Sharing A Birthday With Friends

This day always brings to mind the remarkable coincidence that I share this birthday with two of my favorite personalities from the world of the arts. Studying them in depth came later in my life and it's only been in the last fifteen years that I realized September 29 was a big day we shared. It's a coincidence from somewhere in the stars beyond time. I don't want to attempt an explanation. And there's no delusion here, my friends, I will never approach their genius. Not sure I'd want to. I'll simply leave it at that and let this post unfold.

So who are these two artists? They are Walter Inglis Anderson and George Gershwin. I discovered Anderson on my own in the 1970s during the dedication of a National Park Service visitor center in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. The award-winning center featured architectural elements incorporating his motifs as well as interior displays of his nature paintings, island journals, and other books. The building itself was a work of art emerging from the salt marsh at the edge of Davis Bayou. Unfortunately, the center was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. In regard to George Gershwin, I had an ear for him very early in life as my mom and dad enjoyed listening to his work on radio, records, and television.

Walter Inglis "Bob" Anderson, Self-Portrait, ca. 1941

George Gershwin in 1937

Anderson and Gershwin were filled with creative genius and tragic loss. Anderson died (1965) in his early sixties recognized as a local artist and obscure introvert wracked by schizophrenia. National appreciation of his contribution to American art would come slowly and long after his death. Even today he's not well known among general populations beyond the South. Gershwin would die of a brain tumor at the age of 38 at the height of his career and known throughout the world.

Frogs, Bugs, Flowers Walter Anderson, ca 1945

Walter Inglis Anderson, was born on September 29, 1903 in New Orleans. After training at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in the mid-1920s, he spent most of his career associated with Shearwater Pottery, a family enterprise founded in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Though deeply troubled with mental illness for much of his life, he produced thousands of vivid works of art - often called "abstract realism" - seeking to celebrate the unity of human existence with nature. I often describe his work as decorated illustrations that play freely with figure and ground and the positives and negatives of visual perception. His realizations of nature explode in the mind's eye. Observing Anderson is a meditative experience. Visit the Walter Inglis Anderson Museum of Art site to learn more about the life and work of this regional artist whose work has only recently has taken on national significance.

George Gershwin was born in New York in 1898. He went on to become perhaps the most beloved American composer of the last century through his many compositions for the musical stage, the concert hall, and what has become known as the Great American Songbook. Gershwin's appeal comes in part from his colorful and lively incorporation of jazz motifs in all of his music. He died in 1937 with what could only be called a spectacular career ahead of him. I often imagine what he could have brought to American music had he lived another forty years.

Today I begin my 75th year still deeply immersed in the amazing output of fellow Librans Anderson and Gershwin. Although I'm perfectly happy not to share their fame, I'm honored to share their interpretations of the American experience with anyone. And what fine interpretation they are.

Sources

Photos and Illustrations:

Walter "Bob" Anderson, Self-portrait, 1941. Walter Anderson Museum of Art, Ocean Springs, Mississippi.
Frogs, Bugs, and Flowers, Walter Anderson, ca 1945. Repository: Roger H. Ogden Collection. Copyright held by Roger H. Ogden.

George Gershwin 1937. Carl Van Vechten Collection, Library of Congress

What's In This Folder?: Classic Chevy Maintenance Reminders

Been searching for some ideas on a blog series and found this post from way, way back.. Thought readers would enjoy looking into the family archive. 

From September 28, 2011.

What fourteen year-old kid didn't love cars around 1960? OTR was no exception and he kept the evidence to prove it. Just imagine, my friends, there was a time in the U.S. when a maintenance reminder was much more than a simple email message or robo-call.

It was a very good year. . .


. . .and just so you Ford lovers don't feel left out. . . 

As The Grape Goes To Barrel We Surrender To Fall

For the past four days Atlanta's weather, remarkably clear, warm, and exceptionally dry, sang of the high country. It should persist for another fourteen days, perhaps longer. Such perfection is normally reserved for later in the endless fall that is so characteristic of Georgia and much of the South Atlantic Bight,  It reminds me of times in Montana and Colorado and many months spent living in and traveling the sacred high deserts of the Southwest where touching the sky is a reality. 

On such days - I call them Colorado days - I work outside in a green woods still brimming with most of the summer birds and insects that have entertained me since May. It's a daily reminder of the full imprint nature has on our lives and one that we too often forget. I think a  closer association with our natural world would be both healthy and wise. In this age of simultaneous isolation and mass information I know I'm not alone. I think the sentiment may revive some aspects of the environmental movement.

The origin of a movement to return to nature likely began in the minds of the early anarchists - the Romantics - who saw the evils of the "dark Satanic mills" of England crushing their guilds along with their independence. About the same time zealots in the French Revolution sought to weave nature into their new cultural overlay and remove influences of the feudal monarchy. But even a bloody revolution left us a fascinating remnant of early environmentalism in the form of the French Republican Calendar. It may have been idealistic - it only survived a dozen years - but it was a beautiful reminder that we do live in nature.

According to that calendar we are about to end the month of Vendemiare, the grape harvester. 

And here are the thirty days of Vendemiare:

Raisin (Grape)

Safran (Saffron)

Chataignes (Chestnut)

Colchique (Autumn Crocus)

Cheval (Horse)

Balsamine (Yellow Balsam)

Carrotes (Carrots)

Amaranthe (Amaranth)

Panais (Parsnip)

Cuve (Tub)

Pommes de terre (Potatoes)

Immortelle (Strawflower)

Potiron (Giant Pumpkin)

Reseda (Mignonette)

Ane (Donkey)

Belle de nuit (Marvel of Peru)

Citroville (Summer Pumpkin)

Sarrazin (Buckwheat)

Touresol (Sunflower)

Pressoir (Wine-Press)

Chanvre (Hemp)

Peches (Peaches)

Navets (Turnip)

Amarillis (Amaryllis)

Boeuf (Cattle)

Aubegine (Eggplant)

Piment (Chile Pepper)

Tomate (Tomato)

Orge (Barley)

Tonneau (Barrel)

Start with the grape. End with the barrel. I think Vendemiaire provides us a comforting association with a different time and place, a pre-industrial existence where we can easily recognize ourselves as part of nature and not separate from it. And having no interest in returning to the "good old days" - they weren't that good - I would seek compromise with the modern world as we know it. Not easy but that's as it should be.

Today I celebrate the season to be close to the earth and its harvest that sustains us through the cold and dark months to come. It's getting late now. The temperature is already falling through the seventies and darkness will soon overtake my deep ink blue sky. No worries. They'll be a beautiful waning gibbous moon on the horizon an hour before midnight and bedtime. What a stunning day. I am left to sink into a welcomed rest, cradled by the music of Eric Whitacre and lyrics from the pen of Charles Silvestri.

Sleep


The evening hangs beneath the moon 

A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon

Upon my pillow safe in bed
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep my minds aflight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.

If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, fleeting light
Then I surrender unto sleep.

Where clouds of dreams give second sight
What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap

As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep

Sources:

Illustration: Wikipedia entry: Vendemiaire, author unknown, National Library and Bureau of Measures, Paris


Text:

Fondation Napoleon, www.napoleon.org

William Faulkner: "An Artist Is A Creature Driven By Demons."

Today is the birthday (1897) of William Faulkner, the celebrated world-famous writer and favorite son of Oxford, Mississippi. He explored the character of the South in a string of novels and stories predominately over a twenty year period beginning around 1920. This work earned him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1949. Later work was recognized with two Pulitzer Prizes.

Faulkner has never been an easy read for this writer. His complexity and detail, along with the run on sentences and page long paragraphs, makes the experience as challenging as the analysis of his characters. Having lived four decades in the Deep South, I can appreciate in my own small way the 20th century Southern personality Faulkner captured. Folks here were different then. Now that regional character continues to change with a changing South. It is an interesting overlay.

In 1956, Faulkner sat for a Paris Review interview by author, oral historian, and editor, Jean Stein. It became a seminal piece on the art of fiction as well as an insightful exchange on the writer himself. Readers can access an article based on the interview at this link.

And here is the the author reading from The Sound and the Fury, a novel ignored by readers when first published in 1929, but earning him fame after the publication of Sanctuary in 1931.

It would be a serious error to end a post about Faulkner without mentioning Rowan Oak, his home in Oxford. For over thirty years the house and acres surrounding it provided Faulkner with sanctuary and inspiration during his most productive period. Today the home is a mecca for Faulkner enthusiasts. Visitors can tour the house and grounds as well as the nearby historic Oxford Square and the University of Mississippi Museum and campus.

Sources
Photos and Illustrations:
Faulkner photo, Carl Van Vecten Collection, United States Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

Rowan Oak photo, User:Wescbell, Creative Common Attribution-ShareAlike3.0 Unported

Text:
title quote, from the Paris Review interview, 1956.
Wikipedia.org

The Splendid Sounds Of John Rutter

The British choral composer, John Rutter, celebrates his 76th birthday today. He is deeply appreciated in the U.S. and Britain for his many choral and other compositions, his work as a conductor and arranger. and as the founder of The Cambridge Singers and their recording company, Collegium Records. 

Some classical music critics, mostly in Great Britain, find his compositions to be a bit simple, repetitive, and stylistically confused. Others place him at the top among 20th century composers and more than a few journalists and critics have no issue claiming he owns the music of Christmas. I have to side with the latter appraisals. The melodies are generally simple, the harmonies beautiful, and the style affords a perfect balance of music and message. Furthermore, choirs of all sizes and skill levels perform his work to appreciative audiences everywhere. If popularity is any indicator, John Rutter's music will be enjoyed for a long, long time.

Here are two brief videos of Rutter discussing his work. The first one focuses on music for royal occasions, specifically his anthem, This is the Day, written for the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. The second introduces a compact disc released in 2014 in celebration of the 30th anniversary of The Cambridge Singers.

In conclusion here are two of my favorite Rutter compositions. 

Splendid sounds indeed.

Autumn 2021

There's a cold front bearing down on Georgia today. It should arrive in metro Atlanta around mid afternoon just in time to coincide with the autumnal equinox. How appropriate. And, yes. it's a bit cooler this week but looking into the lush green woods or all the happy blooms on the patio you'd never guess there a change in seasons was upon us.  come September. It's what I call the endless fall and it's one of the events I most enjoy living in north Georgia. Endless fall usually persists well past Thanksgiving which means Christmas has a tendency to sneak up on you. I had an even harder time with that in Savannah where fall colors usually "peaked" in January if at all.

Perhaps the biggest seasonal change here on my little ridge is the sound. For one the tree frogs are quiet now that summer showers have ended and we're approaching the driest eight weeks of the year. In addition we no longer have the sunset symphony of cicadas, katydids, and other insects at our door. In late September the concert begins well after sunset and is confined mostly to the deeper woods at the top of the ridge. Soon I'll miss their sound completely but at least conversations on the porch will no longer be drowned out by the accompaniment.

To Autumn

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

'The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,

And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

'The spirits of the air live in the smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

William Blake (1757-1827)

And so here's to fall, the color, the refreshment of cool breezes, pumpkins, mulled cider, and the smell of  wood smoke. Perhaps it's a quieter time but there is much to be done. Take it at your own pace and have fun in Autumn 2021. 

"And I Stood On The Mountain In The Night And I Watched It Burn"

 

Forty-eight years ago tonight, park rangers at Joshua Tree National Monument - now a national park - noticed a huge fireball on the ridge at Cap Rock. Upon investigation, they found a flaming coffin and the partially burned remains of Gram Parsons, a 26 year old musician who would become a music legend. He had died two days earlier after being found unconscious in his room at the nearby Joshua Tree Inn following a day fueled by alcohol and drugs. His death was the just the beginning of a series of bizarre events ending with his burial in the Garden of Memories in Metairie, Louisiana.

Photo:jshyun/Flickr/Creative Commons License

Parsons in 1973

In his brief fast and loose life as a musician Parsons imagined a new sound blending rock, country, R&B, and gospel. He called that sound "cosmic American music." If you listen to his seven years of work with The International Submarine Band, The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, and  Emmylou Harris, you can hear that sound emerging.

And then there is Emmylou Harris. She loved him dearly. Here is In My Hour of Darkness, a song they wrote, here performed with harmony from Linda Ronstadt. 

If you're still with me after all the music it's time for a funky, free-wheeling, nostalgic and most entertaining look at the cremation story by Iconic Corpse and brought to you by The Great Courses Plus. It's groovy. I have a feeling Parsons would enjoy it and I expect you will as well.

In a few hours, the pilgrims will trek to Cap Rock to pay their respects to Parsons as they have for decades. Rangers may close the area, but that won't make a difference. The faithful will be there.

For more on the Gram Parsons story read his comprehensive Wikipedia entry with many links to his discography as well as a direct link the the entry on his death.


Safe at home.

Sources

Text:
post title, opening line from Boulder to Birmingham, a tribute for Parsons written by Emmylou Harris and Bill Danoff

Photos and Illustrations:

publicity portrait of Gram Parsons for Reprise Records, public domain
Full Moon at Cap Rock, Nikhil's Domain

"In A Hole In The Ground There Lived A Hobbit."

Many readers will recognize the title of this post as the opening line of one of the most beloved books of our lifetime. Today is the anniversary of the publication of that book, The Hobbit, in 1937. The author, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, developed the book out of his love for philology - the study of language in literature - and fantasy. Early in his life he was creating languages and incorporating them in stories that he later told to his children. Eventually The Hobbit would emerge as the first of several books based on Tolkien's fantasy worlds. 

For all Tolkien fans who have come to love The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and several others, Corey Olsen, a scholar known as the Tolkien Professor,  wrote a history of The Hobbit for its 75 anniversary in 2012. Here is a post he wrote about the book and the evolution of its main character, Bilbo Baggins. 

Olsen included seven illustrations Tolkien drew for the book, one of them being the dust jacket, proving he was not only a superb writer, but also an accomplished artist.

I first read The Hobbit over fifty years ago. It was an instant favorite, and like all of Tolkien's fantasy, an armchair journey to be enjoyed over and over again. My appreciation for his works was easily passed on to my children. One of them took that appreciation to a much higher level and now writes fantasy fiction. Like Bilbo Baggins, he's going on an adventure.

Harvest Moon 2021

 

The moon, like a flower in heaven's bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

                                                                                        William Blake

I won't see the Harvest Moon tonight. North Georgia is shrouded in the fog and rain of a Gulf system that has lingered here for days. The rain won't move on until a cold front arrives Wednesday. That means my view of this year's Harvest Moon relies on imagination but it won't be difficult having watched over seventy of them so far. For many years I was fortunate to witness September's full moon emerge from the sea. It was always a sublime event powered by the realization that you were a witness to a sensory immersion experienced by coastal inhabitants for thousands of years. The simplicity always amazed me. Here was a man, a strip of sand, a plain of water, all under a dome of sky and caressed by the touch of wind and the sound of surf. Add the rising moon and expect the surreal. The experience was so powerful even when friends were along the conversations almost always stopped in homage when the first moon  sliver appeared.

Lowcountry moonrise, McQueens Island, Savannah, Georgia, 1951

“. . .Her eyes, he says, are stars at dusk,

Her mouth as sweet as red-rose-musk;

And when she dances his young heart swells

With flutes and viols and silver bells;

His brain is dizzy, his senses swim,

When she slants her ragtime eyes at him.

Moonlight shadows, he bids her see,

Move no more silently than she.

It was this way, he says, she came,

Into his cold heart, bearing flame.

And now that his heart is all on fire

Will she refuse his heart's desire? - . . .”

                                                                                          

The harvest moon is climbing high. Go outside. Take a friend or someone you love. 

Get lost in it.

Sources

Photos and Illustrations:
National Park Service, Fort Pulaski National Monument Handbook, 1954

Text:
intro quotation, William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience, originally published in 1789.
poem excerpt, Conrad Aiken, Turns and Movies: VI. Violet Moore and Bert Moore

A Day For The Pirates Among Us

Blackbeard the Pirate Engraving, Benjamin Cole, ca. 1724

I like exploring words and word origins but I especially like spoken words so I'm really pleased to let readers know that today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Without a doubt the number of "arrrrrhhs" and "shiver me timbers" heard throughout the day brought out some smiles and responses. Undoubtedly some of you never want to hear anymore pirate speak until next year, perhaps at the earliest. There's nothing wrong with enjoying the lighter intentions of the day but being so fond of the topic I decided to share some information about the who, what, when, where, and how of pirate talk. If you enjoy the topic as much as I do you're going to like the following links:

Arrr Matey! The Origins of the Pirate Accent A strong case for the origin of pirate talk.

Pirate R As In I R Eland? This is a potential alternate explanation to the link above.

West Country Dialects A comprehensive resource on speech in Southwest England.

Bristolian Dictionary A long entertaining list from a 2009 post on Smarty's Blog.

Sid Totter (b. 1877): Listen to him speak in a 1950's West Country dialect.


If you find the above list a bit of a challenge and bypassed it, spend a few minutes with Robert Newton, a.k.a. Long John Silver, displaying his Dorset accent in a reading of a short poem. Earphones will be helpful:

And now enjoy Newton as Long John Silver:

Shiver me timbers! Not sure I care much about the origins after hearing Newton's performance again. I was four years-old when he appeared in Walt Disney's Treasure Island (1950). And yes, me hearties, he'll always be my personification of the perfect pirate.

The Baltimore Babe With The Bold Beautiful Voice

Cass Elliot in 1972

Today - September 19 - marks the birthday of Ellen Naomi Cohen in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1941. If you enjoyed the folk-rock evolution going on the mid-1960's, you know her as Cass Elliot or Mama Cass. It's difficult to imagine that Cass Elliot and the other members of The Mamas & The Papas - Michelle Phillips, John Phillips and Denny Doherty - could produce such a wealth of sound and harmony in the three years they were together. Much of their success must be credited to Elliot's bubbly personality, stage presence, and her marvelous, powerful voice.

When the group broke up in 1968 she sustained a solo career through a wide number of television appearances before shedding her "Mama Cass" image and moving into the cabaret scene as Cass Elliot in the early 1970's. Her career was ascending rapidly in 1974 when she was taken from us by a heart attack following the completion of a two week run in London.

You rarely find diction, pitch, and power in one singer today, And you have to keep in mind that Cass Eliot performed long before the advent of digital pitch correction and the "art" of turning an unskilled voice into an opera star.

Gram Parsons: Safe At Home

Parsons in 1972

Gram Parsons spent his brief musical life searching for what he called "cosmic American music," a sound emerging out of gospel, R&B, country and rock traditions. He was born in 1946 into a wealthy Florida-Georgia family, a circumstance that encouraged both his exploration of music and the drug abuse that killed him on this day in 1973 in the Joshua Tree Inn at the edge of the desert he loved. Parsons performed with The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers before attempting a rocky solo career that went nowhere until he met a young singer in Washington, D.C. Her name was Emmylou Harris. Parsons soon partnered with Harris and they went on to produce some of the finest sounds from the early fusion days of country and folk-rock. With his passing, one of American music's greatest inventors was stilled, but others, including Emmylou, would use his inventions and adapt them over the next forty years into the country rock music we know today.

Here is some music to help you understand the history. The first recording is a Gram Parsons-Bob Buchanan song that appeared on The Byrds album, Sweetheart of the Rodeo, released in 1968. It was both a Parsons concept and groundbreaking for the band by going deep into classic country and introducing Parsons to a rock audience.

Here's a Parsons-Chris Hillman song, dating from 1969 and the days of The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons can be identified by his signature marijuana leaf Nudie suit.

And here is Parsons with Emmylou Harris performing their song, In the Hour of Darkness, from the album, Grievous Angel, released four months after his death.

With barely a decade of musical composition and performance behind him Gram Parsons made a lasting and profound impression on American popular music. We will continue to hear that influence for a long, long time.

For more on the Gram Parsons story, read this comprehensive Wikipedia entry with many links to his discography.

Awesome History In The Great Valley Of Maryland

 

Today we remember the Battle of Antietam, a one-day Civil War clash that occurred on this day in in 1862 in the Great Valley of Maryland near the town of Sharpsburg. A marginal victory at best for the Union, it marked an end of Confederate success on the battlefield in the first year of the war. Furthermore, it provided President Abraham Lincoln an opportunity to issue his Emancipation Proclamation freeing slaves in all the states that had seceded from the Union. The outcome and opportunity at Antietam came at a huge cost as it remains the bloodiest one-day battle in American history. In little more than twelve hours almost 23,000 participants were dead, wounded or missing.

By thwarting a Confederate invasion at Antietam, Union forces achieved a significant but limited strategic victory. In two years Union armies would take Atlanta, begin the march to Savannah, then look forward to victory in their march north toward Richmond.

Bloody Lane, Antietam National Battlefield Walking Tour

Bloody Lane following the battle on September 17, 1862

We have much to remember at this sacred place. Some call the battle a turning point leading to Union victory in the war. Without question it was monumental step in the evolution of human rights in the United States. Sometimes the memories are far more personal. For me, Antietam remains very close to my heart and soul. I was at most six years old when my mother and father first took me there to walk among the fields and forests, along the old Sharpsburg Pike and Bloody Lane, and over Burnside Bridge. The old monuments loomed large and in time a childhood full of memories at other Civil War sites and historical parks began to call out to me. In time I accepted that call and spent a career preserving them and other scared sites and helping visitors remember, understand and appreciate the American experience. If I had to do it all over I'd do so without hesitation. 

Photo Credits:

Walking Tour photo: National Park Service

Historic photo: Alexander Gardner, in The Photographic History of the Civil War in Ten Volumes: Volume Two, Two Years of Grim War, The Review of Reviews Co., New York. 1911. p. 74.

Recalling The Velvet Fog

 

Scott Johnson, my kindred spirit when it comes to music history, posted a belated birthday tribute to Mel Torme in 2012. He rightfully described Torme as "one of the great all-time American artists, too little known and vastly under-appreciated." Many readers may not know the artist - he passed away in 1999 - but they would certainly recognize one of his most famous compositions, The Christmas Song, from its opening line, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...." That song is one of around 300 Torme wrote, but he also contributed to the world of entertainment as a composer, arranger, musician, actor and writer over his 65 year career.

Although I've had a life-long interest in popular music and jazz I never much listened to Torme until his death. After hearing so much praise for him in remembrances from the industry, I began listening more carefully to his performances and soon developed an appreciation of his crisp timing, perfect pitch, impeccable diction, and playfulness. Here's a fine example of the master at work.

And just in case you want to associate "The Velvet Fog" with his signature song - he called it his "annuity" - here is Torme performing it late in his career.

We're pleased to remember Mel Torme on his birthday. What memories we have of the man and his music.

The Sage From Baltimore

 

Democracy is a pathetic belief in the collective wisdom of individual ignorance. No one in this world, so far as I know - and I have researched the records for years, and employed agents to help me - has ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the great masses of the plain people. Nor has anyone ever lost office thereby.

After all these years, the "Sage of Baltimore" - Henry Louis Mencken - still has so much to tell us about the American experience. In his day he invented the term "booboisie" to refer to the masses who didn't read much, know much or even care much about their lives as citizens of a democratic republic. Today we could easily apply his term to the masses who are well-schooled but not well-educated, who apply emotion rather than reason and logic to their decision making, and who align themselves with coalitions of self-interests wrapped in collectivist totalitarianism. Another term for the modern-day "booboisie" is "moonbat". I think Mencken would have a even more colorful term for them if were still with us. And oh would he have a time with our political and social landscape today.

Henry Louis Mencken, was born on this day in 1880. He was a leading journalist and author on the American scene, humorist, and a student of the American language. Mencken's stature seems to be on the rise over the last few decades. I'd guess it's because we experienced a concurrent rise in many nation-wide opportunities to watch logic, practicality, and skepticism destroy a multitude of political pretenders and their policies regardless of political persuasion. P. J. O'Rourke is one writer who seems to have picked up the Sage's role as iconoclast and debunker in modern day America.

 

Puritanism is the haunting fear that someone, somewhere is having a good time.

Mencken celebrating the end of Prohibition, 1933

As much as I enjoy reading all of Mencken's work, the autobiographical books remain my favorites. His three-part "Days" series, Happy Days (1940), Newspaper Days (19441), and Heathen Days (1943) should be essential reading. They cover life and times from birth through 1936, the most productive and positive time in his life. After the mid-1930's, Mencken fell a bit out of fashion as his curmudgeonly persistence began to grind on the American psyche. His perceived sympathy with German nationalism helped undermine his reputation into the 40's. In one of the great ironies in American literature, a stroke in 1948 rendered him unable to read, speak or write beyond simple phrases or sentences. Although he regained some communications skills over time, he spent the next seven years enjoying music, listening to readings, and conversing with friends until his death in 1956.

If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some sinner and wink your eye at some homely girl.

 

Those who want the full Mencken story should read Terry Teachout's, The Skeptic: A Life of H.L. Mencken (2003). Teachout is a superb writer who treats his subject with objectivity and warmth. I also enjoyed a biography, Mencken: The American Iconoclast (2005), by the eminent Mencken scholar, Marion Elizabeth Rodgers,

If reading isn't to your liking but you still want some immersion into the man and his times, C-SPAN's American Writers Project produced a fine two-hour program on Mencken that should not be missed. It is a thorough multimedia exploration.

I'm the third generation in my family to consider Mencken a favorite writer. Though the author as skeptic likely played a role in his popularity over the years, I think the humor sold him to the family - certainly has in my case. But there is a sad note to this story. In 1959 - I was 13 that year - two family members who were among the first generation to appreciate Mencken passed away just one day part. My dad was the executor of this challenging estate. The late relatives had shared a large home with other brothers and accumulated seventy years of cultural history within its walls. It seemed the only thing that left the house was weekly trash. Included in that history collection they retained were thousands of magazines. No institution or person wanted them as they had not yet achieved a patina of age, worth or "significance." I was given the responsibility of burning them and in doing so I watched a near complete, mint collection of The Smart Set and The American Mercury magazines rise up in smoke on a cold winter day. Both magazines were under the editorship of H.L. Mencken early in his career and featured many new writers who were to become famous in the decades to follow. Today, the collection would be a valuable item at a major literary auction. So much wisdom up in smoke. If the Sage of Baltimore were alive today, he would not be happy at this outcome, nor would he be surprised...

No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.

Sources


Photos and Illustrations:

H.L. Mencken Collection, Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore

Quotations:

Democracy is.... "Notes on Journalism," Chicago Tribune, September 19, 1926;
Puratinism is.... " Sententae," The Citizen and the State, p.624;
If, after I.... "Epitaph," from Smart Set (December 1921);
No one ever.... paraphrase of the "Democracy" quote as noted in The Yale Book of Quotations (2006)

 

Remember The Lost And The Living

 

Lest we forget . . . 

The American composer, Eric Ewazen, was teaching a music class at the Julliard School at Lincoln Center when Islamist fanatics attacked the World Trade Center. He wrote the following hymn shortly after as a portrayal of "those painful days following September 11th, days of supreme sadness."

Sources

Photos and Illustrations:
National Park Service

Text:classicalfm.com, Classical music inspired by 9/11

Labor Day 2021

Labor Day weekend weather in north Georgia often foreshadows the spectacular and seemingly endless fall so characteristic of this region. This year's holiday was no exception - until late Monday - as refreshing west winds bathed the state in dry, warm air and filled the sky with fair weather clouds.

For about thirty of the 55 years of our dual career my wife and I were accustomed to working on weekends and most holidays. We worked so that others could enjoy their day experiencing some of the most significant natural and cultural resources in the nation. We considered it an honor to have done so but at the same time came to appreciate the opportunity to share and celebrate these special days with family and friends. In sharing the stories with my children in the quiet of the evening after events of the day ended I often focused on memories of Labor Day picnics.

Those picnics were day-long affairs held in Burlington, West Virginia, by the West Virginia Pulp and Paper Company to honor their employees and families on the workers' holiday. The company had been the major employer in my hometown for over three generations. By 1960 the community and company were indeed a family and this day was their reunion. With four to five thousand people in attendance it was a big event featuring plenty of food and beverages in addition to carnival rides, dancing, bingo and board games, swimming, model train rides, pony rides, softball, foot races and similar activities, real airplane rides at $2 a ride, and a playground filled with wonderfully dangerous equipment including the greasy pig, flying boats, two merry-go-rounds - one a center-pivot - and a very tall and fast sliding board. None of that thrilling playground equipment could begin to approach today's safety standards. And if the activities of the day weren't enough, sundown signaled it was time for a free movie under the stars at the drive-in theater next door.

Three year-old OTR at the Burlington campground

Although many of the playmates on those days ended up working at the mill many of them went on to college, military service or other opportunities and adventures that took them away from small town life. In the long run I think those who left made the right decision. In the summer of 2018 the mill closed abruptly putting over 600 workers out of jobs that had supplied their families with good union wages and benefits to match. Today, the mill sits idle after several changes in ownership and a slow, decades-long decline in both the talented workforce and demand for the coated paper it produced. It was a story heard often in the region as one industry after another disappeared. It is a story we hear today in much of the United States.

The mill's Labor Day picnics at Burlington ended in the 1960's and it's been almost fifty years since I spent that holiday weekend there. Still, I feel a strong affinity for the place, the big event, and those - including lots of extended family - living among the magnificent ridges and valleys in the shadow of the Allegheny Front. Although they are surely challenged by the mill closing their work ethic and sense of community will insure their survival through these hard time. They've done it before. 

We know the notable labor history of these valleys in the last century helped bring the nation through two world wars and into the limelight as the greatest economic engine on the planet. We may be left only with the memories of the holiday at Burlington and elsewhere but we cannot forget the labor, ambitions, and achievements that made the celebration possible. That's why we wish all workers, especially those in the valleys of Georges Creek, New Creek, Patterson Creek and the Potomac River, a happy Labor Day. I think the American Dream has a good future in store for all of them. There will be bumps in the road to better employment but they simply make the good times more enjoyable. After all, it's widely known that mountains cannot stand without valleys.