July 21st Birthdays:


Paul Julius Freiherr von Reuter (Baron De Reuter) (Israel Bere Josafat) (1816-1899) German entrepreneur, converted to Brit. Created the Reuters News Agency using telegraphs and carrier pigeons. Set policy of objective news reporting. IPO in 1984. Bylaws for the Corp. restricted private ownership of more than 15% of stock (Rupert Murdoch was forced to sell off a bunch...) In 2008, Reuters merged with Canada's Thompson Corp.The real business of Reuters was financial reporting and data. News reporting now comprises 10% of the Corp. income.



Sam Bass (1851-1878) Train robber and outlaw of the Western Frontier. Passed into legend when betrayed at Round Rock Texas. Gang member Frank Jackson, 20 years old, helped a mortally wounded Bass esape. Bass gave Jackson his money, weapons, and superior horse. He insisted Jackson flee, and died on his 27th birthday. Jackson was never captured, the money was never found, and rumors of sightings do abound.



C. Aubrey Smith (1863-1948) English cricket player turned character actor. Often the Upper Class English Gentleman and/or Officer.


Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) - author / Papa. Grew increasingly paranoid that the FBI and J.Edgar were out to get him. He was treated at the St Mary's clinic, alledgely for hypertenion. Then the Mayo clinic. Secrecy surrounds his stay at the clinic, but it was later determined that he recieved electroshock therapy at least 15 times. And 11 times at  St, Mary's. Three months later, he committed suicide. On July 1st, 2011, his good friend A.E.Hotchner published an op-ed in the New York Times. A Freedom of Information request had confirmed intense FBI survelience of Hemingway. Hotchner now believes his friend may not have beem going mad, and that the survelience contributed to Hemingway's suicide.


Hart Crane (1899-1932) – Perhaps the most influential poet of his generation. Onboard a Mexian steamer headed for New York, he was badly beaten after making sexual advances to a male crew member. He jumped overboard in the Gulf of Mexico. His body was never found.



Marshall McLuhan (1911-1980) - communications and media theorist and author. The medium is the message. And the massage. This being his 100th Birthday, hopefully his work will be rediscovered. Here's a special tribute:






Mollie Sugden (1922-2009) – actress/Mrs. Slocombe/have you seen her pussy?


Kay Starr - singer

         
         
Don Knotts (1925-2006) - actor / Barney Fife / Mr. Furley/Mr. Limpit



Helen Merrill – singer with a 4am smokey bar room kind of voice.





Kaye Stevens - actress and singer. Became popular after subbing for one night for Debbie Reynolds in Las Vegas. Went with Bob Hope to entertain the boys in Vietnam. What she saw was so disturbing she became an alcoholic, wasn't able to clean up for 20 years.




Janet Reno – former Attorney General of the US. Authorized FBI assult on Branch Davidians at Waco, Tx. Brought anti trust suit against Microsoft. Oversaw capture & conviction of the Unabomber, the Oklahoma City bombing, 1st World Tade Center bombing, etc.



John Negroponte - 1st US Director of National Intelligence. Very questionable and slimeball dealings in what we used to call Latin America, etc.


Paul Wellstone (1944-2002) US Senator, progressive, Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party. Against both Iraq wars. Was making noise about investigating the Bush administration's election and possible 9/11 involvement when he was killed in a questionable plane crash, days before his potential re-election which would have kept Democrat control of the Senate. In documents released in 2010, the FBI admitted to wiretapping the Senator - allegedly to protect him from death threats. The documents also showed FBI interest dating back to a 1970 anti-war demonstration.



Edward Hermann – actor/Gilmore Girls

Just Birthdays for Today

July 20th Birthdays:



This sculpture was said to be the closest likeness to Alexander

 

AAlexander the Great (356BC - 323BC) King of Macedon, Hegemon of the Hellenic League, Shahanshah of Persia, Pharaoh of Egypt and Lord of Asia. Quite a lot for a guy who died at 32. His grief over the death of his lifelong companion, General, and Bodyguard, Hephaestion was so great, it was said to have unhinged him. He died 8 months later. Aristotle (Alexander's teacher) wrote the the two were like "... one soul abiding in two bodies".      

Portrait of Hephaistion based on a bronze bust in possession of the Prado

George Llewelyn-Davies (1893-1915) the main inspiration for Peter Pan. Killed at age 21 while fighting in WWI.



Jimmy Kennedy, OBE (1902-1984) Irish songwriter of whom few have heard. Mostly lyrics to music. 2000 songs. 200 worldwide hits. Here's a few reasons why I felt I had to list him: Red Sails in the Sunset, South of the Border, We're Going to Hang Our Washing on the Siegfried Line, Istanbul (Not Constantinople), Harbor Lights, The Hokey Pokey (in England "Cokey Cokey").

Cindy Walker (1918-2006) – singer ssongwriter of "country" tunes. Bob Wills recorded over 50 of her songs. Her biggest hit was "You Don't Know Me" written for Eddy Arnold. Ray Charles, Elvis and many others have all had hits with it, too. The Great Eddy Arnold version can be found here (clicky).
Here's the version I'm feeling these days:

From the pages of my almanac

On this date:

July 19th, 64 Common Era - Rome - starting in the market district, fire consumes the city. If Nero played his fiddle, it's because he was a very happy Emperor. Huge swaths of the city would need to be reconstructed. He probably owned the land. He probably took, er, taxed top dollar from buidling tradesmen, materials suppliers, etc. And guess who just happened to have a stunning redesign for the city available? And he gets to blame it all on those pesky christians!

July 19, 1692: In Salem, MA, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin, Elizabeth Howe, Sarah Good and Sarah Wildes were hanged at Gallows Hill.

July 19th Birthdays:

Samuel Colt (1814-1862) inventor and industrialist. His patents and company popularized the revolver. As a kid, he was an indentured farm servant, worked for his father's textile plant, was sent to learn a seaman's trade, became a sort of snake oil barker touring the country giving demonstrations of laughing gas. Then, at the age of 18 patented his design for the revolver. Dead at 38, he left an estate of about $15 million - and that in 1862 dollars... Look at this eyes - he was a demon....

Edgar Degas (1834-1917) - artist who thought his were works of realism. He never married, ended up broke, nearly blind, restlessly wandering the streets of Paris.
 

Lizzie Borden (1860-1927) - took an axe, and gave her father 40 whacks... hey, if the axe handle don't fit you gots to a-quit. First off, she did her Step-mother first, with 18 or 19 whacks. And her cheap son-of-a bitch father (so cheap he wouldn't spring for indoor plumbing) was second and got only 10 or 11 wacks. With plenty of suspects and evidence hanging around, the jury took one and a half hours to return a verdict of not guilty. Lizzie stayed in Fall River, and had at least one long affair (with actress Nance O'Neil). Well, that little bit of gossip changes things don't it? Little Lizzie was a butch dyke, I just know it. Yeah, she could'a done it.

Harold Egbert Camping (born July 19, 1921) president of Family Radio, which is in about 150 markets in the US. Predicted that the world would end on May 21, 1988. And September 7, 1994. Then May 21, 2011. Next up: Oct. 21st, 2011.

                                  
                                                  

as the sky darkens and the thunder booms...

A few posts back, I mentioned that I was spending a good deal of time updating the almanac I started years ago on another site. Well, I've decided that I might as well post it, or portions of it, on my blog. Over the years, the birthday list part became a multi person effort. Two guys, different in age, Ricola and - oh, dear, where has that little bit of memory gotten to, ah! Ricola and Todd, pushed it past my efforts by adding in all the younger folk I didn't know. Other board members were requested to add to the list by posting things they knew, or graphics they might have,corrections, etc. (The initial posts came from a list that turned out to be unreliable.) After awhile, I had to give it up and the guys took over completely. Eventually they turned it over to night cub, and now it's back to me. Many of the images go back to my original posts. They need updating. I would often list birthdays of note for which I did not add photos or write about the subject. Over the years, pics were added, a number of people were dropped (I guess they were too esoteric for some),etc. I'm adding them back in. Of course.

Ta Dah!




July 18th Birthdays:
William Makepeaqce Thackeray (1811-1863) novelist. Vanity Fair, The Book of Snobs, The Luck of Barry Lyndon, etc.


Margaret Brown (1867-1932) Activist, philanthropist, Titanic survivor. The Unsinkable Molly Brown was actually called Maggie by her friends. The gentleman in the photo is Arthur Henry Rostron, Captain of the Carpathia. 



Richard Dix (1893-1949) – actor


George "Machine Gun" Kelly (1895-1954) small time criminal whose wife promoted his image into that of a top gangster.


Chill Wills (1903-1978) – actor



Clifford Odets (1906-1992) playwright, socialist, helped found the Group Theatre. Waiting for Lefty. Awake and Sing! Golden Boy. None But the Lonely Heart. Named names - that were already known.




Harriet Nelson (Peggy Lou Snyder) (1909-1994) – actress / singer. Ozzie hired her to be the girl singer with his band under the name of Harriet Hilliard. They married three years later.



 
Hume Cronyn (1911-2003) – actor


Red Skelton (1913-1997) – Circus clown, vaudeville, movies, radio comedian and tv great.




Dick Button – figure skater / commentator / took a walk on the wilde side at NYC's Central Park Ramble.


Hunter S Thompson (1937-2005) – writer  




Dion (Dion DiMucci) – singer. oh..jeez, Dion. Early rock and roll was sooo much fun, and seemed to have a thing for Italian boys. God knows I never complained.






Martha Reeves – singer




Hmmm, yes, well this is never gonna fly. Changing the You Tubes and pic sizes are going to take too much time to do everyday. And I've only done my parts. Yeesh! When I retire, when I retire. (If I do half the things I've put off 'til then I'll be so damned busy, it's already out of hand...)

The part posted is way too long, too.
But I'll try to put something from it up every day.
While I've been writing all of this out, Austansapce and my 'umble self have been having a fun conversation about our interpretation of our reactions to the final Harry Potter, recently making a wild left turn into the old movie theatres of NYC. That conversation should be a post. See, that's what's wrong with blogging. I want more of a conversation, a come back to it later evolving thought kind of thing. Like the old discussion boards. Anyone remember, ofh jeesh, there went the name, the uh, ah I Link board? (There were others.) You'd download a worldwide discussion you were part of,  take some time to write your answers, log back online and upload you "packet" and get the next one. You needed a special text reading program, I had, ummm, I justah! Speed Read!. Well, before I start getting into old days of Use Net, I'd better refocus. Where was I?

Oh, jeezus christ. There a param command in the html which isn't set right. Crap! Sonof a bitch...

Okay, it's been a couple of hours and I have everything back - sort of. It just won't look the way I want it to. And the Hunter Thompson quote won't enlarge when clicked. ETC.
By the by, it never rained.
But the sky is darkening again.

When the temperature goes way up...

                  
It's getting hot. It's the kind of hot that causes men to duel. (As a matter of fact, today is the anniversary of the  Burr/Hamilton show. ) This heat is causing people to go crazy. Impatient. Self-centered. Ready for something. Once such person, a truck driver, was  so impatient with a traffic light delay (the train must have been arriving) that he thought of driving up onto the sidewalk where he could get around the tie-up, and drive merrily away while raising a middle finger in defiant genuflection at the receding cars. The problem was that he did more than think about it. He tried to do it. And in the trying, savoring that joyous moment of self-expression, the truck ripped the marque of the Latchis Theater apart. That was at one o'clock and the temperature is still rising.

This picture was purloined from The Brattleboro Reformer, and is credited to Bob Audette

I'll have to write down a history of the Latchis soon. It was quite a showplace once upon. The anchor of the corner of Main and Flat Streets is the Hotel, housed in one of Vermont's two or three Art Deco buildings. Money was splurged by the family in celebration of an immigrant father who did well. Even the bathrooms are trimmed in terrazzo marble. The theater's opening was delayed by the 1938 hurricane, and houses a vaudeville stage - and the upstairs movie theatre which used to be a ballroom.

Anyway, it's hot. There's a mean and nasty heat wave out there and it's probably headed straight here. We're gonna pay for that week of nice weather.  And our patience is near its end. The 40 hour work week, the 8 hour workday, is gone save for some office workers and Federal Employees. The economy is falling apart. Ten years of Foreign Wars - three or is it four now? - and wealth redistribution upwards have created new monsters of the Upper Class, who drained off damn near well everything else they could get their hands on. The 99 weeks of unemployment help (I reject it being called a benefit or entitlement) is ending. Medicare and Social Security are now up for budget slaying discussion.

Out of every $10.00 in most Americans pockets last year, $2.00 was from Government programs. 2 out of ten. What happens when that money stops? The tilt of wealth to the rich is slowing - no one has money anymore to buy thieir goods or services. Where unions still exist, they are finding their rights to negotiate for themselves have been squandered like oil into a river. Or gulf coast. And all those people still have their jobs. The dreams and ideals of my country, as well as a collective belief in a better world, have been trampled from Abu Ghraib to Guantanamo Bay to the Mexican border, China, into Russia, and back down to Afghanastan (and on to Lybia! Wait, No, I meant Somalia, or uh...). And who paid the price? A couple of low level military miscreants. Who among the bosses lost their jobs? And the banks and insurers who together purposefully played mortgage monopoly? Who lost their jobs? Who pays the price? We were told to forget all those lives destroyed. Forgive. It'll be dealt with. Meanwhile, we're all set for a new feudalism. Er, Federalism. Something.

It's too damned hot.

"The Devil is Dancing Tonight"

                                
The latest many headed hydra of media attention has been the Caylee Anthony muder trial (ohhhh - what a fourtunate typo). I'm not going to write much about it, because if I ever re-read this I will hopefully have forgotten this sorry business completely and can read on in peace. I really don't want a world where real reality trumps tv show reality by degrading what is left of the nobler instincts of the human race.  I just wanted to take note of the superb quote from one of the media slut commentators. 
I doubt that it was an an-lib, but I like it anyway:

 "The Devil is dancing tonight".

It's got a ring to it.

 

           
                 
                          

If I had a firecracker 12 feet high...

So. The thing is it's July the 4th and I'm not ready to write a July 4th post. Maybe it's because I don't believe anymore.

I should have dug through the boxes of photographs and found a few to scan and post. I barely remember July the 4th in my hometown in southern New Jersey. Maybe that's because I always seemed to be in it - marching with the cub scouts or boy scouts.

Or pics of my years in New York. During the bicentennial (or was it the Reagan relighting the torch year?) I remember being in Battery Park as the crowds swelled and swelled. I remember how it was an almost all white crowd. Then suddenly a large number of Hispanics joined us after their parade in Brooklyn. Most were still in costume, and suddenly there was color and sound everywhere. I loved it. But the crowd grew too large, fights started breaking out, things went bad. I got out as fast as I could - which took awhile as everyone was shoulder to shoulder. That may have been the moment I could no longer be in such crowds and had (to this day) to have a circle of personal space around me. Around the same time, there was a special sneak preview of the first "Taking of Pelham 1-2-3" movie. The audience of cast members, extras & etc. was mostly black. Every time a white person got killed, the crowd erupted in cheers, hoots, hollers, laughter & etc. I've never been comfortable or felt secure in large crowds since those two events.

Anyway, I did the July 4th thing when I first moved to Boston. The parade there winds through the old streets, past historic sites, and ends at the Old State House (old as in British). There, someone (it was a great honor to be selected) would emerge onto the balcony and read the Declaration of Independence,  just as it was originally done in 1776. The year I photographed it, one of the freedom fighters from China's Tianimen Square revolt was present. Was he the one who put a flower in the barrel of a tank? Or was that another war? It all blends together after awhile.

When I first lived in NYC's Greenwich Village, there was one event I greatly enjoyed.  Not far from my apartment there was one street which would be cordoned off. Old Italian men would cover every square inch of the roadbed with firecrackers. Then after darkness had fallen, they would put a match to a master fuse. The street would come alive with flashes of light and loud booms which could be heard, I suppose, from great distances. It only lasted a few minutes, but I loved it. Of course, it was outlawed "for safety's sake". Later at night, about 10:15 pm, I would tune my radio to WOR, where  Jean Shepherd would read his short story "Ludlow Kissel and the Dago Bomb That Struck Back". It's about a small town's celebration of the 4th, from an era now gone by. Shepherd would leave WOR in 1977, but his annual celebration lives on in recordings.

When you have about 42 minutes available, click here : http://www.snuhfiles.com/sound/jean-shepherd-lud_kissell.mp3 
for memories of a small town boys' 4th of July. You won't regret it.
                         

Something this way comes

So I was sleeping most peacefully the other night, er, morning. It was about 12 hours after the solstice. Something woke me up  - a bat had somehow gotten into my room and was flying around trying to find a way out. At least, that's what I was hoping it was doing. It did stop long enough for me to get a good look at it. It was a bat alright. But it was sorta white, and its wing span was greater than the usual bats around here. After several hours of playing hide and seek, I went back to bed, maybe a little concerned - it had, after all been only inches above me, swooping in a bombing run when it woke me. I left two doors open. I assume it left, for I haven't seen it since. Normally, I'd think that a bat flying around the place would be an auspicious sign. And on solstice? Does the whiteness of the bat reverse the lucky portent? It's not like I've been obsessed with this or anything, but...

On Saturday night , I guess it was after 10pm or so, there seemed to be a change in the light from Putney Road. It was like a streetlamp had gone out. Professor Dumbledore, is that you? I had made my way to the screen door and was about to open it to walk out onto the balcony. That's when I knew. I moved back quickly. Something evil was passing by. I've no idea if these things are connected, or what they mean. But something is building up and about to happen.

Do you suppose the gods were overplaying the signs and symbols as a way of noting that Miclelle Bachman was about to join the presidential race?

     
     

It's been just the most beautiful day. Temperature in the mid 70's(F), a slight breeze, sun shining with a clear blue sky. It's the kind of day people write about, the memory that never quite sticks. Staring down the solstice tomorrow, it's the last day of Spring.

And that God-damn money worshiping conservative Supreme Court had to go and ruin it. First they threw out the equal pay for equal work discrimination lawsuit on behalf of its female employees against Wal-Mart. So let's see - we had businesses to big to fail on one side, and Women's rights, Civil rights, and Consumer Groups on the other. Wal-Mart basked in triumph and noted : its policies prohibit discrimination and that it has taken steps since the suit was filed to address problems, including posting job openings electronically. Uh, huh. Works, unless you're poor and can't afford a computer. Or if you spend time to ferret out the web address where jobs are posted.

The court  also threw out a suit by states and conservation groups trying to force cuts in greenhouse gas emissions from power plants. The reason? That's the EPA's job. The Environmental Protection Agency? Well, the 'mental' part fits. The same agency that uses non-scientists to work on air quality reviews? The same EPA that let a lobbyist from The American Petroleum Institute "edit" their global warming research? I could go on and on, but what's the point?

Looking for a little news to lighten my day, I found this:

"A dating website that prides itself on matching only the best-looking individuals has deleted the accounts of more than 30,000 users after a computer virus accidentally allowed them to skip the site's screening process.

BeautifulPeople employs a strict community voting system that only grants accounts to good-looking applicants, but the aptly-named "Shrek" virus changed that, letting new users skip the screening protocols and begin interacting with the "beautiful" people.

Now I feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, holding safe in the sacrosanct halls of churches. Sanctuary!


One woman closed down all flights at the Cincinnati Airport when she told them a bomb had been planted there. She later noted that she had been told about the bomb by God.

and so it goes...

I'm stopping now and going to watch how the sun light reflects and bounces in the birch trees just outside my balcony window. Mountain laurel blooms under the canopy of leafs. I may not turn the news on tonight... sometimes it's just best to not know for awhile.

Father's Day

   
So, okay it's father's day. I can't say that my Dad and I had a great relationship. Distant is a good word. Well, maybe more like detached. Whatever. It's a long story. But here's what I can tell you to get the flavor of it.

I was in my 30's and living in Boston when I took up gardening. My great grand father (i.e. my grandmother's father) had been a farmer and had done quite well for himself. He developed a really nice pole Lima bean I'd love to taste again. He had eventually retired from farming and moved into town. He bought a place just two houses down on Allen Street. I wonder if that's how my grandfather met Nana? He had a large backyard where he grew vegetables. At any rate, my Dad once asked me how it was that I got into gardening while in my 30's. "Well," I said. "When I was little I used to weed for grand pop Beckett...". "You couldn't remember that," he said. "You were too little. You must have heard someone talking about it." "Okay", I said as I closed my eyes and began pointing: "the rhubarb was there, the lima beans and corn were there, the raspberries there, the grapes over in that corner, and the strawberries were right there." I looked up to see his eyes had narrowed a little bit. "NO!" he said, and pointed just to the right of my last spot, the strawberries were over there!" End of discussion.

That was pretty much our relationship in a nutshell. I did, of course, remember Grand pop and Nana Beckett. I remember the garden. I remember sitting on the side porch of his house, shelling lima beans and shucking corn. I can hear the old wooden screen door snap not quite shut as my Grandmother came outside with a pitcher of iced tea.

 Reading from right to left, Nana (my Grandmother), Wilbur Beckett (her father & my Great Grandfather), Dad (her son - Wilbur Beckett Twiss), myself (standing) and my brother Lewis.

I would have been 8 years old then. Grand pop Beckett was in his 90's and living in what we used to call "The Old Age Home", Shady Rest. He would pass the following year.

This was taken in September 1961, on the Boardwalk in Ocean City, NJ. I'd know that boardwalk's pattern anywhere. And I know the date because on the back of the photo is this stamp:

I must admit that I was quite flummoxed by this pic - I couldn't remember that building anywhere. And then it hit me, I usually saw it with the store front opened up. It was a sort of beach shop, full of Coppertone, paperback books, magazines, etc. It was near the northern end of the Boardwalk. I feel so much better now.

The date stamp on the top of this pic notes: Jan 61. That sure isn't January weather. This has to be Lewis'  8th grade graduation, which sounds okay for June 1960. They are standing on the sidewalk in front of Dad's house on Lakeview Drive. It's all built up now, of course, even adding a cross street named "Redroe Ave." And there's also Dad's car. I loved that car. I want that car. Jeez - wide white sidewalls on the tires. (Sigh) I think the car appealed to a little seen sporty side of my father.

Here's a great pic of Dad, sitting in front of the Christmas tree at the house on Allen Street, looking sporty, taking a cue from Frank Sinatra,  He looks happy here.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

   

Reason #1 to become vegetarian and/or demand clean food.