylor, Thelonious Monk, Johnny Costa and many others as Tatum dances effortlessly across the keyboard. He was so good, his legacy in music may be timeless. In fact, the great stride pianist, Fats Waller, once said upon seeing Tatum enter the club where Waller was performing, "I only play the piano, but tonight God is in the house."

Tatum at the Vogue Room, New York, 1948

Tatum was born on this day in Toledo, Ohio, in 1909 and died in Los Angeles in 1956. He was 47.

Sources

Photos and Illustrations:

William P. Gottlieb Collection, Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Text:

Art Tatum entry, wikipedia,com (for quote source see note 2)

Ralph Vaughan Williams: Painting With Sound

The English composer, Ralph Vaughan WIlliams, was born on this day in 1872. The brief introduction to his biography appearing on the Ralph Vaughan Williams Society website says all that need be said about this beloved interpreter of the musical themes and varied landscapes of England:

[He] is arguably the greatest composer Britain has seen since the days of Henry Purcell. In a long and extensive career, he composed music notable for its power, nobility and expressiveness, representing, perhaps, the essence of ‘Englishness’.

 

I suspect the quality of music education in the public schools, if the curriculum exists at all, is not nearly as comprehensive today as it was in the 1950's. In that decade Vaughan Williams was the beloved dean of composers in much of the Western world. In the half century following his death he remains a popular force in the music of our lives. Here are some likely familiar examples that renew themselves on every hearing:

Discovery And Columbus: It's A Matter Of Politics

Nine years ago I blogged about this interesting Columbus Day post by James C. Bennett on some surprising complexities regarding the holiday. Here's my summary paragraph from that post:

Caboto? Cabot? Yes, it's the same explorer. John Cabot, often identified as the "English" navigator, was really an Italian. In 1497 he financed his "discovery" of North America - not just a few islands as Columbus did in 1492 - with English money. Leave it to those crafty English to Anglicize him and create mass confusion among school children and armchair authorities for centuries to come.

Cabot in his Venetian robes, Guistino Menescardi, 1762

Putting aside Bennett's Calvinist Puritan "depravity of man" talk, readers know full-well my opinion on the superlatives and "firsts" regarding the exploration and occupation of the planet. Whether it's Leif Erikson, Christopher Columbus, John Cabot, Kennewick Man or whomever, we should know by now it's the politics that matters. Given that, Glenn Reynolds contributes a fine recommendation for this day. He suggests we read Admiral of the Ocean Sea: A Life of Christopher Columbus, a superb biography by the renowned writer and maritime historian, Samuel Eliot Morison. See the link for a brief excerpt and segue into Bennett's opinion.

Enough said. My you have an enjoyable Columbus Day holiday and thank Bjarni Herjolfsson for staying out to sea.

My Father's Birthday

It has been 111 years since the birth of my father on this day in 1907. That's a long time and one indication of why my value programming is different from that of most of my peers. In short, I was raised by parents from the Roaring Twenties and the Jazz Age while my classmates, friends, and colleagues had parents come of age during the Great Depression. Attitudes, opinions and beliefs borne out of such a circumstance bring both opportunity and challenge in the real world for those born somewhat "out of synch."

This is my dad at seventeen, a high school honor graduate and holder of his class medals in English and debate. The year was 1925. He was a mill town boy with high ambitions tempered by the security of a good-paying full-time job straight out of high school and into the midst of the Roaring Twenties. He never got the college degree he wanted but he was successful, building on his strong faith, a solid marriage, and a remarkable work ethic.

When I look at this picture I am reminded that he only had four "good" years before the Great Depression and World War II brought him and the country he loved into sixteen years of hard times. Through it all he survived as a member of the "Greatest Generation" and saw his nation prosper.

My children never knew him - he's been gone for over 35 years - but I think they know him well. I've done my best to teach them who he was and honor him by carrying on his many traditions. How fortunate I was to have him as a beacon in my life. He was a great and careful teacher and, though we had our differences, a constant and trusted friend. Most of all he was my loving dad. I thank him every day and will love him forever.


Happy birthday, Dad!