Uncle Artie

Dr. Arthur Hughes

Fortunately, I had a chance a number of years ago to convey this story in person to Dr. Hughes. Indeed he was delighted by it and rewarded me with his customary and memorable hearty laugh.

I’m sure you all have experienced a recurring nightmare. You know, the kind that reveals your innermost fears and insecurities.

In my recurring nightmare, I arrive in a class and to my horror, I discover that there is an exam scheduled for that day and not only am I completely un-prepared for the exam, I realize that I didn’t even know there was going to BE a mid-term exam.

Unfortunately, my recurring nightmare is based upon a real incident; it actually happened. And, even though I still get cold sweats whenever the dream “reoccurs” – and it still does – I can safely inform you that this nightmare has a happy ending.

First, to dispel the mystery about the title of this offering. Many SFC folks may not know that Dr. Arthur J. Hughes also (occasionally) taught at St. Joseph’s College (for Women). My sister, Sigrid attended St. Joe’s and had taken a course with Dr. Hughes the year before my freshman year at SFC. Apparently, the “girls” of St. Joe’s thought Dr. Hughes was quite endearing and affectionately called him “Uncle Artie.”

My nightmare took place in the mid-term of the fall of my freshman year. I was taking the obligatory History 101 course and was thoroughly enjoying the class when the aforementioned event really happened. I still get chills recalling the fact that I had taken my seat in the middle of the room – no way to slip out without making a scene – and can still remember the command to “please remove all of the books from your desk…you will have the whole period to complete the mid-term…”
Resigned to the fact that I instantly knew I was going to fail the test and, quite possibly, the entire course, I took a deep breath and attempted to clear my head to at least remember my name. Within minutes I knew it was going to be a complete disaster, none of the questions stimulated any recall of anything. I briefly wondered if I was in the correct classroom. “When did we talk about this stuff?”

I went through the motions and after a few folks had finished and passed in their papers, I sheepishly turned in my test which quite noticeably had a lot of white space and left the room.

But something in the back of my head told me that I needed to seek out the good professor later in the day, throw myself on the ground in front of him and beg for mercy.

And that is exactly what I did.

The good news was, Dr. Arthur Hughes was not only an experienced veteran of the college classroom, and had no doubt met many a student in a similar circumstance, he was a true gentle man. With little fanfare he acknowledged that I had indeed “bombed-out” on the mid-term and that I could/would make up the poor grade by completing an extra credit assignment.

The clouds lifted. I would live to see another day.

When, many years later, I had the occasion to be teaching at the college level, and I encountered my own sad-sack of a student who had maneuvered himself into a similar circumstance, I thought about the humanity that that good man had shown me that day. I paid it forward.

I read today that, as part of a memorial tribute, Dr. Hughes is to be honored by being posthumously awarded with a special teaching medal named for him. I can think of no one better suited to be the recipient of the 2014 Dr. Arthur J. Hughes Award for Excellence in Teaching than Uncle Artie himself. May he rest in peace knowing that in additional to the hundreds, perhaps thousands of St. Francis College students who benefited from their time with him, equally as many other students have also, indirectly, benefited from his kindness and humanity.

Man on the Moon

Buzz Aldrin, the second Man of the Moon, has encouraged people to post videos and stories about "where they were" 45 years ago when he and Neil Armstrong stood on the Sea of Tranquility. So here is goes Buzz...

#Apollo45

My mother had died in January of 1969. She didn't live to see a man walk on the moon, or more importantly, live to witness her beloved NY Mets win the World Series.

That summer we departed from our customary August vacation at Point O'Woods on the coast of Connecticut. Instead, my dad planned a few shorter trips including one in July to visit his brother, our Uncle Ralph, his wife Aunt Phyllis and our cousins, affectionately referred to collectively as the Wethersfield Brandt's. So that's where we were on this date in 1969, gathered around the black and white TV in the living room of the house on a Timber Trail.

My only clear recollection of the event was that it took place at night and after the landing there was several hours of waiting before the hatch was opened and Neil Armstrong uttered his famous words. That all happened rather late and there were few eyes still opened and a fair amount of yawning.

I was 16 and perhaps too young to sense the historic nature of the event. The 60s, after all, were a wild decade with multiple assassinations and many historic moments. The space race had many firsts so the actual achievement of putting a man on the moon was only one of a long list of events all taking place in a relatively short period of time.

At the time, I was a bit of a "junior exploder" - a term coined by my hero, humorist Jean Shepherd, describing what we would today call a geeky kid. I was more interested in the technical aspects of the whole event, descent rates, ground radar, were there Klingons there waiting with distrupters. Seriously, I was immersed in science and technology, less so in the human story. Today, I like to remind people that the computer used in the LM (Lunar Module) was less powerful than an average iPod and infinitely less sexy. It was basically a glorified electronic calculator. But it safely got people to the moon and back many times. So, ultimately, I don't remember much of importance.

But I do recall a bunch years ago being at the Air and Space Museum in DC and viewing the exhibit on the lunar missions. The exhibit listing the names of ten other astronauts that traveled to the moon; names I did not remember. They made the post that after the first few trips to the moon, America and the world lost interest in the project and ultimately defunded the Apollo Program due to a lack of interest.

So much for the "Giant leap for Mankind..."

My own brief story about Jean Shepherd

This was originally written and published in Fall 1999 on a website I owned at the time (pre-blogs). It was composed shortly after the death of Jean Shepherd (who died on Saturday, October 16, 1999) and I suspect, in writing this I was reconciling the loss. 

Over the years I have edited and added some additional comments. Today as I post this, I did a little more editing for accuracy and the occasional typo. I apparently didn't have a very good spellchecker in 1999.

The original web location of this reflection is long gone so I thought this was essentially lost. However, I found it today on an old backup drive hidden away in an sock drawer. I wonder what else is on there...

My purpose for re-publishing this is in response to a series of wonderful articles written by our friend and official Jean Shepherd biographer,Gene Bergmann. These recent posts on his blog provide a rich backstory of one of Jean Shepherd's greatest "fans." After you read this, you'll want head over to Shepquest and get "the rest of the story."

Jean Shepherd

It was 1971 and Shep had begun a tradition of holding a "press conference" for college newspaper and radio reporters at the Overseas Press Club in Manhattan. At the time, I was a freshman at Pratt Institute and a devoted follower. I also had two small radio programs on the campus based station WPIR which had a broadcast range of about three feet. Actually, it was a "closed circuit" system intended to only be played in the dorms and cafeteria. Good thing. My Barker Bill Show, which featured popular folk rock music and my occasional banterings, news clips and movie reviews, was probably pretty bad. I was known to mix Janis Joplin with the sound track from the movie, The Wizard of Oz back-to-back. Hey, it was the 70's.

Anyway, as per the directive, I sent off, on "official letterhead," a request for an "official press pass" to the Jean Shepherd's America Press Conference scheduled for April 8, 1971. In preparation, I "acquired" my sister's fairly new Norelco cassette tape player and planned to record the whole event (I still have, and just listened to the tape and will see about making it available to download). See info in the Notes at the bottom of this as to the status of the recording...

When the important day arrived, I made my way by subway from our apartment in Brooklyn to the Overseas Press Club on West 39th Street, adjacent to the main branch of the New York City Public Library. The OPC, an ornate Victorian style building, had a small clunky, funky elevator that was not too fast. Since the conglomeration of "reporters" all arrived at about the same time, and all had to take the same elevator to get to the upper floor where the press conference was to be held, it was pretty wild scene. As I was stuffing myself into the small, sardine-can like conveyance, a small, rather extremely attractive woman approached and begged to be allowed to squeeze in. Being the gentleman that I was, and noticing the stunning quality of this auburn haired beauty, I elbowed the kid behind me and pressed back making room for the latest fan.

In the creaky trip up to the fourth floor, I tried, somewhat in vain, to strike up a conversation with my brown-haired friend. It was obvious that she was significantly older than the median pimply-faced kids on the elevator, but not all that old. Maybe thirty? But, boy was she one fine-looking lady with a dark colored outfit and all that luscious brown hair.

The conversation I tried to initiate was not very memorable. She did respond briefly and admitted to being a "big fan" and looking forward to seeing Shep. I tried to find out where she was from, thinking that she too was a college student somewhere -- perhaps a graduate student. But, when the elevator door opened a few minutes later she quickly disappeared into the large throng of student reporters milling around and crowding into the small, humid room. Oh well, such is life.

Now, anyone who has listened to the Jean Shepherd radio show on WOR has heard Shep mention his producer, "Lee" Brown. In fact, during many programs, Shep would literally talk to the off-microphone Lee who was obviously in some sound-proof control room nearby. Since Jean's style was so often rhetorical, and almost conversational, it probably helped to have someone in the control room who could at least give the semblance of an audience.

Well, up until that memorable day in April, I assumed that "Lee" was some paunchy, middle-aged guy with a cigarette butt handing out of his mouth, thick glasses and perpetually wearing a set of old-fashioned radio headphones. I mean, what else could you expect. What kind of person would spend five nights a week working in a cramped control room listening to Shepherd's rants and raves. It had to be some guy!

As fate would have it, during the next hour of the press conference, which by the way was quite entertaining, Shep took occasion to explain, in detail, the production staff of his new TV series on PBS called, Jean Shepherd's America. And, one of the Associate Producers for that show was Lee Brown. Except -- it wasn't Lee Brown, it was Leigh Brown. A woman. A woman?

And then, before my very eyes, he brought Leigh up on the stage to introduce to the crowd.

My God, it was my auburn-haired mystery woman from the elevator. Holy Smokes! I had ridden up the elevator with Jean Shepherd's Associate Producer. And she had TALKED to me...to ME. I'd been blessed!

Now, if you have made it this far on this page you are probably figuring -- this guy is totally wacky. Like, who cares! Big deal! Well, what I didn't know then, and only learned later, was that Leigh and Jean -- were "an item." That's right. They were more than just "professional colleagues." And in fact, in 1978, according to my spies, Jean married this old flame (his third, at least her second).

Sadly, I learned today that Jean had out survived Leigh. According to Jean's obituary, Leigh died last year after 21 years of marriage. I guess they are now just hanging out together in Heaven, talking about that goofy kid who called himself Barker Bill.

BTW, I suspect that Shep would be a bit amused at the outpouring of affection. He could at times be a bit vain, but I think he was also a realist and would encourage us all to get on with it and not to dwell on his passing. I understand a memorial service is being planned in NYC. Maybe then we can find out more about his final wishes.

Jean Parker Shepherd lived a long, full life and seemed to have fun doing it. He will be immortalized in his writings and his other crafts and I will always remember him.

Additional Comments: March 4, 2001

Shep was a self-described, personal friend and colleague of Jack Kerouac, the rather infamous author of the book, On the Road. Ironically, there was a story in this past Sunday's Maine Sunday Telegram about Kerouac, a native of Lowell, MA. The article begins with a reminder that Kerouac died 30 years ago this month. I remember that night. Shep devoted the whole 45 minutes of his show talking about Kerouac and claimed that one of the characters in the book, On the Road, was based upon him. And, as I remember it, the character was called the "angel-headed hippy." Perhaps some one knows more about this, but it sure seems fitting.

Additional Comments: January 2004

As a Christmas present to myself this year I purchased a copy of the 20th Anniversary DVD of The Christmas Story. Shep devotees should drop everything and run out and get this DVD today because it has some real treats. In addition to lots of memorabilia regarding the film, the filming process and many of the players involved (including Shep), there is a section with some original recordings of some of his radio shows.

One should make sure they listen to the Director's Commentary version of the playback. There are some interesting highlights and insights which I never knew. The biggest surprise for me - and I think this is fitting given the discussion above - was that in addition to Shep playing a cameo (you all know the scene), the woman standing with him is in fact his real-life wife and co-producer, Leigh Brown.
So gang, hang by your thumbs, write if you get work. And remember,

Flick Lives!

jeb
Original: circa October, 1999
revised: January 5, 2004
revised and re-posted: June 2, 2014

Notes:

At some time in the mid-1990s a fellow Shep devotee offered to convert the ancient cassette recording from this Overseas Press Club event into digital format on the condition that he be able to post it on his website. I readily agreed, the posting made and the tape returned. I thought that devotee was Jim Clavin of the FlickLives website, but I cannot seem to find the recording on his site (although he has others listed as Overseas Press Club, the year is wrong).

I also checked web sites by Jim Sadur and Bob Kaye, but alas, no recording. If you know what happened to it, please contact me. Otherwise, I will see about finding the original and re-converting it. That is, if it has not already decomposed.

Everything old is new again

Innovations in shopping?

One of my father’s favorite jokes was about the telephone company. “Someday, the telephone will get so advanced that all when you pick up the receiver, someone at the other end will say, ‘number please.’”

This week at a technology meeting in Portland, the invited speaker told about a supermarket chain in southern New England where you can use special hand-held devices while shopping that scans your items as you put it in your cart and when you get to the checkout you hand over the device and the sale is already totaled up for you. This “shoppers’ convenience” was imperfect, according to the speaker, who envisioned that a better device would know where you were physically in the store and be able to offer you more services as you shopped. I thought, well that will probably be available in the next version.

Today, I read a NewYork Times article about Instacart, a two-year-old grocery delivery start-up that is now available in some larger US cities. The article explains, “When you buy groceries from Instacart, the company summons a green-shirted ‘personal shopper’ through the firm’s smartphone app. The shopper receives your list, scurries through a grocery store to pick up your items and then heads across town in his own car to deliver your stuff.” New idea?

Both these stories, and my father’s old joke had me reflecting on my childhood in Brooklyn, NY and made me think that we were now seeing was a re-invention of an old idea.

Myrtle Avenue, the business nexus of the Clinton Hill/FortGreen neighborhood where I spent my youth was a panoply of small businesses that provided for the wants and needs of the tens of thousands of local citizens. In those days, the large, one-stop-shop megastores and shopping malls were still futuristic, albeit we did have a couple of smaller, locally-owned supermarkets (Bohacks, A&P, and Key Food), but these carried a very limited line of products and were tiny as compared to my 50,000 sq. ft. local Hannaford in Augusta, Maine.

Competing in the next block of Myrtle Avenue were butcher shops, bakeries, greengrocers (stores that sold fresh produce), drug stores, fish markets, and hardware stores. In those days we had local clothing stores, shoe stores, and even a store that sold notions – whatever they are. There were also a host of smaller grocery stores and delicatessens that even had prepared foods. Add to that several smaller restaurants and pizzerias.

And all these stores “picked out” your item and offered free local delivery.

Add to this list, the local Laundromat, several dry cleaners, liquor stores, and even a florist. They all delivered and many of them offered free credit to local customers. This was a time before revolving credit cards. I think my father got his first Uni-Card (later to become VISA) in the mid-1960s. Many neighbors would purchase their daily groceries, have them delivered and pay off their bill at the end of the month. In many cases, we would pay the delivery guy with cash and he would even make change (“Make sure you tell that when you call in the order to bring change for a ten!”).

Yes, I think we have gone in a full circle. Number please!

---------

Photo credit: Found on line at New Yorks Past

It Was Fifty Years Ago Today

The Beatles from 1964 - credit below

Just like this year, my birthday was on a cold Saturday in February. I turned eleven, and remember nothing of that day, and little about that time.

I would have been in the sixth grade and probably relieved to have finally gotten to age 11, the age you are supposed to be when entering the sixth grade, not half way through the school year. I was always the youngest in my class, but my height - and girth - more than made up for the lacking in chronological age.

But there is one event that makes that day, that weekend, unforgettable. It had to do with the arrival in the USA of, as the New York Times put it, “…four rock n’ roll performers hailed by teen-agers…” 

Their single, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” was number one on the best-seller record list and their first album, “Meet the Beatles” was number three. The news was all over the local radio and TV. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knew about this, soon to be called, “British invasion.” And all anyone was talking about was The Beatles being on The Ed Sullivan Show on Sunday night. 

My old man, the often-stoic FBI agent was also talking about The Beatles and made it clear he was an enthusiastic fan. Humming their music and allowing us to play our Beatle records over and over again on my sister’s new record player, it was a strange mixture of the generations. I remember thinking it odd at the time, but his fondness for the “four lads from Liverpool” lasted until his last day.

“Young” people today who were not alive then, or too young to have witnessed the phenomena first hand, simply can’t relate to this event. It was simply monumental.

I don’t remember if I had an official birthday party that year; perhaps we celebrated with my Nana and Uncle Ubie on Sunday – our official day to visit my grandmother in Sunnyside Queens who lived with my mother’s older brother Hubert. But I clearly remember the evening of February 9, 1964 and gathering around the black and white TV to watch the spectacle.

And I will be watching CBS tomorrow night as we all relive the memory. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

NOTE: Revised 2/9/14 when I realized I was 11 in 1964, not 10. Arithmetic was never my strong suite.
-----------

Photo Credit: Image licensed through Creative Commons. This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3c11094.

Christmas Blog 2013

I am preparing to spend my 60th Christmas on this planet and hoping that you and yours are happy, healthy and content. I celebrated the BIG 60 by making an appointment with a local audiologist to have my hearing checked. Let’s just say that all that “aural abuse” from my past is starting to catch up with me. Not ready for hearing aids quite yet, but you’ll understand if I ask you to repeat yourself. Huh?

2013 was a year of ups and downs. I was one of the few who managed to successfully navigate healthcare.gov. It helped to be in the web design business as I knew a few tricks that allowed me to get through the site relatively unscathed. Oh, and my health insurance costs should be half of what I am paying now. Thank you, President Obama and the American taxpayers!

The other good news was a certain baseball team in Boston managed to go from last place last year to winning the World Series this year. They were no doubt aided in this by my continuous wearing of my Red Sox cap. Sorry, Mets fans.

But we had two significant losses this year. In August, we learned Uncle Dick Astles had made his final voyage and was now sailing with the angels. At a wonderful memorial a few weeks later I was able to re-connect with family as we had a grand time toasting the Good Captain. Making Uncle Dick laugh was one of my favorite activities. He will be missed.

A few weeks ago we lost Kathy Cogger who died from complications following an automobile accident. Kathy was the principal of the Jackson Elementary School in NH when I first met her in 1979. She, our close friend Bob Kautz, and I became a threesome on numerous adventures to Maritime Canada, including a memorable jaunt to Newfoundland. Kathy was also part of our regular golf threesome, known famously for hitting the ball short and straight while Bob and I spent our time searching for errant shots in the woods. Her funeral Mass in North Conway was filled with many a familiar face, all be they a bit more wrinkled now.

These sad events were balanced by glorious news that my first cousin, once-removed, Will and his lovely wife, Christine are expecting twins in February. God has an interesting way of providing symmetry.

I close by wishing you a Merry Christmas and a safe, happy and healthy New Year. May you and yours be filled with the Spirit of the Season!

Ho Ho

~j

Sorry I've not posted...

I hate reading that statement in blogs. I'm inclined to respond with something snarky like, "You were not missed..."

[Lame excuse] Google wouldn't let me in with the old username (e-mail address) and password. Really. Seems they switched over to all Gmail/Google Accounts. This Blogger blog existed before Gmail.[/Lame Excuse]

If you can think of a better, or worse comeback than "You were not missed..." feel free to add to the comments. I sure it will be deserved.

Google Glasses?

Over the years numerous articles have been written showing how technologies envisioned by the sci-fi writers of the various Star Trek movies and TV shows have become everyday parts of our daily lives. The flip-cellphone that was once the "Communicator," the tablet computer that was show as various pieces of colorful plastic and of course most recently our own "speaking computer," Siri. There has been a lot of buzz about Google's latest invention, officially called Google Glass, that is basically a special set of eyeglasses that can communicate to the internet.

So was this one already invented on Star Trek?

I'll let you be the judge:

Or was it really invented by Steve Martin in "The Jerk"?

The News from Lake Woebegone

I think most Mainers are fairly familiar with Garrison Keeler’s mythical hometown from his weekly Prairie Home Companion radio show on Maine Public Radio. In the closing of each Lake Woebegone story he notes that it is the place where the “...women are strong, the men are good looking and the children are above average.”

Many Maine folks, like many rural folks around our country, think that Lake Woebegone could be their town, instantly recognizing people from their own communities who resemble the qualities of the cast of strange characters who inhabiting the small Minnesota town. It is a comforting feeling because the Lake Woebegone folks, despite their eccentricities, always seem to finally find a way to get along.

This pastoral image of Maine was rocked recently when the Governor of the State, Paul LePage and his Commissioner of Education, Steven Bowen published a State Report Card showing that indeed the children in many of Maine’s communities are...well, NOT “above average.”

Much has been written about the Maine School Performance Grading System in the press and elsewhere in recent days. Most of the comments I've read are pretty damming and many people have been rallying to support the teachers and schools in their communities particularly those in the communities that were, well let’s just say more below average than they would like.

Many years ago I used to reach Educational Tests and Measurements to pre-service teachers in several colleges in Maine and Pennsylvania. I also taught Educational Psychology in those same institutions and in all those courses we examined the problem with normative assessments and, in particular,  the use of grades based upon comparisons between or within groups. All of my hundreds of future teachers knew by the end of the semester of the fallacy of that old fashioned grading methodology. Indeed, I suspect just about everyone who has studied to become a teacher in the last 50 years has learned the same lesson which is: attempting to reduce human behavior to a simple five letter grading scale is just... well, plain stupid.

Clearly the governor and his commissioner of education never took my course.

The alternative to a normative, letter-grading system calls for the use of criterion-based assessment and the educational derivative of this is most commonly referred to as Standards-Based or Outcomes-Based Education. The movement to this methodology began in earnest in the US in the early 90s and Maine was one of the national leaders establishing a universal set of standards called The Maine Learning Results. In this method individuals are measures against a set of criterion. Basically you either meet or exceed the criterion or don’t meet the criterion. And if you don’t meet the criterion, you keep working at it until you do. Outcomes-based methods are designed to focus on continually teaching to master the criterion and not dwelling on comparing individuals with other individuals.

But we Americans, with our penchant for competitiveness don’t like to just PASS something, we NEED to be BETTER than everyone else; we NEED to BEAT the opposition. We NEED to all be “above average.” We NEED to be from Lake Woebegone.

But alas, we are only from Maine where, just like everyone else, about half of us are above average and half of us are not.

“And that’s the news from Lake Woebegone….”

Read about the Lake Woebegone Effect...

_______
Photo credit: Image licensed through Creative Commons by Web Fryer.

What Patriot's Day is really all about

We learned this poem when I was in elementary school. Not sure if we memorized the whole thing, but I remember significant chunks these 50 plus years later, so perhaps we did.

I just finished watching the proceeding at the Prayer Service in Boston this morning and moved by the sentiment. Please take a few moments and give this a read. Written April 19, 1860 by Portland Maine native Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882); first published in 1863 as part of "Tales of a Wayside Inn."

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

Paul Revere statue and Old North Church, Boston.
Image licensed through Creative Commons
by madprime.

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
----------
Retrieved from eserver.org
Image licensed through Creative Commons
by madprime.

K2ORS

I never got Jean Shepherd's QSL card, although I asked for one...I got this instead which is probably better...

'I Became a Catholic and Found Happiness'

This text was written by my father, Arnold Brandt in 1959 at the time he converted to Catholicism and just before he received the sacrament of Confirmation at the Church of St. Joseph on Pacific St.. It was published in The Tablet, the Catholic faith newspaper of Brooklyn. This article was transcribed from a yellowing proof version that I found among his possessions after his death in 1996. 

In one of his last acts as pope, Benedict XVI designated the Pacific Street church as co-cathedral of the Brooklyn Diocese – sharing responsibilities with the smaller St. James Cathedral Basilica in Downtown Brooklyn. The churches will house the chair of the bishop, and split duties hosting major diocesan events. Read more about this church in the NY Times...

ONE OF SUNDAY'S CONVERTS

Arnold E. Brandt

This coming Sunday, May 25 (1959), I will be one of the converts to be confirmed at St. Joseph's Church, Brooklyn. Last Saturday I received my first Holy Communion when my six-year-old daughter (Sigrid) received hers. Anyone who has received these Sacraments knows what a happy week this has been for my family and myself.

Both my parents were born in Sweden, but they were brought to this Country when they are quite young. Living in a small Connecticut city (Hartford), they first met when they joined with other young people of Scandinavian background in a program of building a new church. The church, of course, was Lutheran, because the Swedes have been Lutherans for many centuries.

My father (Eric Brandt) at one time had though of entering the Lutheran ministry. In preparation for entering a seminary, he finished two years of college. But then he decided not to go on for the ministry.

Worked for Government

The home in which I grew up with my brothers and sisters was a religious one, which mirrored the deep faith and devotion of both my parents. Sundays in my family mean attendance at church service. And among my earliest recollections are the small cookies, tasting vaguely perfume, which my thoughtful mother would slip from her purse, to quiet a small boy who sometimes squirmed in the pew when is concentration on the services began to waver.

My mother died the day after I graduated from high school (Hartford Public HS). With her death and my preoccupation with finding a career, I gradually drifted from any steady religious practice.

After moving from job to job, finally I was accepted for a government post in Washington, D.C. Anxious to improve myself, I applied for admission to Georgetown University while working in the capital. Previously my attempts to enter other schools had been frustrated by lack of money. The Jesuit Fathers at Georgetown raised no such barrier.

This new effort to continue my education was applauded in many quarters and, in particular, by one of my fellow workers (name?) who himself resigned to take "a better job." He entered the seminary and is now a priest.

War interrupted the cycle of work and education for me. After the war, however, I was back in the same pattern. As I continued At Georgetown, I learned a great deal about Catholicism.

Upon graduation, I received a very fine promotion on my job, which brought me from Washington to New York. My first date in New York was with a beautiful girl (Marcella) who worked in the same office. This wonderful girl was a graduate of a Catholic college. We continued to date. We often discussed religion. And I talked and talked over again about the Catholic Church.

Well, we were married by the priest (Rev. Philip Shannon). We have been blessed with three wonderful children.

Early in our married life we attended Mass together. But with the arrival of babies it seemed a pleasant arrangement for me to stay home and take care of the family while my wife went to church.

Our oldest girl entered a Catholic school. I was impressed with the training she is receiving. I knew that soon she would be receiving her first Holy Communion. I decided that I must receive mine along with her.

Accordingly, I made the special effort required to get to early Mass on Sundays, so that I still would be able to take care of the little ones when my wife would go later. I learned to follow the beautiful action of the Mass by use of a missal which my wife had given me. I read the Latin. A language which I first had been able to decipher almost forty years earlier when I stumbled across a Latin grammar among my father's old books.

Thought I already knew quite a bit about the Catholic religion, I realized that I still needed some systematic instruction. And so, I attended one of the instruction centers of the Diocesan Apostolate. Happily I became a Catholic in time to make my First Communion the same day my little girl received hers.

I have many friends who have been Catholics all their lives. I had to find my way in the Church for myself. With my heartfelt thanks to those many friends, who prayed for me, I now can tell them that at last I have found way into the Catholic Church. I have been helped to this complete conversion by the grace of God, the good example of my wife and the blessing of my children.

Christmas Blog 2012

I am hoping that you are safe and warm, snuggled by some source of heat. We know there are many who because of a gal named Sandy are not able to be in their own homes this year.

My stepmom Alice was fond of reflecting about the time (or times) when “the ocean met the bay;” a story of some long forgotten storm(s) that many years ago had drowned Breezy Point. Few current Rockaway Peninsula residents ever thought that kind of event would happen again, but indeed it has.

Sadly, brothers Kevin and Dickey and their wives experienced significant damage to their Breezy Point homes and will not be spending Christmas at the beach this year. The clean-up and re-building plans are moving forward, but it remains a stressful and challenging experience for all. Living 400 miles away, where Sandy was nothing but a breezy rain storm, I feel like I should be doing more but am too far to help.

This was again a year for some family becoming grandparents as more of the younger relatives acquired new additions to their families. Facebook continues to become the way we learn of these events – sometimes almost instantaneously – and always accompanied by photographs and sometimes videos. As much as I dislike Facebook, it is an amazing way for friends and families to stay connected. In the past year I have learned more about folks whom I have known for 50 years than I had in the previous 49.

I continue my design and consulting business - jebswebs.com - and have been paying attention to costs and political debates. Again, it’s been an okay business year that “could have been better.” Need a web presence? – give me a shout jeb@jebswebs.com

Let us be thankful that the presidential election season is finally over, albeit temporarily, and that we can now once again enjoy the endless ads for unnecessary medical procedures and medications broadcast during the evening news.

 I close by wishing you a Merry Christmases and a safe, happy and healthy New Year. May you and yours be filled with the Spirit of the Season!

Photos for Elaine and Carmen

I'll leave these up for a week or so. These are photos of Elaine the birthday girl from September.

Click on the image for a larger "blowup" version of the photo. To retrieve on the iPad, simply hold your finger on the image to the "Save Image" icon/popup appears.

Breezy at happier times

A small collection of photos from years past. Taken in the early 1970s this shows our old bungalow on B214 St.

Great loss at Breezy Point

UPDATE: October 31, 2012 - I've added some photos to the bottom of the page along with some links to video. No more news to share from the scene. The new photos are from Wall Street Journal. Also there is some amazing video and news of the disaster on NBC's website.

First we were concerned that my oldest brother's home along the beach would be damaged by wind and surge. Then there was concern for my second oldest brother who was planning to ride it out with his wife in the year-round bungalow on Lincoln. Then as the surge was reported to be higher, we were concerned that anywhere on the end of the Rockaway Peninsula was not a good place to be.

Our family has roots in Breezy Point since the 1940s and there have been many happy times including a wedding during Hurricane Agnes in 1972. The houses and people of Breezy Point all survived the years of tide and storms, births, deaths even a recent tornado. But I don't think anyone imagined that Breezy Point would succumb to a fire, especially one during a hurricane.

Yes, the houses in the old section of Breezy are very close together and mostly made of wood. But folks were very careful and the local volunteer fire department was quick to respond to any emergency.

These days there are lots of family and friends in the Breezy Point community so this is a very sad day. We are still waiting for information about what happened and who was directly affected although we know everyone is physically okay.

There will be long-term costs I am sure.

I have collected these photos from news and tweets today and will add more when I find them. If these are copyrighted and need to be removed, just let me know. I was moving to capture them so quickly, I failed to make notes from where they came. If these are your photos, thank you for sharing them.

Sorry, none of the photos are labeled as I don't know exactly where they were taken. It appears the fire's destruction was between Ocean Ave and Kildare Walk, from the water to Oceanside Ave. I'll post more when I get more info.

Aerial shot posted from Wall Street Journal - AP/Mike Groll

Aerial shot posted from Wall Street Journal - AP/Mike Groll