Wreck of Warship Is Found in English Channel
By WILLIAM J. BROAD
Sea explorers probing the depths of the English Channel have discovered what they say is a legendary British warship that sank in a fierce storm in 1744 with the loss of more than 900 men and possibly four tons of gold coins valued at $1 billion.
The team found the wreckage of the HMS Victory last year and confirmed its identify through a close examination of 41 bronze cannons visible on the sandy ocean bottom, Greg Stemm, head of the discovery team, said at a news conference Monday in London.
The team lifted two of the cannons and gave them to the British Ministry of Defense, he said, and is now negotiating with British authorities on the disposition of the artifacts and treasure before it attempts further recoveries.
“I’m surprised we’ve been able to keep it under wraps for nine months,” Mr. Stemm said at the news conference, calling the find “a momentous discovery.” He is the head of Odyssey Marine Exploration Inc. of Tampa, Fla., a private company that specializes in deep sea exploration and recovery.
In a telephone interview, Mr. Stemm called the find “hard to beat” in terms of raw history, lost treasure, and solved mysteries. The team found the wreck far from its reported resting place, and said the discovery had cleared the name of its commander, Admiral Sir John Balchin, whose navigation had been impugned after the catastrophic loss.
The press conference was held by the Discovery Channel, which plans to air a show Thursday about the ship on its weekly “Treasure Quest” program, which debuted last month.
The Victory was armed with up to 110 bronze cannons — one of deadliest vessels of the age. The biggest cannon weighed four tons and could fire cannonballs weighing 42 pounds — the largest and most powerful guns then used in naval warfare.
In July 1744, the flagship and its fleet of warships were sent to rescue a Mediterranean convoy blockaded by a French fleet at Lisbon. After chasing the French away, the Victory escorted the convoy as far as Gibraltar and headed home.
A hard gale scattered the British fleet shortly after it entered the English Channel, and on Oct. 5, 1744, somewhere off the Channel Islands, Victory went down with all hands. The flagship was the only member of the British fleet lost at sea.
The belief spread that ship had grounded on the Casquets, a group of rocky islets west of Alderney that protrude a few dozen feet above the water line. The rocks are called the “graveyard of the English Channel.” The lighthouse keeper of Alderney was court-martialed for failing to keep the lights on at the time of the ship’s disappearance.
That November, a Dutch newspaper reported that Victory had been carrying 400,000 pounds sterling from Lisbon that was destined for Dutch merchants. At the news conference, the ship’s finders said that would amount to about four tons of gold coins.
Historically, Victory was the last Royal Navy warship to be lost with a complete set of bronze cannons.
For decades, Mr. Stemm and his colleagues worked on the cutting edge of deep sea exploration, using sonars and robots to discover scores of interesting wrecks and thousands of artifacts. They have found treasures valued at hundreds of millions of dollars.
Last April, the Odyssey team was exploring the English Channel when a sonar registered an intriguing blip. Ensuing investigations with a tethered robot showed the seabed covered with cannons, a copper cooking kettle, hull remains, rectangular iron ballast, two anchors, rigging, two probable gunner’s wheels and 41 bronze cannons, including eight large guns that could fire 42-pound cannonballs.
“These were the biggest cannon in the age of sail,” Mr Stemm told the news conference. “These things are huge, simply amazing.”
Monday, February 2, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
He rode the 'Orphan Train' across the country
They called it the Orphan Train. It carried scores of street urchins -- with no parents, no homes -- out of New York City between 1854 and 1929. At each station, the orphans would stand outside the coaches, wearing their best clothes, hoping they'd be chosen by inspecting families.
PUEBLO, Colorado (CNN) -- Orphan Train rider Stanley Cornell's oldest memory is of his mother's death in 1925.
"My first feeling was standing by my mom's bedside when she was dying. She died of tuberculosis," recalls Cornell. "I remember her crying, holding my hand, saying to 'be good to Daddy.' "
"That was the last I saw of her. I was probably four," Cornell says of his mother, Lottie Cornell, who passed away in Elmira, New York.His father, Floyd Cornell, was still suffering the effects of nerve gas and shell shock after serving as a soldier in combat during WWI. That made it difficult for him to keep steady work or care for his two boys.
"Daddy Floyd," as Stanley Cornell calls his birth father, eventually contacted the Children's Aid Society. The society workers showed up in a big car with candy and whisked away Stanley and his brother, Victor, who was 16 months younger. Stanley Cornell remembers his father was crying and hanging on to a post. The little boy had a feeling he would not see his father again.
The two youngsters were taken to an orphanage, the Children's Aid Society of New York, founded by social reformer Charles Loring Brace.
"It was kind of rough in the orphans' home," Cornell remembers, adding that the older children preyed on the younger kids -- even though officials tried to keep them separated by chicken wire fences. He says he remembers being beaten with whips like those used on horses.
New York City in 1926 was teeming with tens of thousands of homeless and orphaned children. These so-called "street urchins" resorted to begging, stealing or forming gangs to commit violence to survive. Some children worked in factories and slept in doorways or flophouses.
The Orphan Train movement took Stanley Cornell and his brother out of the city during the last part of a mass relocation movement for children called "placing out."Brace's agency took destitute children, in small groups, by train to small towns and farms across the country, with many traveling to the West and Midwest. From 1854 to 1929, more than 200,000 children were placed with families across 47 states. It was the beginning of documented foster care in America.
"It's an exodus, I guess. They called it Orphan Train riders that rode the trains looking for mom and dad like my brother and I."
"We'd pull into a train station, stand outside the coaches dressed in our best clothes. People would inspect us like cattle farmers. And if they didn't choose you, you'd get back on the train and do it all over again at the next stop."
Cornell and his brother were "placed out" twice with their aunts in Pennsylvania and Coffeyville, Kansas. But their placements didn't last and they were returned to the Children's Aid Society.
"Then they made up another train. Sent us out West. A hundred-fifty kids on a train to Wellington, Texas," Cornell recalls. "That's where Dad happened to be in town that day."
Each time an Orphan Train was sent out, adoption ads were placed in local papers before the arrival of the children.
J.L. Deger, a 45-year-old farmer, knew he wanted a boy even though he already had two daughters ages 10 and 13.
"He'd just bought a Model T. Mr. Deger looked those boys over. We were the last boys holding hands in a blizzard, December 10, 1926," Cornell remembers. He says that day he and his brother stood in a hotel lobby.
"He asked us if we wanted to move out to farm with chickens, pigs and a room all to your own. He only wanted to take one of us, decided to take both of us."
Life on the farm was hard work.
"I did have to work and I expected it, because they fed me, clothed me, loved me. We had a good home. I'm very grateful. Always have been, always will be."
Taking care of a family wasn't always easy.
"In 1931, the Dust Bowl days started. The wind never quit. Sixty, 70 miles an hour, all that dust. It was a mess. Sometimes, Dad wouldn't raise a crop in two years."
A good crop came in 1940. With his profit in hand, "first thing Dad did was he took that money and said, 'we're going to repay the banker for trusting us,' " Cornell says.
When World War II began, Cornell joined the U.S. Army Signal Corps. He shipped out to Africa and landed near Casablanca, Morocco, where he laid telephone and teletype lines. Later he served in Egypt and northern Sicily. While in Italy, he witnessed Mount Vesuvius erupting.
It was on a telephone line-laying mission between Naples and Rome that Cornell suffered his first of three wounds.
"Our jeep was hit by a bomb. I thought I was in the middle of the ocean. It was the middle of January and I was in a sea of mud."
With their jeep destroyed and Cornell bleeding from a head wound, his driver asked a French soldier to use his vehicle to transport them. The Frenchman refused to drive Cornell the five miles to the medical unit.
"So, the driver pulled out his pistol, put the gun to the French soldier's head and yelled, 'tout suite!' or 'move it!' " Cornell recalls.
Once he was treated, Cornell remembers the doctor saying, "You've got 30 stitches in your scalp. An eighth of an inch deeper and you'd be dead."
Cornell always refused to accept his commendations for a Purple Heart even though he'd been wounded three times, twice severely enough to be hospitalized for weeks. He felt the medals were handed out too often to troops who suffered the equivalent of a scratch.
His younger brother served during the war in the Air Force at a base in Nebraska, where he ran a film projector at the officers' club.
As WWII was drawing to a close, Stanley Cornell headed up the teletype section at Allied headquarters in Reims, France. "I saw [Gen. Dwight] Eisenhower every day," he recalls.
On May 7, 1945, the Nazis surrendered. "I sent the first teletype message from Eisenhower saying the war was over with Germany," Cornell says.
In 1946, the 25-year-old Stanley Cornell met with his 53-year-old birth father, Daddy Floyd. It was the last time they would see each other.
Cornell eventually got married and he and his wife, Earleen, adopted two boys, Dana and Dennis, when each was just four weeks old.
"I knew what it was like to grow up without parents," Cornell says. "We were married seven years and couldn't have kids, so I asked my wife, 'how about adoption?' She'd heard my story before and said, 'OK.' "
After they adopted their two boys, Earleen gave birth to a girl, Denyse.
Dana Cornell understands what his father and uncle went through.
"I don't think [Uncle] Vic and Stan could have been better parents. I can relate, you know, because Dad adopted Dennis and me. He has taught me an awful lot over the years," Dana Cornell says.
Dana Cornell says his adoptive parents have always said that if the boys wanted to find their birth parents, they would help. But he decided not to because of how he feels about the couple who adopted him. "They are my parents and that's the way it's gonna be."
Stanley and Earleen Cornell have been married 61 years. She is a minister at a church in Pueblo, Colorado, and is the cook at her son's restaurant, Dana's Lil' Kitchen.
Stanley Cornell believes he is one of only 15 surviving Orphan Train children. His brother, Victor Cornell, a retired movie theater chain owner, is also alive and living in Moscow, Idaho.
PUEBLO, Colorado (CNN) -- Orphan Train rider Stanley Cornell's oldest memory is of his mother's death in 1925.
"My first feeling was standing by my mom's bedside when she was dying. She died of tuberculosis," recalls Cornell. "I remember her crying, holding my hand, saying to 'be good to Daddy.' "
"That was the last I saw of her. I was probably four," Cornell says of his mother, Lottie Cornell, who passed away in Elmira, New York.His father, Floyd Cornell, was still suffering the effects of nerve gas and shell shock after serving as a soldier in combat during WWI. That made it difficult for him to keep steady work or care for his two boys.
"Daddy Floyd," as Stanley Cornell calls his birth father, eventually contacted the Children's Aid Society. The society workers showed up in a big car with candy and whisked away Stanley and his brother, Victor, who was 16 months younger. Stanley Cornell remembers his father was crying and hanging on to a post. The little boy had a feeling he would not see his father again.
The two youngsters were taken to an orphanage, the Children's Aid Society of New York, founded by social reformer Charles Loring Brace.
"It was kind of rough in the orphans' home," Cornell remembers, adding that the older children preyed on the younger kids -- even though officials tried to keep them separated by chicken wire fences. He says he remembers being beaten with whips like those used on horses.
New York City in 1926 was teeming with tens of thousands of homeless and orphaned children. These so-called "street urchins" resorted to begging, stealing or forming gangs to commit violence to survive. Some children worked in factories and slept in doorways or flophouses.
The Orphan Train movement took Stanley Cornell and his brother out of the city during the last part of a mass relocation movement for children called "placing out."Brace's agency took destitute children, in small groups, by train to small towns and farms across the country, with many traveling to the West and Midwest. From 1854 to 1929, more than 200,000 children were placed with families across 47 states. It was the beginning of documented foster care in America.
"It's an exodus, I guess. They called it Orphan Train riders that rode the trains looking for mom and dad like my brother and I."
"We'd pull into a train station, stand outside the coaches dressed in our best clothes. People would inspect us like cattle farmers. And if they didn't choose you, you'd get back on the train and do it all over again at the next stop."
Cornell and his brother were "placed out" twice with their aunts in Pennsylvania and Coffeyville, Kansas. But their placements didn't last and they were returned to the Children's Aid Society.
"Then they made up another train. Sent us out West. A hundred-fifty kids on a train to Wellington, Texas," Cornell recalls. "That's where Dad happened to be in town that day."
Each time an Orphan Train was sent out, adoption ads were placed in local papers before the arrival of the children.
J.L. Deger, a 45-year-old farmer, knew he wanted a boy even though he already had two daughters ages 10 and 13.
"He'd just bought a Model T. Mr. Deger looked those boys over. We were the last boys holding hands in a blizzard, December 10, 1926," Cornell remembers. He says that day he and his brother stood in a hotel lobby.
"He asked us if we wanted to move out to farm with chickens, pigs and a room all to your own. He only wanted to take one of us, decided to take both of us."
Life on the farm was hard work.
"I did have to work and I expected it, because they fed me, clothed me, loved me. We had a good home. I'm very grateful. Always have been, always will be."
Taking care of a family wasn't always easy.
"In 1931, the Dust Bowl days started. The wind never quit. Sixty, 70 miles an hour, all that dust. It was a mess. Sometimes, Dad wouldn't raise a crop in two years."
A good crop came in 1940. With his profit in hand, "first thing Dad did was he took that money and said, 'we're going to repay the banker for trusting us,' " Cornell says.
When World War II began, Cornell joined the U.S. Army Signal Corps. He shipped out to Africa and landed near Casablanca, Morocco, where he laid telephone and teletype lines. Later he served in Egypt and northern Sicily. While in Italy, he witnessed Mount Vesuvius erupting.
It was on a telephone line-laying mission between Naples and Rome that Cornell suffered his first of three wounds.
"Our jeep was hit by a bomb. I thought I was in the middle of the ocean. It was the middle of January and I was in a sea of mud."
With their jeep destroyed and Cornell bleeding from a head wound, his driver asked a French soldier to use his vehicle to transport them. The Frenchman refused to drive Cornell the five miles to the medical unit.
"So, the driver pulled out his pistol, put the gun to the French soldier's head and yelled, 'tout suite!' or 'move it!' " Cornell recalls.
Once he was treated, Cornell remembers the doctor saying, "You've got 30 stitches in your scalp. An eighth of an inch deeper and you'd be dead."
Cornell always refused to accept his commendations for a Purple Heart even though he'd been wounded three times, twice severely enough to be hospitalized for weeks. He felt the medals were handed out too often to troops who suffered the equivalent of a scratch.
His younger brother served during the war in the Air Force at a base in Nebraska, where he ran a film projector at the officers' club.
As WWII was drawing to a close, Stanley Cornell headed up the teletype section at Allied headquarters in Reims, France. "I saw [Gen. Dwight] Eisenhower every day," he recalls.
On May 7, 1945, the Nazis surrendered. "I sent the first teletype message from Eisenhower saying the war was over with Germany," Cornell says.
In 1946, the 25-year-old Stanley Cornell met with his 53-year-old birth father, Daddy Floyd. It was the last time they would see each other.
Cornell eventually got married and he and his wife, Earleen, adopted two boys, Dana and Dennis, when each was just four weeks old.
"I knew what it was like to grow up without parents," Cornell says. "We were married seven years and couldn't have kids, so I asked my wife, 'how about adoption?' She'd heard my story before and said, 'OK.' "
After they adopted their two boys, Earleen gave birth to a girl, Denyse.
Dana Cornell understands what his father and uncle went through.
"I don't think [Uncle] Vic and Stan could have been better parents. I can relate, you know, because Dad adopted Dennis and me. He has taught me an awful lot over the years," Dana Cornell says.
Dana Cornell says his adoptive parents have always said that if the boys wanted to find their birth parents, they would help. But he decided not to because of how he feels about the couple who adopted him. "They are my parents and that's the way it's gonna be."
Stanley and Earleen Cornell have been married 61 years. She is a minister at a church in Pueblo, Colorado, and is the cook at her son's restaurant, Dana's Lil' Kitchen.
Stanley Cornell believes he is one of only 15 surviving Orphan Train children. His brother, Victor Cornell, a retired movie theater chain owner, is also alive and living in Moscow, Idaho.
Monday, January 26, 2009
DNA Could Illuminate Origins of Medieval Manuscripts
The DNA of animal skins used as parchment for medieval manuscripts could reveal where the texts were made.
By comparing the genetic codes of manuscripts of unknown origin to those whose provenance and age is known, an English professor hopes to learn where and when the mysterious manuscripts were made.
"One of the things we try to do when we study a text is to guess from the handwriting and dialect where and when it's from," said Tim Stinson of North Carolina State University . "But these are inexact processes, and it takes a lot of guesswork. Our tools have been fairly blunt instruments — until now."
Initial tests showed that the animal skin pages contained enough intact DNA to make analysis worthwhile. So Stinson and his brother Mike Stinson, a biologist at Southside Virginia Community College, skin samples taken from five pages of a 15th century French prayer book. Preserved mitochondrial DNA revealed that the pages came from two closely related calves.
Those results, said Stinson, are a proof of principle that it's possible to create a DNA database from manuscripts of known age and origin. Monastic paperwork tended to be dated, so DNA from those works could be cross-indexed with that of literary works from tomes of unknown provenance, producing a taxonomy of manuscript manufacture.
"This could help us understand not just things, not just books, not just medieval cows, but people," said Stinson.
In addition to pinpointing manuscript origin, such a taxonomy could flesh out the as-yet-murky transition from monastic to commercial publishing.
"When did books become a business, as opposed to something monks did? That's a puzzle nobody knows," said Stinson. "This could be a social history of producing a good for trade."
DNA matches could also help link pages from books that have been broken up by unsavory collectors and sold piecemeal to museums and galleries around the world.
Before this can happen, however, Stinson needs to refine his technique. Testing currently requires the removal of a half-centimeter square — enough to turn the stomach of any true bibliophile. Stinson plans to repeat testing with ever-smaller samples until a process is found that leaves no visible scars.
Stinson also needs grant money for the project, which will be presented at the upcoming Bibliographical Society of America meeting in New York City. Tests run between $800 and $1000 per sample, and dozens of samples will be needed for the initial database.
Medieval manuscript identification could be a tough sell in today's economy, but Stinson believes that historical insight is still valuable.
He gave the example of an undated poem he's currently translating, about the Roman destruction of Jerusalem. The poem, said Stinson, reflects anti-Semitic tendencies common in parts of medieval England.
"Who was circulating these — what time, and when? Was it country gentlemen? Monks? Where are these being produced?" he wondered. As can be claimed of so much of history, Stinson said, "The matter in Jerusalem is far from over."
By comparing the genetic codes of manuscripts of unknown origin to those whose provenance and age is known, an English professor hopes to learn where and when the mysterious manuscripts were made.
"One of the things we try to do when we study a text is to guess from the handwriting and dialect where and when it's from," said Tim Stinson of North Carolina State University . "But these are inexact processes, and it takes a lot of guesswork. Our tools have been fairly blunt instruments — until now."
Initial tests showed that the animal skin pages contained enough intact DNA to make analysis worthwhile. So Stinson and his brother Mike Stinson, a biologist at Southside Virginia Community College, skin samples taken from five pages of a 15th century French prayer book. Preserved mitochondrial DNA revealed that the pages came from two closely related calves.
Those results, said Stinson, are a proof of principle that it's possible to create a DNA database from manuscripts of known age and origin. Monastic paperwork tended to be dated, so DNA from those works could be cross-indexed with that of literary works from tomes of unknown provenance, producing a taxonomy of manuscript manufacture.
"This could help us understand not just things, not just books, not just medieval cows, but people," said Stinson.
In addition to pinpointing manuscript origin, such a taxonomy could flesh out the as-yet-murky transition from monastic to commercial publishing.
"When did books become a business, as opposed to something monks did? That's a puzzle nobody knows," said Stinson. "This could be a social history of producing a good for trade."
DNA matches could also help link pages from books that have been broken up by unsavory collectors and sold piecemeal to museums and galleries around the world.
Before this can happen, however, Stinson needs to refine his technique. Testing currently requires the removal of a half-centimeter square — enough to turn the stomach of any true bibliophile. Stinson plans to repeat testing with ever-smaller samples until a process is found that leaves no visible scars.
Stinson also needs grant money for the project, which will be presented at the upcoming Bibliographical Society of America meeting in New York City. Tests run between $800 and $1000 per sample, and dozens of samples will be needed for the initial database.
Medieval manuscript identification could be a tough sell in today's economy, but Stinson believes that historical insight is still valuable.
He gave the example of an undated poem he's currently translating, about the Roman destruction of Jerusalem. The poem, said Stinson, reflects anti-Semitic tendencies common in parts of medieval England.
"Who was circulating these — what time, and when? Was it country gentlemen? Monks? Where are these being produced?" he wondered. As can be claimed of so much of history, Stinson said, "The matter in Jerusalem is far from over."
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Dieting in the year 1087
It is said that in the year 1087, William the Conqueror (who became King of England after his success at the Battle of Hastings) found he could no longer ride his horse because he was too fat. He reportedly refused to get out of bed, and began drinking alcohol instead of eating food in an attempt to lose weight. If this story is true, it may be the first recorded instance of someone changing food intake in order to reduce their bulk.(thus dieting)
Although it is apparently true that he had grown quite fat by the end of his life, we have no record of what success King William's alcoholic 'liquid diet' might have had. King William died that same year, but since he died from injuries he suffered when his horse fell, we may assume his regime was at least partially successful, because he was on his horse once again.
Although it is apparently true that he had grown quite fat by the end of his life, we have no record of what success King William's alcoholic 'liquid diet' might have had. King William died that same year, but since he died from injuries he suffered when his horse fell, we may assume his regime was at least partially successful, because he was on his horse once again.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
RIP Freddie Hubbard
Freddie Hubbard, energetic jazz trumpeter, dies at 70
By Peter Keepnews
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Freddie Hubbard, a jazz trumpeter who dazzled audiences and critics alike with his virtuosity, his melodicism and his infectious energy, died Monday in Sherman Oaks, California. He was 70.
The cause was complications of a heart attack he had Nov. 26, said his spokesman, Don Lucoff of DL Media.
Over a career that began in the late 1950s, Hubbard earned both critical praise and commercial success - although rarely for the same projects.
He attracted attention in the 1960s for his bravura work as a member of the Jazz Messengers, the valuable training ground for young musicians led by the veteran drummer Art Blakey, and on albums by Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter and many others. He also recorded several well-regarded albums as a leader. And although he was not an avant-gardist by temperament, he participated in three of the seminal recordings of the 1960s jazz avant-garde: Ornette Coleman's "Free Jazz" (1960), Eric Dolphy's "Out to Lunch" (1964) and John Coltrane's "Ascension" (1965).
In the 1970s Hubbard, like many other jazz musicians of his generation, began courting a larger audience, with albums that featured electric instruments, rock and funk rhythms, string arrangements and repertory sprinkled with pop and R&B songs like Paul McCartney's "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey" and the Stylistics' "Betcha by Golly, Wow." His audience did indeed grow, but his standing in the jazz world diminished.
By the start of the next decade he had largely abandoned his more commercial approach and returned to his jazz roots. But his career came to a virtual halt in 1992 when he damaged his lip, and although he resumed performing and recording after an extended hiatus, he was never again as powerful a player as he had been in his prime.
Frederick Dewayne Hubbard was born on April 7, 1938, in Indianapolis. His first instrument was the alto-brass mellophone, and in high school he studied French horn and tuba as well as trumpet.
After taking lessons with Max Woodbury, the first trumpeter of the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, at the Arthur Jordan Conservatory of Music, he performed locally with, among others, the guitarist Wes Montgomery and his brothers.
Hubbard moved to New York in 1958 and almost immediately began working with groups led by the saxophonist Sonny Rollins, the drummer Philly Joe Jones and others. His profile rose in 1960 when he joined the roster of Blue Note, a leading jazz label; it rose further the next year when he was hired by Blakey, widely regarded as the music's premier talent scout.
Adding his own spin to a style informed by Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis and Clifford Brown, Hubbard played trumpet with an unusual mix of melodic inventiveness and technical razzle-dazzle. The critics took notice. Leonard Feather called him "one of the most skilled, original and forceful trumpeters of the '60s."
After leaving Blakey's band in 1964, Hubbard worked for a while with another drummer-bandleader, Max Roach, before forming his own group in 1966. Four years later he began recording for CTI, a record company that would soon become known for its aggressive efforts to market jazz musicians beyond the confines of the jazz audience.
Hubbard won a Grammy Award for the album "First Light" in 1972 and was named a National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Master in 2006.
He is survived by his wife of 35 years, Briggie Hubbard, and his son, Duane.
Hubbard was once known as the brashest of jazzmen, but his personality as well as his music mellowed in the wake of his lip problems. In a 1995 interview with Fred Shuster of Down Beat, Hubbard offered some sober advice to younger musicians: "Don't make the mistake I made of not taking care of myself. Please, keep your chops cool and don't overblow."
Monday, December 29, 2008
In Memoriam 2008
In chronological order of their deaths, these are people with whom I was at least vaguely familiar who passed away this year:
Lee Dreyfus, former governor of Wisconsin.
Gerry Staley, former MLB pitcher.
Jimmy Stewart, former British racecar driver.
Phillip Agee, author and former CIA agent.
Jim Dooley, former Chicago Bears coach.
Johnny Grant, former honorary mayor of Hollywood.
Rod Allen, former lead singer of the Fortunes (”Here Comes that Rainy Day Feeling Again”).
Sir Edmund Hillary, first mountaineer to reach the summit of Mount Everest.
Johnny Podres, former MLB pitcher.
Bobby Fischer, chess grandmaster.
Ernie Holmes, former NFL player.
John Stroger, Chicago politician.
Lois Nettleton, movie and TV actress.
Lou Palmer, radio announcer.
Georgia Frontiere, owner of St. Louis Rams football team.
John Stewart, member of the Kingston Trio.
Eugene Sawyer, former mayor of Chicago.
Suzanne Pleshette, movie and TV actress.
Heath Ledger, movie actor.
Margaret Truman Daniel, author and daughter of Harry S Truman.
Ed Vargo, former MLB umpire.
Earl Butz, former secretary of agriculture.
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, former guru to the Beatles.
Roy Scheider, movie actor.
Freddie Bell, R&B singer.
Tom Lantos, member of Congress and Holocaust survivor.
Robin Moore, author (”The Green Berets”).
Evan Mecham, former governor of Arizona.
Buddy Miles, rock drummer.
William F. Buckley Jr., author, political commentator, founder of the National Review magazine.
Mike Smith, lead singer of the Dave Clark Five.
Jerry Groom, former NFL player.
Buddy Dial, former football star.
Bob Purkey, former MLB player.
Ivan Dixon, movie and TV actor (”Hogan’s Heroes”).
Sir Arthur Clarke, author (”2001: A Space Odyssey”).
Richard Widmark, actor.
Paul Scofield, actor.
Neil Aspinall, former road manager for the Beatles.
Wally Phillips, Chicago radio personality.
Charlton Heston, movie actor.
Bob Pellegrini, former NFL player.
Joy Page, movie actress (”Casablanca”).
Al Wilson, soul singer (”Show and Tell”).
Paul Davis, pop singer (”65 Love Affair”).
Eddy Arnold, country music singer.
Arthur Burks, mathemetician and computer pioneer.
Utah Phillips, folk singer.
Jimmy McGriff, jazz and blues organist.
Dick Martin, comedian (”Laugh-In”).
Sydney Pollack, movie actor and director.
Earle Hagen, TV theme composer (”The Andy Griffith Show”).
Harvey Korman, actor and comedian.
Yves St. Laurent, fashion designer.
Paul Sills, co-founder of the Second City improv troupe.
Mel Ferrer, actor.
Bo Diddley (pictured above), rock pioneer.
Tim Russert, TV journalist.
Cyd Charisse, actress and dancer.
Dody Goodman, actress and comedian.
George Carlin, comedian.
Larry Harmon, actor (Bozo the Clown).
Evelyn Keyes, actress (”Gone With the Wind”).
Charles Joffe, producer of most of Woody Allen’s movies.
Michael DeBakey, pioneer heart surgeon.
Bobby Murcer, former MLB player.
Tony Snow, journalist and White House press secretary.
Les Crane, TV personality.
Jo Stafford, singer (”Jambalaya”).
Estelle Getty, TV actress (”Golden Girls”).
Anne Armstrong, Republican politician.
Skip Caray, baseball broadcaster.
Orville Moody, golfer.
Bernie Mac, comedian and actor.
Isaac Hayes, soul musician.
Gene Upshaw, NFL player and union executive.
Phil Hill, racecar driver.
Jerry Reed, country singer and actor.
Ike Pappas, TV journalist.
Richard Wright, keyboardist and songwriter for Pink Floyd.
Norman Whitfield, Motown songwriter (”I Heard It Through the Grapevine”).
Anna Langford, Chicago politician.
Connie Haynes, singer.
Dick Lynch, former NLF player.
Mickey Vernon, former MLB player.
Paul Newman, actor.
Nick Reynolds, former member of the Kingston Trio.
Lloyd Thaxton, TV personality.
Gil Stratton, sportscaster and actor (”Stalag 17″).
Tom Tresh, former MLB player.
Edie Adams, singer and actress.
Levi Stubbs, lead singer of the Four Tops.
Ben Weider, bodybuilding enthusiast.
Richard Blackwell, fashion critic.
Tony Hillerman, mystery writer.
Delmar Watson, former child actor (”Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”).
Studs Terkel, author and radio personality.
Yma Sumac, singer.
Michael Crichton, author (”Jurassic Park”).
Heather Pick, TV journalist.
Jody Reynolds, singer and guitarist (”Endless Sleep”).
Preacher Roe, former MLB pitcher.
Miriam Makeba, singer.
Herb Score, former MLB pitcher.
Odetta, folk singer.
Nina Foch, actress.
Beverley Garland, actress.
Sunny von Bulow, heiress.
Dennis Yost, lead singer of the Classics IV.
Robert Prosky, actor.
Betty Page, pin-up model.
Van Johnson, actor.
Sammy Baugh, former NFL player.
Paul Weyrich, conservative political activist.
Conor Cruise O’Brien, political activist and author.
W. Mark Felt, “Deep Throat” of Watergate fame.
Dock Ellis, former MLB pitcher.
Harold Pinter, playwright.
Eartha Kitt, singer and actress.
Delaney Bramlett, singer and songwriter.
Lee Dreyfus, former governor of Wisconsin.
Gerry Staley, former MLB pitcher.
Jimmy Stewart, former British racecar driver.
Phillip Agee, author and former CIA agent.
Jim Dooley, former Chicago Bears coach.
Johnny Grant, former honorary mayor of Hollywood.
Rod Allen, former lead singer of the Fortunes (”Here Comes that Rainy Day Feeling Again”).
Sir Edmund Hillary, first mountaineer to reach the summit of Mount Everest.
Johnny Podres, former MLB pitcher.
Bobby Fischer, chess grandmaster.
Ernie Holmes, former NFL player.
John Stroger, Chicago politician.
Lois Nettleton, movie and TV actress.
Lou Palmer, radio announcer.
Georgia Frontiere, owner of St. Louis Rams football team.
John Stewart, member of the Kingston Trio.
Eugene Sawyer, former mayor of Chicago.
Suzanne Pleshette, movie and TV actress.
Heath Ledger, movie actor.
Margaret Truman Daniel, author and daughter of Harry S Truman.
Ed Vargo, former MLB umpire.
Earl Butz, former secretary of agriculture.
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, former guru to the Beatles.
Roy Scheider, movie actor.
Freddie Bell, R&B singer.
Tom Lantos, member of Congress and Holocaust survivor.
Robin Moore, author (”The Green Berets”).
Evan Mecham, former governor of Arizona.
Buddy Miles, rock drummer.
William F. Buckley Jr., author, political commentator, founder of the National Review magazine.
Mike Smith, lead singer of the Dave Clark Five.
Jerry Groom, former NFL player.
Buddy Dial, former football star.
Bob Purkey, former MLB player.
Ivan Dixon, movie and TV actor (”Hogan’s Heroes”).
Sir Arthur Clarke, author (”2001: A Space Odyssey”).
Richard Widmark, actor.
Paul Scofield, actor.
Neil Aspinall, former road manager for the Beatles.
Wally Phillips, Chicago radio personality.
Charlton Heston, movie actor.
Bob Pellegrini, former NFL player.
Joy Page, movie actress (”Casablanca”).
Al Wilson, soul singer (”Show and Tell”).
Paul Davis, pop singer (”65 Love Affair”).
Eddy Arnold, country music singer.
Arthur Burks, mathemetician and computer pioneer.
Utah Phillips, folk singer.
Jimmy McGriff, jazz and blues organist.
Dick Martin, comedian (”Laugh-In”).
Sydney Pollack, movie actor and director.
Earle Hagen, TV theme composer (”The Andy Griffith Show”).
Harvey Korman, actor and comedian.
Yves St. Laurent, fashion designer.
Paul Sills, co-founder of the Second City improv troupe.
Mel Ferrer, actor.
Bo Diddley (pictured above), rock pioneer.
Tim Russert, TV journalist.
Cyd Charisse, actress and dancer.
Dody Goodman, actress and comedian.
George Carlin, comedian.
Larry Harmon, actor (Bozo the Clown).
Evelyn Keyes, actress (”Gone With the Wind”).
Charles Joffe, producer of most of Woody Allen’s movies.
Michael DeBakey, pioneer heart surgeon.
Bobby Murcer, former MLB player.
Tony Snow, journalist and White House press secretary.
Les Crane, TV personality.
Jo Stafford, singer (”Jambalaya”).
Estelle Getty, TV actress (”Golden Girls”).
Anne Armstrong, Republican politician.
Skip Caray, baseball broadcaster.
Orville Moody, golfer.
Bernie Mac, comedian and actor.
Isaac Hayes, soul musician.
Gene Upshaw, NFL player and union executive.
Phil Hill, racecar driver.
Jerry Reed, country singer and actor.
Ike Pappas, TV journalist.
Richard Wright, keyboardist and songwriter for Pink Floyd.
Norman Whitfield, Motown songwriter (”I Heard It Through the Grapevine”).
Anna Langford, Chicago politician.
Connie Haynes, singer.
Dick Lynch, former NLF player.
Mickey Vernon, former MLB player.
Paul Newman, actor.
Nick Reynolds, former member of the Kingston Trio.
Lloyd Thaxton, TV personality.
Gil Stratton, sportscaster and actor (”Stalag 17″).
Tom Tresh, former MLB player.
Edie Adams, singer and actress.
Levi Stubbs, lead singer of the Four Tops.
Ben Weider, bodybuilding enthusiast.
Richard Blackwell, fashion critic.
Tony Hillerman, mystery writer.
Delmar Watson, former child actor (”Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”).
Studs Terkel, author and radio personality.
Yma Sumac, singer.
Michael Crichton, author (”Jurassic Park”).
Heather Pick, TV journalist.
Jody Reynolds, singer and guitarist (”Endless Sleep”).
Preacher Roe, former MLB pitcher.
Miriam Makeba, singer.
Herb Score, former MLB pitcher.
Odetta, folk singer.
Nina Foch, actress.
Beverley Garland, actress.
Sunny von Bulow, heiress.
Dennis Yost, lead singer of the Classics IV.
Robert Prosky, actor.
Betty Page, pin-up model.
Van Johnson, actor.
Sammy Baugh, former NFL player.
Paul Weyrich, conservative political activist.
Conor Cruise O’Brien, political activist and author.
W. Mark Felt, “Deep Throat” of Watergate fame.
Dock Ellis, former MLB pitcher.
Harold Pinter, playwright.
Eartha Kitt, singer and actress.
Delaney Bramlett, singer and songwriter.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Presidential Controversies (From Swimming Nude to Getting Drunk)
By Gregory McNamee on History
When Barack Obama takes office on January 20, 2009, as the forty-fourth president of the United States, he will bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Apart from having the normal jitters, the new president, remembering recent events, will doubtless be uncomfortably aware that from then on his every move will be under the close eye of lawmakers, lobbyists, journalists, and citizens. One error, one gaffe, one small lapse of judgment, the new president might reasonably think, and I’m toast: just think of Bill Clinton. Just look at the last eight misbegotten years.George Washington
Small wonder that Franklin Pierce, who served as president from 1853 to 1857, remarked that all he wanted to do on leaving office was to get drunk. And small wonder that James Madison, our fourth president, was moved to reply to an admirer, “I would much rather be in bed.”
The new president might be cheered, though, to know that our presidents have from the very start been the subjects, and sometimes the authors, of controversy and scandal.
Our presidents, to put it another way, have always been in hot water—or, in the case of John Quincy Adams, in cold water. Adams was fond of swimming nude in the Potomac River. Respectable Washingtonians disapproved, but Adams kept bathing au naturel even after someone once stole his clothes as he swam, and even after a reporter cornered him in the river and refused to let him dress until Adams had given her an exclusive interview.
The first to discover how unpopular a president can be was George Washington, who, we tend to forget, was not universally well liked in his time. Ardent republicans in the first government of the United States accused Washington of wanting to establish himself as a new, homegrown king, especially after Washington took stern measures to force his fellow citizens to pay their taxes. Washington did have an imperious and sometimes impatient way, as he showed when he went to the Senate on August 22, 1789, to press for a new treaty with the Creek Indians. After Washington had made his argument for making this new treaty, a senator asked for clarification on one or two points. When Washington did not reply satisfactorily, the senator moved that the treaty be sent for further study to a committee. “This defeats every purpose of my coming here!” Washington cried. He swore that he would never again enter the Senate, and his successors have followed suit.
Washington touched off a minor scandal when he appointed a New York tavern keeper named Sam Fraunces to the new post of steward, responsible for keeping the president well fed and for arranging state dinners for visiting dignitaries. Fraunces took his duties seriously, saying, “While General Washington is president of the United States, and I have the honor to serve him as steward, his establishment shall be supplied with the very best of everything that the country can afford.” Fiscal conservatives trying to balance the new country’s books after an expensive revolutionary war were outraged by Fraunces’s free-spending ways, but Washington kept him on until, the story has it, he discovered that his steward had paid the outrageous sum of three dollars for a single fish. He fired Fraunces, and for the rest of his term budget-minded critics of the government had nothing to complain about.
Andrew Jackson of Tennessee had less refined tastes than George Washington’s. During his time in office (1829–1837) he was often criticized for hosting drunken parties in which his friends from the wild frontier showed their enthusiasm by breaking White House china and the occasional window. But Jackson came under more criticism still when he refused to recharter the Bank of the United States, a private corporation in which the federal government held a substantial block of stock. Westerners and populists detested the bank, and so did Jackson, who denounced it as an instrument of monopoly and special privilege, saying, “Our rich men have not been content with equal protection and equal benefits, but have besought us to make them richer by act of Congress.” That may have been so, Jackson’s critics allowed, but even so the bank was well managed and kept the economy on course. When the bank dissolved after Jackson ordered that the federal government cease making deposits, panic ensued. Jackson eventually had to charter a new national bank under rules that, albeit with many changes, still apply today. Jackson wasn’t happy about the outcome. He threatened to hang anyone who opposed him.
Until recently, Andrew Johnson (1865–1869) was the only American president to have been impeached. Historians are now inclined to the view that Johnson did no wrong, but the politicians of his time hated the Tennessean, who served on the Union side during the Civil War. When the war ended, Johnson urged that the defeated Confederate states be readmitted to the Union without reparations. Many unforgiving congressmen felt otherwise, and they impeached Johnson for “high crimes and misdemeanors” when he fired his secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, for siding with so-called radical Reconstructionists who insisted on severely punishing the southern states. Those congressmen also insisted that only they could dismiss members of the cabinet, and they passed the Tenure of Office Act—which was later ruled unconstitutional—to make sure that this would be so. Johnson escaped conviction by just one vote, but to this day he is remembered, like Richard Nixon, largely for having touched off a scandal in government.
Calvin Coolidge, a taciturn New Englander, reasoned that by keeping his mouth closed he’d keep out of trouble. The technique usually worked, but Coolidge had a habit that Ronald Reagan shared, and that brought both presidents much criticism. Coolidge, it seems, loved his afternoon nap—which often lasted for three or four hours, on top of eight or nine hours of normal nighttime sleep. Coolidge had a sense of humor about his penchant for sawing logs, even if his political opponents did not; once, when an aide awakened him from a sound midday sleep, Coolidge asked, “Is the country still here?” Coolidge also argued that the country benefited from his nap habit—after all, he said, he couldn’t initiate any potentially costly federal actions while he was asleep.
But there is no time to sleep now. Godspeed, Mr. President. Controversy awaits—but also, it is to be hoped, so do glory and greatness.
When Barack Obama takes office on January 20, 2009, as the forty-fourth president of the United States, he will bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Apart from having the normal jitters, the new president, remembering recent events, will doubtless be uncomfortably aware that from then on his every move will be under the close eye of lawmakers, lobbyists, journalists, and citizens. One error, one gaffe, one small lapse of judgment, the new president might reasonably think, and I’m toast: just think of Bill Clinton. Just look at the last eight misbegotten years.George Washington
Small wonder that Franklin Pierce, who served as president from 1853 to 1857, remarked that all he wanted to do on leaving office was to get drunk. And small wonder that James Madison, our fourth president, was moved to reply to an admirer, “I would much rather be in bed.”
The new president might be cheered, though, to know that our presidents have from the very start been the subjects, and sometimes the authors, of controversy and scandal.
Our presidents, to put it another way, have always been in hot water—or, in the case of John Quincy Adams, in cold water. Adams was fond of swimming nude in the Potomac River. Respectable Washingtonians disapproved, but Adams kept bathing au naturel even after someone once stole his clothes as he swam, and even after a reporter cornered him in the river and refused to let him dress until Adams had given her an exclusive interview.
The first to discover how unpopular a president can be was George Washington, who, we tend to forget, was not universally well liked in his time. Ardent republicans in the first government of the United States accused Washington of wanting to establish himself as a new, homegrown king, especially after Washington took stern measures to force his fellow citizens to pay their taxes. Washington did have an imperious and sometimes impatient way, as he showed when he went to the Senate on August 22, 1789, to press for a new treaty with the Creek Indians. After Washington had made his argument for making this new treaty, a senator asked for clarification on one or two points. When Washington did not reply satisfactorily, the senator moved that the treaty be sent for further study to a committee. “This defeats every purpose of my coming here!” Washington cried. He swore that he would never again enter the Senate, and his successors have followed suit.
Washington touched off a minor scandal when he appointed a New York tavern keeper named Sam Fraunces to the new post of steward, responsible for keeping the president well fed and for arranging state dinners for visiting dignitaries. Fraunces took his duties seriously, saying, “While General Washington is president of the United States, and I have the honor to serve him as steward, his establishment shall be supplied with the very best of everything that the country can afford.” Fiscal conservatives trying to balance the new country’s books after an expensive revolutionary war were outraged by Fraunces’s free-spending ways, but Washington kept him on until, the story has it, he discovered that his steward had paid the outrageous sum of three dollars for a single fish. He fired Fraunces, and for the rest of his term budget-minded critics of the government had nothing to complain about.
Andrew Jackson of Tennessee had less refined tastes than George Washington’s. During his time in office (1829–1837) he was often criticized for hosting drunken parties in which his friends from the wild frontier showed their enthusiasm by breaking White House china and the occasional window. But Jackson came under more criticism still when he refused to recharter the Bank of the United States, a private corporation in which the federal government held a substantial block of stock. Westerners and populists detested the bank, and so did Jackson, who denounced it as an instrument of monopoly and special privilege, saying, “Our rich men have not been content with equal protection and equal benefits, but have besought us to make them richer by act of Congress.” That may have been so, Jackson’s critics allowed, but even so the bank was well managed and kept the economy on course. When the bank dissolved after Jackson ordered that the federal government cease making deposits, panic ensued. Jackson eventually had to charter a new national bank under rules that, albeit with many changes, still apply today. Jackson wasn’t happy about the outcome. He threatened to hang anyone who opposed him.
Until recently, Andrew Johnson (1865–1869) was the only American president to have been impeached. Historians are now inclined to the view that Johnson did no wrong, but the politicians of his time hated the Tennessean, who served on the Union side during the Civil War. When the war ended, Johnson urged that the defeated Confederate states be readmitted to the Union without reparations. Many unforgiving congressmen felt otherwise, and they impeached Johnson for “high crimes and misdemeanors” when he fired his secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, for siding with so-called radical Reconstructionists who insisted on severely punishing the southern states. Those congressmen also insisted that only they could dismiss members of the cabinet, and they passed the Tenure of Office Act—which was later ruled unconstitutional—to make sure that this would be so. Johnson escaped conviction by just one vote, but to this day he is remembered, like Richard Nixon, largely for having touched off a scandal in government.
Calvin Coolidge, a taciturn New Englander, reasoned that by keeping his mouth closed he’d keep out of trouble. The technique usually worked, but Coolidge had a habit that Ronald Reagan shared, and that brought both presidents much criticism. Coolidge, it seems, loved his afternoon nap—which often lasted for three or four hours, on top of eight or nine hours of normal nighttime sleep. Coolidge had a sense of humor about his penchant for sawing logs, even if his political opponents did not; once, when an aide awakened him from a sound midday sleep, Coolidge asked, “Is the country still here?” Coolidge also argued that the country benefited from his nap habit—after all, he said, he couldn’t initiate any potentially costly federal actions while he was asleep.
But there is no time to sleep now. Godspeed, Mr. President. Controversy awaits—but also, it is to be hoped, so do glory and greatness.
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