"The Burning of the World" by Scott W. Berg (2023)

 So much has been written about the Chicago Fire that one would think the topic to be exhausted. Not so. In the hands of Scott Berg the event is explored in a new and ingenious way. There was no Mrs. O'Leary milking her cow. There was a Mrs. Leary, but the fire began at 9 PM, hours after the cow had been milked. There was no lantern for the cow to kick over.

The night before there had been a large fire known as the "Red Flash" fire to the North of where the Leary's lived on DeCoven Street between Jefferson and Clinton. An unseasonably warm October had made the city of mostly wood frame houses a veritable tinderbox, just waiting to be touched off. Most of the Fire Brigades were on stand down from the fire the night before.

What really caused a single dwelling fire to burn so quickly out of control was a combination of an error on the part of the city's fire watch, perched atop the City Hall. Combined with a high South westerly wind which blew flaming embers from DeCoven Street further and further from the point of origin, the fire was quickly out of control. It would burn for 2 days, beginning at 9 PM on the night of October 8th, 1871. 

The book is filled with all the heroics of every disasterous fire, even as the Chicago River, coming off Lake Michigan, boiled. But the real genius of this book is in what happened after the fire. In the age of the telegraph the news spread quickly. And in the age of train travel, fire companies from every state around came by train, each loaded with firefighters and their equipment. 

Within another 48 hours financial aid came pouring in. The "Friends", Quakers from Cincinnati, donated $100,000, providing enough pre cooked soup to feed the city for years if necessary. From this point on the book becomes a tale of what happened next. The political jockeying for the soul of the city was underway. It would wage for over a year, through a winter and an election. 

That election gave way to a Temperance movement and a struggle over "blue laws" to close saloons on Sunday's. No matter that beer and liquor had nothing to do with the fire, the Temperance League saw an opening, and the battle was set.

The big players in this drama were Joseph Medill, the owner of the Chicago Tribune, who became the next Mayor. There was even a new political party formed; the Union-Fireproof Party. The commercial rebuilding began with Marshall Field, owner of the legendary department store. The results were a division between those who wanted to rebuild only in brick rather than wood; setting off an economic clash between the working class, who favored wood as more affordable, and the more well to do, who wanted new fire limits in which buildings would only be of brick. . 

All in all this is an exciting new look at the story of the Great Chicago Fire. That it comes from the pen of Scott Berg should come as no surprise.

A Night in Spain 1979.

 Housebound almost 5 years now. An occasional trip to the restaurant, but not too  often. You'd think I'd be bored. Not really. You see, there is a story to everything you see on my walls. Right down to the little stuff tucked in the frames. 

Take, for instance, this photo. A strip of 4 for 20 Francs, taken in France in early 1979. It is one of only 2 photos I have of me, Dennis in the middle, and Ron Tabb together. That the photo was taken in France I remember distinctly, because I had "zee moustache!" 😀 But this story, several weeks later, took place in Spain.

It was a cold, rainy Spring night, and we got caught in a downpour. The last boat back to the ship  had gone. All the local inns were closed. Soaking wet we found an unlocked car. One of those which ran off a propane tank in the rear. You'd stop and exchange tanks, paying only for the gas. Like a grill. Had to get down to our skivvies because were were soaked! Langlands wouldn't and got real sick, high fever....

Imagine the surprise when the owner came down at the crack of dawn and found the car filled with two half naked guys and one with teeth chattering! 🤣😂🤣😂

I remember him screaming Spanish at us so fast we were hysterical! Drunk as skunks! Not to mention the smell from the smoke! Benefit of our Rating we had no Captain's Mast. 

Dennis has faded away somewhere, chosing to stay away from the past, and be absented from the present.

Ron Tabb tragically passed away about 30 years ago. He couldn't have been more than 40. Married to a girl named Candy, they had 2 kids and lived somewhere near Norman, Oklahoma. I used to laugh at that. I'd be,  "Norman? Never heard of it!"

You can't buy memories, or freinds, like those.........

"The Night Before Christmas"- Read by Louis Armstrong (1971)

 Louis Armstrong loved kids. In the summertime he would come out of his modest home in Queens, near old Shea Stadium, and buy the neighborhood kids ice cream. At other times he would have "block parties". His own impoverished childhood was probably the impetus for this.

He was the reason I began coin collecting. His official bio at the time gave his birthday as July 4th, 1900. So, my first coin was  a 1900 Indian Head Penny. I bought it at the Hobby House on Coney Island Avenue for 75 cents. I was 11 years old and used to fantasize that this coin may have passed through his hands at sometime. I still have it. (His birth date has since been disputed and is currently listed as August 4th, 1901)

On February 26th of 1971, the year he passed away, he was home in Queens, in the same house which is now his museum, and recorded "Twas the Night Before Christmas" on his reel to reel tape recorder. Whether he meant it to be released is not really known. He had thousands of these kind of tapes on his personal collection. You can hear some of them at the museum. Each one has a hand drawn cover which he did in pencil, ink and crayon.

On March 1st he began his last commercial appearance, playing for a few weeks at the Waldorf Astoria. 2 days after the last show he had the first of two heart attacks and by July 6th he passed away in the hospital, 1 floor away from his manager, Joe Glaser, who also passed away shortly after. The two had been together since 1935.

That Christmas his recording of the poem was distributed by the cigarette manufacturer Lorillard, which pressed it onto a million 45-rpm records as a free giveaway for anyone who bought a carton of cigarettes. Some candy store owners sold the records for about 75 cents to neighborhood kids. I was one of them. I had it for decades but lost track of it over the years. Luckily you can still hear it, and download it, from you tube.

Merry Christmas from Louis Armstrong. ❤

Seeing Santa Claus - 1957

I first posted this photo last year. It was taken at A&S on Fulton Avenue in Brooklyn. I was just 2 months past my 3rd birthday, yet I remember this vividly. And not from the photo, which I had not seen for almost 60 years when I was 9. And that was over exposed and very fuzzy. I still have the Brownie camera with which it was taken. Dad never let Mom take the 35mm out by herself. She would definitely have lost it somewhere. It was only 2 years ago when I found the photo and used the simple app on my tablet to make it more viewable. Prior to that I wasn't quite sure what I was looking at! 

I remember that whole year very well for 3 reasons. The first reason was that this was the year my Dad had pneumonia, and he was never ill. Ever. Also, with the luck of the Irish, he was ill during President Eisenhower's 2nd recession, both of which seemed to coincide with his 2 heart attacks. That was in the summer when I was just a few months short of turning 3. 

The 2nd reason was because this was the year when Mom "lost" the car in the parking lot at Riis Park. She had no clue as to where she'd left it, and that was a huge parking lot. Still is. And this necessitated a long ride in a tow truck by the Police to find it, riding up and down the rows of cars before Mom spotted the 1955 turqoise and black Plymouth 4 door behemoth. 

And then, when we got back home to 3619 Bedford Ave, on the corner of Kings Highway, she hit a fire hydrant! She never drove again, though she kept her license current so she could cash checks. It was not a good day for Mom, but to a kid just shy of 3 years old, this day was a real adventure!

The 3rd reason I remember the year so well is because it was also the year I learned to fly a kite! That was on Armistice Day, November 11th, which back then was a Federal Holiday. I still remember the Disabled Vets of the First World War selling the green and red Poppie pins for 2 cents at the entrance to the elevated Subway station on Kings Highway. They got around by using their gloved hands to propel themselves on "dollies" which served as their missing legs. 

My own Grandfather was already dead, a belated victim of that same war. He passed away with the steel plate in his head where the artillery had taken away part of his skull. He was a New York City Policeman who used alcohol to ease the daily pain for 25 years, which brought on the heart attack which took his life at age 43. 

So, this memory is crystal clear. It was a weekday, and we took the Subway to Fulton Avenue, which involved changing trains, probably at the Prospect Park station. 

By the time December rolled around I was pretty much aware of everything that was going on. And so remembering Santa is a cinch. I asked for a fire truck and a tank, which actually shot plastic cannonballs. I used it to shatter just about every Christmas ornament on our Christmas tree. I also got a Cowboy belt with 2 cap pistols and a Cowboy hat. Peace on Earth! 🤣 

There were other gifts, such as clothing, but that didn't really register with a 3 year old. As a matter of fact I remember feeling "cheated", as those things were necessities, so I would have gotten them anyway. And that is the story behind my memory of this photo. Still not sure who took the photo though, because that is my Mom on the extreme right.

Christmas Comes But Once a Year - Max and Dave Fleischer (1936)

Once again I am going to post a cartoon from Christmas past in the days leading up to the holiday. I always loved this old classic. I’m posting it again because it’s a great example of the quality of the animation in the 1930's. And, Max and Dave Fleischer were two of the best.

They often worked separately on various projects, though their best works are probably the collaborations they produced with the Popeye cartoons and Betty Boop series. They also made a boatload of feature cartoons like this one, which is a wonderful little story about an orphanage on Christmas morning. If you have seen this before, I hope that you enjoy it once more. 

"Kilroy Was Here" - A Christmas Story

"Kilroy Was Here" has been part of the American vocabulary ever since World War Two. And the story behind it is not often told. In a way, it involves Christmas,  so I thought I would post it here and tell the story of the phrase and also how it connects to Christmas. 

During the Second World War, when the United States was turning out ships and planes at a rapid rate, "checkers" were required to make the rounds of the shipyards and factories, inspecting the work. When they were done they placed a mark, with chalk, on the item to show that it had passed inspection. The appropriate riveter/welder would then get credit for the work, and hence, paid accordingly.

Soldiers began to see these marks, along with the words "Kilroy Was Here", wherever they went during the war. Wherever they went, they assumed they were the first, only to be greeted by the words that had become a slogan. There were now several Kilroy’s from coast to coast. But only one was the original.

There is even a story about the Potsdam Conference in 1945 which concerns “Kilroy.” A modern outhouse had been built for the exclusive use of Truman, Stalin, and Churchill. The first person to use it was Stalin. When he finished and came out he asked his aide, "Who is this Kilroy?"

At any rate, fast forward a bit to the end of 1946. The Second World War was over and the shipyards were shuttered. An unemployed shipyard worker named James Kilroy was facing a bleak Christmas, with no toys for the kids. That's when he first heard of the search for the real Kilroy!

The 2nd photo, below, is from the Boston American, dated December 23, 1946 and shows the Kilroy family with a trolley car in their front yard. They had won the trolley in a radio contest put forth by The Transit Company of America, offering the trolley as a prize to the individual who could prove that they were the "real" Kilroy. Of the forty odd men who made that claim, only James Kilroy was able to produce officials from the shipyard, and even some of his fellow riveters, to prove his claim. Having won the prize, he now had to get it home! And there was a blizzard coming! So, the real story involves how it almost didn't make it on time.

But, with the help of the Transit Company of America, and a local railroad spur, along with a truck and a crane, the trolley was delivered on time, where it served many years as a playhouse for James Kilroy's children. It was a Christmas they would never forget. And that, as Paul Harvey would say, is the rest of the story.

"Tenth Avenue Angel" with Angela Lansbury and Margaret O'Brien (1948)

Looking for a great Christmas film? You just found one. It begins in the late summer of 1936 in New York City and winds up on Christmas Eve at midnight. Something went wrong with the upload, so use this link instead.....https://youtu.be/SruIpM523RM?si=W3tJLcFnKumowZFK

Eight-year-old Flavia (Margaret O'Brien) lives in a New York tenement during the Great Depression with her mother Helen (Phyllis Thaxter), and father Joe (Warner Anderson), who's nearly broke and needs a job. Her aunt Susan (Angela Lansbury) lives with them, too. Flavia's thrilled because her aunt's sweetheart, Steve (George Murphy), is returning from a one-year absence. The little girl is unaware that Steve has been in jail for racketeering. She has been told he was a sailor on a long voyage

Flavia lives in a world built around fantasies and white lies told to her by her mother and Aunt. For instance, when she sees a mouse and is afraid, her mother tells her a story that if you catch a mouse and make a wish, it will turn into money. 

In the midst of the Depression everybody's desperate for money. Flavia's mother Helen is pregnant and faces physical complications. Steve is unable to get his old job back, driving a taxi. His  gangster friends offer him a quick job stealing a truck, but Steve's conscience gets the better of him at the last minute and he backs out.

This leads Flavia to catch a mouse, which she hides in a cigar box in an alley near Mac (the blind newspaper man's) stand. She wants the money to buy Steve a taxi cab of his own. Christmas Eve is now fast approaching. 

Two neighborhood youths rob "Blind" Mac (Rhys Williams) and, by coincidence, hide the money in the girl's box after finding it and throwing out the mouse. Flavia then returns and finds that the mouse really has turned into money! She is overjoyed; until the adults accuse her of stealing it from Blind Mac. Her mother has to tell her the truth about the story and Flavia realizes that so many things she has been told are "lies". This leads her to a crisis of faith. 

Her mother is having a rough time in the last stages of her pregnancy and, in an effort to give Flavia back her faith that all will be well, tells her another "story" about how on Christmas Eve all cows kneel at midnight in homage to Jesus' birth, just as in the scene of the Manger. Flavia is desperate to believe this, but assumes it to be just another "lie". 

Still, in desperation for her Mom, she tries to find a kneeling cow in New York City on Christmas Eve. It is now approaching midnight; and the last few minutes of the film. She heads to the railroad by the meat market to find one out the "truth" before it's too late. Her whole world now depends on finding out if cows really do kneel, or if this is just another "lie." 

This is a delightful, and well written drama about a young girl's search to have her faith restored. Along the way she discovers that life is really made up of a balance between truth and faith. And when the church bells ring at midnight; all is revealed.

"X Troop" by Leah Garrett (2021)

This is a book which should be read by all who wish to study the Second World War more completely. It is at once a story of sadness and the subjugation of the Jewish people, and then becomes the story of a group of young Jewish men from Germany and Eastern Europe who are fortunate enough to escape the Nazis, albeit with no clear future before them.

From there it becomes the story of a group of men who have lost everything. Their homes, their futures, their families and even their names. They are strangers in a strange land; Britain. There they find themselves refugees, moved around from one refugee camp to another. Some are even shipped to Austrailia along with German POW's, who, as combatants have more rights via the Geneva Convention than the victims they sought to annihilate.

The POW's have the required living space and food specified by law. The refugees are packed, like cattle, into the hold of the ship, fed only scraps of food and only allowed on deck 15 minutes per day. They are harassed by the POW's as well as the Britush crew members. Their meager belongings are confiscated and, when not stolen, are thrown over the side, into the sea, lost seemingly forever, just as with their identities.

Once in Australia they are kept in Concentration camps, little better off than the labor camps they sought to escape in Europe. After a time there they are returned to England and things become a bit better. Some are placed in the country side and grow food which the British need to feed their troops. But some, not many, have a different fate before them. These are the men who become Commando fighters, serving as "X Troop".

The book is replete with characters, who, if not real, would be unbelievable in a novel. Take for instance "Fighting Jack Churchill" aka "Mad Jack", no relation to Sir Winston, who fought in the war with a longbow, a hilted Scottish broadsword, and a bagpipe. He would help train, and lead, these mostly intellectual half starved refugees into a fighting force no writer could invent.

It took more than two years, much of the time spent in Wales and Scotland, climbing sheer rockfaced mountains, running 53 miles with full packs before swimming back to base in freezing waters to mold them. And they met every obstacle fueled by hatred and revenge for the Nazis, not knowing if their families back home were still alive.

Forced to virtually abandon their own religion, they had to learn to speak English with no trace of an accent. Then, to perfect this, they were quartered in private homes with families who hardly recognized them as refugees.

Interwoven in all this is also the story of the Rothschilds, particularly Miriam, who was self educated by virtue of her grandfather and father. She spent 16 hour days at Bletchley Park, cracking the German's Enigma Code. And along the way she fell in love with Captain George Lane, one of the refugees and a member of X Troop.

They married in secret, and she was carrying his child when he was captured in France. It was there he faced the greatest danger. He was interrogated by Feld Marshal Rommel, in the country mansion which was his secret headquarters. They even shared a cup of tea as Rommel tried to figure out when and where the invasion of France would take place.

From there, rather than being executed, as he expected, Captain Lane was sent to a prison camp in an abandoned castle. There was no food, but there was an extensive library, from which he was able to identify Rommel's headquarters. And with the aid of a secret radio transmitter constructed by the prisoners he was able to get that information back to Britain, resulting in a bombing raid which would have  killed Rommel had he not committed suicide after being implicated in a plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler in October 1944.

In this same transmission he was also able to alert Miriam that he was still alive.
Reunited after his escape, the two remained married until 1957 when they seperated. They had two sons and four daughters. Rothschild was a leading world authority on fleas, butterflies, and pyrazines and chemical communication, all self educated. But that story is another book altogether.

Even today, in Wales, there is a monument, erected to these extraordinary men, whom the town fully embraced as their own. When not on duty they were feted at town dances, and some romances and unlikely marriages resulted from this.

These men were trained in counterintelligence and advanced combat, the result being a highly trained suicide squad. They would literally stop at nothing to defeat the Nazis.

The author avails herself of declassified records, and interviews with the last surviving members, to follow this extraordinary group to the beaches of Normandy,  battlefields of Italy and Holland, and finally to Terezin concentration camp, where some came face to face with the skeletal, living remains of their own parents.

And after all the battles, the deprivations, the re-inventions of themselves, they faced an even bigger battle after the war was over. These men, without whom D-Day could have gone on as scheduled, are forced to fight Parliment to become citizens of the country they so honorably served. Of all the challenges they faced, and all the odds against them, this was perhaps the most despicable of all.

"China" (1943) with William Bendix, Alan Ladd and Loretta Young

William Bendix is a favorite old black and white actor of mine. Known largely for playing  tough guy roles, as well as in other fims, he is legendary. Two of my favorites are "A Dark Corner", opposite Lucille Ball and Clifton Webb. Or in this film, "China", with Alan Ladd, where the two adopt a young Chinese girl orphaned by the Japanese.

In this film Alan Ladd is often credited as being the template later used for the character of Indiana Jones, complete with leather jacket and hat. In addition to his costume,  Alan Ladd plays a character named David Jones, further cementing the connection.

With William Bendix at his side, the two confront obstacle after obstacle as mercenaries in war torn China on the eve of Pearl Harbor. Also of note are that Sen Yung, Richard Loo and Soo Yong are just some of the actual Asian actors who played roles in this film. And not as stereotypical typecast characters, but as dedicated heroic guerillas fighting the Japanese.

You will also remember Bendix as the tough guy from Brooklyn in just about every World War Two classic war film. Always out front, and always the most likely to be killed while defending a buddy.

A pal of James Cagney he played the bartender in Cagney's early self produced adaptation of the play "Time of Our Lives", which also starred James Barton, Ward Bond and Broderick Crawford.  In that  film all of the actors played off type roles.

Produced by Cagney's brother Bill and starring his kid sister Jean, it lost the $250,000  which was spent to make it. Cagney, an avid theater lover and good "hoofer", put his money into this one simply because he thought the play, by William Saroyan,  hadn't been given a fair shake by the critics.

Bendix was also known for his early TV sitcom "Life of Riley", on which he reprised the character he played for several years before it's successful transition to TV. The series was so well loved by all age groups that the character of Riley was even turned into comic bar star in 1958.

He even played "Babe" in the film, "The Babe Ruth" Story". And, he also played baseball for real, in a way. He'd been a bat Boy as a teenager for the Yankees as a teenager in the 1920's He wasxfired for not getting Ruth all the hotdogs he was wanted before that days game began and worked as a grocer in the1930's.

One of his other well known roles was in "The Glass Key", which featured Brian Donlevy, Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake in the leads. He drew real notice in Alfred Hitchcock's "Lifeboat", in which he played "Gus",  a wounded and dying American sailor.

But my all time favorite Bendix role is in the film, "Macao" as an undercover NYC police detective opposite Robert Mitchum, who plays a broke and wandering ex Naval Officer  who cannot go back to America due to having killed someone. With Jane Russell as the female lead, doing her own singing live, on the soundstage, that film rocks.

He is also in his element in the film, "Crashout",  as the head of a prison break by 6 men. No long intro leading up to it, the film starts immediately with no flashbacks, and moves all the way to it's inevitale conclusion.

Crisply preserved, many of his films are available at my favorite price of free, on You Tube. I love bringing these film out by voice command on my tablet, and then "casting" them to my  TV,  in my case, a 49" Roku. Modest but great for they type of films i enjoy most. Black and white.

"Pudd'nhead Wilson" by Mark Twain

For some reason this is the one book by Mark Twain I never had a desire to read. And now that I have I can say honestly that it is probably his best work. It is, at once, a mystery and a satire. And yet it raises very pertinent questions.

Are we the products of our background and upbringing? Or are we really the by-products of what society makes of us?

This is a very nuanced tale, encompassing a bit of history as well as a grand adventure which takes place in the fictional town of Dawson's Landing on the banks of the Mississippi River in the years before the Civil War. 

Truly, this book proves, literally, that what is black and what is white is not always as it seems. And also, that people are not whom they may appear to be.

Buddy L. - Toy Trucks

Sue brought home this pressed steel toy "scale" modeled truck yesterday. She git it for free and intended to give it to her grand nephew as a gift. I pointed out that the edges were sharp, and the steel was heavy, both posing a hazard to her nephew.  Really though, I wanted the truck for myself. 

These rugged little toys are collector's items and even this stripped down version is worth $75 on e-bay. With all the original parts intact it goes for about $200. Now I love the kid, but he'd be much happier with a $12.95 battery powered modern toy which does wheelies, etc. than this antique from the late 1940's which you have to push by hand and make noises by yourself. 

The history of these trucks is pretty interesting. "Buddy L", was an American toy brand founded in 1920 as the Buddy L Toy Company in East Moline, Illinois, by Fred Lundahl. He simply wanted to make a toy truck for his son. So he used scrap steel from the car bumpers he had been making with the Moline Pressed Steel Company which he began in 1910. 

They originally manufactured automobile fenders and other auto body parts for cars and trucks. They primarily supplied parts for the McCormick-Deering line of farm implements and the International Harvester Company.

But Fred quickly saw there was a market for these made to scale toys. So he began to design and produce an assortment  of all-steel miniature trucks modeled after an International Harvester truck, all made from 18- and 20-gauge steel from company scrap.

Buddy L made other toys, such as cars, dump trucks, delivery vans, fire engines, construction equipment, and even trains. The Fire Engine goes for up to $800 in good condition! He marketed these as "Toys for Boys." Many were even large enough for a child to sit on and propel with their feet. Others were simply pull toys. 

A pioneer in the steel-toy field, he persuaded Marshall Field's and F. A. O. Schwarz to carry the line. He did well until the Great Depression, when he sold the company for cash.

After several transitions from heavy steel to plastic, and several different owners, the company suffered a recall in August 2000 for overheated batteries. And by November 2000, the owners, Empire of Carolina filed for bankruptcy. In July 2001, Empire Industries was sold to Alpha International, Inc., of Cedar Rapids, Iowa which was renamed Gearbox Toys and is now owned by J. Lloyd International.

But there will never be heavy steel trucks such as the originals again. They are now collector's items. Glad I snatched this one up. With noble intentions, of course! 😀

Ramblewood Road

Of all the things my eyes have seen
in waking moments, fresh from dreams,
there is a memory still cuts keen
as sun cuts at the dawning.

I'd look at her there curled in sleep
afraid to move, I'd almost weep
at beauty that could cut so deep,
I'd wait to see her yawning.

Pondering how it came to be
that such beauty lay with me.
I'd watch her breathe and wait to see
her eyes light up the morning.

Wondering how, we'd come together
her first sigh, light as a feather,
became a crash like thunderous weather
her storm was as a warning.

Her sighs, her cries, her very eyes
were bright, as were the morning skies.
Her beauty almost made me cry
as I felt her body warming.

A touch, a kiss, afraid to miss
the smallest move which brought such bliss.
She opened like a blossom kissed
with dew from summer's storming.

These memories come from long ago
and speak of love I'd not yet known.
Remembering now how much I'd grown
I find myself in mourning.


For Leslie Ann Billmire
Hereford High School
Baltimore Maryland
1940-1989

If anyone has a photo of Leslie I would love to have a copy to post with this poem.
You can reach me at robertrswwilliams@yahoo.com 

"Killers of the Flower Moon" by David Grann (2017)

This book tells the story of one of the most notorious cases of the 20th century. Unfortunately it was buried by the egotism of J. Edgar Hoover who hogged the limelight and deprived the true story of Texas Ranger Tom White, who, first as a Texas Ranger, and then as an Agent of what was shortly to become the FBI, led an almost 5 year investigation into the multiple murders of several dozen Osage Indians in Oklahoma during the 1920's.

Oil had been discovered on the Osage Reservation, making millionaires of the the tribe's members. But it didn't take long for the white man to devise a way of scamming them of at least part of their wealth.

By reasoning that Indians didn't understand money, or how to handle it, they concocted laws which made it mandatory for each Indian to have a white trustee. Soon white men and women descended upon the Reservation and started marrying the Osage. After that the Judges began to award trusteeships to whites in exchange for securing their votes at election time.

Suddenly, in 1921,  there were murders, poisonings and all manners of schemes afoot to gain hold of the "headrights" to the Osage parcels of land. Each parcel was 160 acres and oil companies came to bid under what became known as the "Million Dollar Elm" for leases to these "headrights".

The book begins in May 1921, with the disappearance of an Osage woman named Mollie Burkhart. When found she had been shot in the head and dumped in a ravine. Local authorities couldn't/wouldn't solve the case. Soon more deaths followed, all with the same lack of prosecution.  It seemed that no white jury would convict a white man of murdering an Indian.

When the investigation was finally handed over to the Texas Rangers things looked as if there would be convictions. But, due to the influence of one man, William Hale, nothing changed at all. Hale controlled everything that happened; on and off the Reservation.

This is also the story of the time when the Bureau of Investigation was under the leadership of William Burns. He was just as bad as the State when it came to results. But by 1925 the Bureau became the FBI and J.Edgar Hoover took over. At the same time Texas Ranger Tom White became an FBI agent and Hoover assigned him to the case.

For another 3 years there were investigations and trials, and even more murders. But no convictions. Finally, through Jurisdictional wrangling, the case wound up in Federal Court. State verdicts were overturned as witnesses recanted and juries were proven to have been bribed.

Too complicated for a simple review, take my advice and read this book before the movie is released. Martin Scorsese is directing the film version which will be starring Robert DeNiro and Leonardo DiCaprio as the two leaders of the criminals responsible for the murders. Some of these murders even involved their own family members.

In the 1930's Lucky Strike tried a radio show based on the case but struck out. Later on,  Agent and former Texas Ranger Tom White tried his hand at a book which became a fictional screenplay. Again, it didn't make it. By that time the FBI had moved on and J. Edgar Hoover became a national hero due to the John Dillinger case and the birth of the "G-Man." Unwilling to share the truth of this shameful story of exploitation, and dilute his own place in the spotlight, there was no way he was going to share any glory with the real hero of the earlier case, former Texas Ranger Tom White.

The book is all encompassing, covering the history of the Osage, the discovery of oil and the history of the oil barons it created. No movie will ever be able to fully tell the story as well as David Gram does in the book. He lived with it and researched it for 6 years before it was released in 2017. I'll say it again; read the book first. It will enrich you. 

Spain, Hitler and Nuetrality

Hitler and Mussolini had helped Spain fight the Communists in the 1930's Spanish Civil War. But, as the Axis Powers could not convince Spain to join them, by 1940, the Spanish relied on US oil and grain to meet her needs. Also the British controlled Gibraltar and access to the Mediterranean. In effect, Spain, a Facist nation, was surrounded physically, and economically, by the Allied Powers.

While the Germans and Italians had supported Fascist Spain in the 1930's Civil War,  the US officially remained nuetral while allowing Americans to form the Lincoln Brigade to fight on the Communist side against Franco and the Axis Powers. This later came back to haunt the American volunteers in the McCarthy era, when they were considered to be Communist sympathizers.

Twice, between 1940 and 1944 Franco met with Hitler. In 1940 he formed the Blue Brigade to help Hitler, but that Brigade was only to be used to fight Russia on the Eastern Front, not against any other Allied nation. The Spanish could hardy refuse, because they owed the Germans $212 million from the Spanish Civil War, and simply didn't have the funds to pay it back.

The US then scaled back their support, guaranteeing only a 10 week supply as long as Franco was helping Hitler on the Eastern Front. When America and Britain won North Africa in 1942 Franco switched back to complete neutrality, and our full economic support returned.

In return, Franco agreed to keep a fortified border in the Pyrenees and Iberian Mountains to deter the Nazis from entering Spain, which was now bounded on all 4 sides, by the Atlantic to the West, the mountains to the East and Britain and the U.S. to the North and South at Gibraltar, the gateway to the Atantic as well as the entrance to the Mediterranean.

In 1944 when Franco was approached again by Hitler, the US  again imposed an embargo and cut aid. By that time the Axis powers could not provide Spain with the needed goods and so those talks went nowhere, forcing the Spanish to stay neutral.

Spain was not the only neutral country in the Second World War. The Chinese supplied Germany with tungsten for steel, and in turn, Germany provided China with money and arms to fight the Japanese, at the same time as the the US was conducting the  Flying Tiger ops against Japan. Essentially China profited from both sides. It was the only time that the US and Germany were on the same side during the War.

The Portuguese provided Hitler with the tungsten steel needed. They also provided tungsten to the Germans from their colony of Brazil in South America. The rest of South America followed Mexico against the Nazis after Germany sank 2 Mexican oil tankers. Brazil and Argentina were the only exceptions. After the war Argentina was the country to which the Nazis fled to avoid prosecution for War Crimes.

It was a diplomatic mess, which also kept Ireland from entering the war against Germany, even while sending workers to Britain to work in the war plants for much needed employment. Hatred of Britain due to the Bloody Sunday incidents before and between both WW1 and WW2 also played a major role in this decision by Ireland to take this stand.

The Swedish, who could not rely on Britain to protect them from Russia or Germany,  led to their nuetrality even as they provided Germany a safe haven for her finances. At the same time, they played this exact financial and humanitarian role for the US. and its Allies with the Geneva Convention. In addition, Germany, by now fighting Russia, provided the Swedish with protection from that end.

All of these factors make the 2nd World War a complex study. In literature and film, all of these facts are portayed in books such as Hemingway's "For Whom the Bells Toll", and films such as "Casablanca", and even the post war classic "Gilda." All of which first piqued my interest in the subject of nuetrality.

General Sherman said "War is Hell", but it sure creates some great literature.....

The Mezzuzah's

 

My daughter Sarah went to Halifax on business. She was gone about a week. She lives in a high rise luxury building in Silver Sring, Maryland. They have 24 hour on site Security, cameras and a Concierge. 

When she left, this Mezzuzah, shown above, was hanging on her outside apartment door frame. Sue and I bought it for her when she moved out of our home and married. It has graced the outside door frame of every place she has lived for the last 19 years. Almost half her life. 

She came home to the photo shown below. It is  It is possible, but not very probable, that this was the work of an outsider. More than likely it was done by a custodian, or worse, by a neighbor in the building. Someone she sees each day.

I often wonder about the fate of the many Mezzuzahs which hung outside of my friends apartments when growing up in Brooklyn. My Father and my brother simply left ours when my Mom passed and my Dad moved out. 

I remember that as I left Apartment 2-H that last time, I only had a big scredriver with me and slid it under the edge of the Mezzuzah and pried it loose. I got married 2 years later to Sue, who is Christian, and hung it inside the house on our bedroom door frame. It has hung in that same spot in every home we have lived.

It was a small one, not very sturdily made, or even fancy. Several years ago my daughter bought me a new one,  much larger and more ornate. I took the older, smaller one, and placed the whole thing inside of the new one. And rehung it as one. Somehow that appealed to me. Maybe it represented a sign of continuity. The old one was a part of my life growing up. My Uncle Irving used to kiss his finger tips and then touch it each time he entered our apartment. They are shown, together in the next photo just before I rehung it here at our home on Stonecroft Lane.

No point to this; except that evil will always be around us. It takes many forms. And it is up to us all to report it when it happens, and move to stop it when we see it. And then replace the loss as best we can. It is both the most, and the least, that we can do.

"The Proof of Worth" by Edward Albert Guest

 The Proof of Worth

by Edgar Albert Guest  (1881-1959)

Born in Birmingham, England and emigrated to Detroit as a child. I cannot find the year this poem was published, but it was probably between the two World Wars. His style is somewhat like Rudyard Kipling and reads easily, while still managing to say much. This is one of my favorite poems of his, though it is often overlooked. 

Though victory's proof of the skill you possess,

Defeat is the proof of your grit;

A weakling can smile in his days of success,

But at trouble's first sign he will quit.

So the test of the heart and the test of your pluck

Isn't skies that are sunny and fair,

But how do you stand to the blow that is struck

And how do you battle despair?

A fool can seem wise when the pathway is clear

And it's easy to see the way out,

But the test of man's judgment is something to fear,

And what does he do when in doubt?

And the proof of his faith is the courage he shows

When sorrows lie deep in his breast;

It's the way that he suffers the griefs that he knows

That brings out his worst or his best.

The test of a man is how much he will bear

For a cause which he knows to be right,

How long will he stand in the depths of despair,

How much will he suffer and fight?

There are many to serve when the victory's near

And few are the hurts to be borne,

But it calls for a leader of courage to cheer

The men in a battle forlorn.

It's the way you hold out against odds that are great

That proves what your courage is worth,

It's the way that you stand to the bruises of fate

That shows up your stature and girth.

And victory's nothing but proof of your skill,

Veneered with a glory that's thin,

Unless it is proof of unfaltering will,

And unless you have suffered to win.

"Rich Men North of Richmond" - Oliver Anthony

I've been selling my soul
Working all day
Overtime hours
For bullshit pay
So I can sit out here and waste my life away
Drag back home and drown my troubles away

It's a damn shame
What the world's gotten to
For people like me and people like you
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true
But it is, oh, it is

Living in the new world
With an old soul
These rich men north of Richmond
Lord knows they all just want to have total control
Wanna know what you think
Wanna know what you do
And they don't think you know, but I know that you do
Cause your dollar ain't shit, and it's taxed to no end
'Cause of rich men north of Richmond

I wish politicians would look out for miners
And not just minors on an island somewhere
Lord, we got folks in the street, ain't got nothing to eat
And the obese milking welfare

Well God, if you're 5 foot 3 and you're 300 pounds
Taxes ought not to pay for your bags of fudge rounds
Young men are putting themselves six feet in the ground
'Cause all this damn country does is keep on kicking them down

Lord, it's a damn shame
What the world's gotten to
For people like me and people like you
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true
But it is, oh, it is

Living in the new world
With an old soul
These rich men north of Richmond
Lord knows they all just want to have total control
Wanna know what you think
Wanna know what you do
And they don't think you know, but I know that you do
'Cause your dollar ain't shit, and it's taxed to no end
'Cause of rich men north of Richmond

I've been selling my soul
Working all day
Overtime hours
For bullshit pay.

  

Green Irish Eyes

With your flannel shirts and your Irish eyes

it's easy to see that you hold no disguise.

Hair streaming wet and newly Baptized,

there's no escaping your green Irish eyes!

Surrounded by snow, or in the Sun's glow,

whom could you meet that you don't really know?

You may seem private, but not very shy,

there's no escape from your green Irish eyes!

Late in the evening or early sunrise,

with a bold countenance or tears in your cries

You baffle your foes and keep them surprised

you lash them all with your green Irish eyes.

Like the howl of the wolf or the bark of a hound

with a look that speaks in ethereal sound.

Gently seizing souls they can mesmerize,

there is such a strength in those green Irish eyes.

July 20th, 2023

4 AM

Charlie's Good Tonight by Paul Sexton (2022)

What can you say about the Rolling Stones which hasn't already been written? Quite alot as it turns out. Especially in a biography of the enigmatic Charlie Watts. Of all the Rolling Stones he was perhaps the one whose life was the least chronicled until now.

From the very first page, with Forewords by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, this book by longtime Stones biographer Paul Sexton swings just like Charlie Watts did, never missing a beat. And it is certainly on time.

Basically Mr. Watts was a gentleman throwback to an earlier era. He even wished he had been born in the 1800's. He was the most satorially turned out of the band, eschewing the wilder clothes of his profession for the stately dress of an earlier era. He even owned, and wore, antique suits which once graced the body of King Edward III. They were the exact same build, as he found out after buying the suits at an auction, intending to have them replicated by his tailor.

He took pride in his unusual collections of jazz memorabilia, including unplayed 78 PRM's which he bought from an obscure record store in Vienna. These were original issues of some of the finest recordings ever made, still in the original record sleeves, where they remained, unplayed, in his collection.

He had an incureable case of OCD which he used to his advantage in his collections of cars, clothes, antique guns and of course in his music. His sense of humor is unchallenged in the world of rock and roll. Case in point is when a fan, at the conclusion of an interview, which he hated to do, asked him repeatedly for something, anything, to remember her encounter with him. He stood up and gave her his chair.

With his wife of 6 decades, Shirley, he had over 250 Arab Stallions. Some went for as much as $700,000 apiece. Together, the two ran a stud farm. He also collected antique carriages and owned hand bespoke riding outfits, although he didn't ride. Par for the course since he owned many fine automobiles, even though he didn't possess a driver's license. He simply enjoyed sitting in them.

The book was written by Paul Sexton, using private conversations he'd had with the drummer for about 40 years as the basis of the biography. These are carefully collated with memories of those who knew him best. There are stories by childhood friends with whom he played jazz music for the rest of his life. They even toured quietly when the Stones were not on the road.

On the road he missed home, often calling his wife and daughter Seraphina, for hours after a show, while his bandmates lived the wilder side of the business. When he was home he wanted to tour. His only encounter with the wild side of the business came in Paris, when during the early 1980's he had what Keith Richards describes as " a wobble of his own." Alcohol and hard drugs were his choice for just a few short years before he simply quit using them. No rehab. Just quit.

The book is written in the chronological order of his life. His passions, his love of family are all on display. Whenever possible he took his wife on tour with their daughter. In later years his granddaughter Charlotte was his companion on the road. It was a truly loving relationship they shared, and touching to read about.

The book is written in such a way as enables you to keep reading. The book's 330 odd pages flew by with little effort. I thoroughly enjoyed it and hope that others will read it with the same result. It is at once the highly personal biography of a basically private man. He never really understood what all the fuss was about.

And in the end, Mick Jagger had it right in 1969, when he famously remarked on "Get Yer Ya Ya's Out", that "Charlie's good tonight...." But then again he always was. This was a superb read. 

"G-Man" by Beverly Gage (2022)

With its 59 pages of Notes covering each if its 58 chapters, and a 20 page Bibliography, this carefully researched biography of J. Edgar Hoover may be the best yet. It is the Winner of the 2023 Pulitzer Prize in Biography, as well as the Winner of the 2022 National Book Critics Circle Award. 

The actual biographical portion spans over 750 pages and after a brief portion devoted to his years as a child, it dives into a decade by decade narrative of one of the most unusual lives of the 20th century. Both his presence and its impact are still felt today. 

From the years leading up to the First World War, the first Red Scare and the resultant Palmer Raids,  through the years of Prohibition and the Teapot Dome Scandal this is a book which  keeps on giving.

Sifting through every source available to the author, Ms. Gage has penned a biography which will surprise you in many ways. It overturns many assumptions made by previous authors on such issues as Hoover's stance on subjects from Japanese Internment Camps; he was against it; to his views on treating Jim Crow and Civil Rights in the same way he viewed Communism. In many ways this book is an eye opener.

And yet, when it comes to his refusal to accept the existence of a nationwide Organized Crime Syndicate, to his rocky relationship with the Kennedy's and his subsequent stonewalling of the Warren Commission, there are few surprises.

The most eye opening portions of this book, for me, involved the way President Johnson was able to get him to view the Civil Rights Struggle in the same way he had come to view Organized Crime and the Labor Racketeers as two sides of the same coin. They were all law breakers. 

His biggest errors are not ignored either. The Cointrel program, in which he justified the Agency's spying on the Civil Rights and Anti-War Movements, are treated as exactly what they were, an Overreach and Abuse of Power which has set the tone of the FBI through to the current day. The book offers no excuses. But it does provide explanations of how it evolved from its initial legitimacy to the rocky and suspect political bureaucracy it has become. 

There is much to be gleaned from this painstakingly researched biography. I have barely scraped the surface in this review. As the longest serving Director if the Bureau, 48 years, this is the story of a man who left his mark on Anerica, for better or for worse. And as such, it is a book well worth the reading.

The Flying Dutchman

We have all heard of the Flying Dutchman, usually as a sea story or the Opera by Wagner. But through the years, up through the 1960's, there have been  many sightings of her, all of which ended in misfortune. Among the most credible is the one by Prince, later King George V,  in 1881. Here is his story, in his own words, as entered in the log of the HMS Bacchante in 1881.

"We Meet the Flying Dutchman"

"The Cruise of Her Majesty's Ship "Bacchante," 1881

"July 11th, [1881] -- At 4:00 a.m. the Flying Dutchman crossed our bows. A strange red light as of a phantom ship all aglow, in the midst of which light the masts, spars, and sails of a brig 200 yards distant stood out in strong relief as she came up on the port bow. The lookout man on the forecastle reported her as close on the port bow, where also the officer of the watch from the bridge clearly saw her, as did also the quarterdeck midshipman, who was sent forward at once to the forecastle; but on arriving there no vestige nor any sign whatever of any material ship was to be seen either near or right away to the horizon, the night being clear and the sea calm. Thirteen persons altogether saw her, but whether it was Van Diemen or the Flying Dutchman or who else must remain unknown."

"The Tourmaline and Cleopatra, who were sailing on our starboard bow, flashed to ask whether we had seen the strange red light. At 6:15 a.m. observed land (Mount Diana) to the northeast. At 10:45 a.m. the ordinary seaman who had this morning reported the Flying Dutchman fell from the foretopmast crosstrees on to the topgallant forecastle and was smashed to atoms. At 4:15 p.m. after quarters we hove to with the head-yards aback, and he was buried in the sea. He was a smart royal yardman, and one of the most promising young hands in the ship, and every one feels quite sad at his loss. (At the next port we came to the Admiral also was smitten down)."

Memorial Day - William Shone Williams

Like millions of others all over the world, the First World War  would have a lasting impact on the Williams family. This picture is of my paternal Grandfather, William Shone Williams, in North Carolina, just prior to shipping out for France. Growing up in the 1950's and 1960's, my family never talked much about my Grandfather's experience in the War. As a matter of fact, I never even met the man. He passed away about 8 years before I made my entrance into the world. So, naturally, I have been fascinated by him my entire life.

Two years ago I began looking into his wartime service to see where he went when he joined the Army and the 27th Division in the spring of 1917. The story is still missing several pieces but this is a brief account of what I have discovered so far by using photos provided to me by my favorite Aunt Gloria.


He was in the 27th Division of the NY 107th US Infantry, under the command of Major General John F. O'Ryan. This was their insignia, composed of the letters NY in an arched fashion to closely resemble the constellation Orion, a play on the major's last name. It's handle also points to the brightest star in the sky, Sirius. They became known as the "Orion Division."

The 27th trained at Camp Wadsworth in South Carolina through the winter of 1917-18. While there they published a weekly paper called "The Gas Attack" and later this name was changed to "The Gas Attack of the NY Division". The first issue was published in November of 1917 and the last was on May 4th, 1918 as they were about to transfer to Norfolk. Another issue was put out in France at Christmastime 1918, after the war was over. Another was issued right before the Division came home to a huge parade in NY in March 1919.

In Spartanburg there were two colleges and the one most favored for dances etc was the Converse College for Girls. There are quite a few photos on line of soldiers on leave in Spartanburg during that time. I keep looking for my Grandfather.

This is a photo of Major General John F. O'Ryan. He is shown standing on a snow bank at Camp Wadsworth. My Grandfather must have recognized him and took the photo. They were at Spartanburg from Nov 1917 through May 4th 1918 when they shifted to Norfolk for deployment to England.

Interesting side note; Spartanburg was the only place in South Carolina that did not welcome the Northern Divisions. (See the NY Times Article dated August 31st, 1917.) It concerns the Mayor of Spartanburg and his venomous attack upon the presence of "Yankee" troops. Apparently, there was also an African-American Division there at the same time. Captain N.B. Marshall, an African American of the NY Bar Association was called a "dirty nigger" and thrown from a street car in one instance. When Frank De Broit, an African-American private, attempted to buy a newspaper in a hotel lobby, with the permission of his Lt., a man named Europe, he was knocked to the ground by the hotel clerk. About fifty members of the NY 27th Division jumped in, hell bent on murdering the hotel clerk when they heard the command, ""Attention!" called out by Lt. Europe, who then ordered the men to cease their action and file out peacefully two by two.(He was, apparently, an early version of Martin Luther King.)

Major O'Ryan wrote a book about the whole experience, from Spartanburg to France and then coming home again in 1919. It's called "The Story of the 27th Division" and can be found online and read for free. You can even download it as a PDF file. http://www.archive.org/details/storyof27thdivis02oryauoft

Once in England they trained jointly with the British troops and appear to have crossed the Channel at Dover to France and marched down South towards Paris. On the way he would have taken the photo of the "Ponts de la Soissons" which is the Bridge at Soissons. From there they would likely have gone on South to Paris to group up before starting the final offensive of the war, referred to as the Muese-Argonne campaign and included the Second Battle of Verdun. Verdun is on the west bank of the Muese River. This is where he allegedly stole the keys to the city and a mandolin, which my step-mother, Alice, still has in her kitchen. The campaign lasted from September 1, 1918 through November 11th when the Armistice was called.

On Sept 29, 1918 the 27th Division, under command of Maj. General O'Ryan, along with the 30th Division, and the British units (under command of General Haig) jointly "cracked" the St. Quentin Tunnel Complex which ran parallel to the Hindenburg Line for a distance of about 4 miles North to South, and was used for resupply of the German forces there.

Forming a "pincher" and advancing eastward, the combined forces broke through the Hindenburg Line, which the combined French and British forces had been unable to do for 3 years. The 27th crossed through Guillemont and Quennemont Farms just West of the line. There were 227 officers and men of the 27th killed that day and another 688 wounded.

This means that they likely did not go to Paris upon arrival "in country", but rather, that after they cross trained with the British they headed to St. Quentin, which is North of both Paris and Verdun.

After the action at St. Quentin they continued on with the British 4th Army under the command of Major Rawlinson through most of October on their way to the Selle River south of the fighting at LeCateau.From there they would have moved on to the Second Battle of Verdun. He was wounded by artillery sometime during all of this, as a result of which he had a metal plate in his head for the rest of his life. He was also gassed. I am still, at this writing, trying to find out where and when he was wounded. It would appear, by the mere existence of the photographs, that he was wounded late in the war, most likely right before the Armistice in November. After Verdun, the 27th "hunkered down" through March of 1919, when they were sent home.

This is a photo of the entire 27th Division taken in March of 1919, composed of all 10,000 officers and enlisted men just prior to leaving France. My Grandfather is most likely in this photo, but it's kind of like "Where's Waldo." And war is like that, millions of men, whose names often go unrecorded in the greater annals of history, do the heavy fighting, and pay the heavy price, while the select few garner the recognition of their sacrifices.

When he returned from the "Great War", as it was referred to at the time, he went on to become a Police Officer in New York City. When he died, at the all too young age of 43 years old, leaving a wife and 5 children behind, he became a belated casualty of that war.

Everett "Bert" Moore - The Spirit (1939 - 2023)

Uncle Bert was really something special.  And special is like the Moon. It's like a spirit which keeps coming around. This is for Uncle Bert and his children's  children.

The Spirit

Uncle Bert was laid to rest
with honors, flag and song.
He lived his life fully,
he's remembered young and strong.

He chose his battles wisely
and met them all head on.
He fought them all fairly,
hard to think that he is gone.

Tomorrow night's a full moon
and if the sky is clear,
you'll look up and realize,
that Uncle Bert's still here.

None of us, truly loved,
ever fully go away.
A spirit partly lingers on
a portion always stays.

Every time the name is spoken
that spark will still be here.
As if it is awoken
to dry away your tears.

Everette "Bert" Moore (1940 - 2023)

Uncle Bert was a true "Old Salt." He ended his career with more of those diagonal "Hash Marks" at the bottom of his sleeve than in this photo. Each one represents another 4 year "hitch". He had about 7 that I know of.

And the red, rather than gold color, means that he wasn't a "yes" man. He followed his own heart and mind, doing what he thought was right.

The rank insignia indicates a Hull Technician and Damage Control rating. The arch at the top indicates a full Chief Petty Officer.

I believe later photos showed a double arch at the top, which indicated  a Master Chief Petty Officer. If it could be kept afloat, he was the man who could do it.

His ribbons indicate his accomplishments as the veteran of Vietnam era service. And his eyes reflect all that he had seen up until that point in his career. They only got sharper and wiser in his later career in the reserves, as he saw, and learned, even more.

He was a quiet man, but one with deep thoughts and convictions. He kept his own council. And I don't think you can say more about most other men. May he rest well and sail on into his new voyage, with fair winds and a star to guide his way.

1940 - 2023
April 24th, 2023

"The Vertical Negro Plan" by Harry Golden (1958)

 

Harry Golden was an American-Jewish journalist who self published "The Carolina Israelite" in Charlotte, N.C. during the years preceding the iconic lunch counter demonstrations.

That he did so in a state which has been named "Klansville, USA" due to its having 100 counties, each of which was home to a KKK Klavern, is a testimony to his  wit and candor.

This short piece, published in 1956 and then included in his 1958 compilation "Only in America", is an example of his influence on the Civil Rights Movement. As a Jew he saw the racial struggle of African-Americans as inextricably linked to Anti-Semitism.

Twice dynamited in his residence in Charlotte, which also served as home to his self published newspaper, he survived the tumultuous years of the struggle for racial equality. He died peacefully at home in 1981, respected in both the North and South for his  stand against bigotry.

A few days ago I posted his essay on "The Merchant of Venice" titled "Teaching Shylock."  Not many took the time to read it. It is brilliant in its insight. Here is his much shorter "Vertical Negro Plan."

........................................

"One of the factors involved in North Carolina’s tremendous industrial growth and economic prosperity is the fact that the South, voluntarily, has all but eliminated VERTICAL SEGREGATION. The tremendous buying power of the twelve million Negroes in the South has been based wholly on the absence of racial segregation. The white and Negro stand at the same grocery and supermarket counters; deposit money at the same bank teller’s window; pay phone and light bills to the same clerk; walk through the same dime and department stores, and stand at the same drugstore counters.

It is only when the Negro “sets” that the fur begins to fly.

Now, since we are not even thinking about restoring VERTICAL SEGREGATION, I think my plan would not only comply with the Supreme Court decision, but would maintain “sitting-down” segregation. Now here is the GOLDEN VERTICAL NEGRO PLAN. Instead of all those complicated proposals, all the next [state Legislature] session needs to do is pass one small amendment which would provide only desks in all the public schools of our state — no seats.

The desks should be those standing-up jobs, like the old fashioned bookkeeping desk. Since no one in the South pays the slightest attention to a VERTICAL NEGRO, this will completely solve our problem. And it is not such a terrible inconvenience for young people to stand up during their classroom studies. In fact, this may be a blessing in disguise. They are not learning to read sitting down, anyway; maybe standing up will help. This will save more millions of dollars in the cost of our remedial English course when the kids enter college. In whatever direction you look with the GOLDEN VERTICAL NEGRO PLAN, you save millions of dollars, to say nothing of eliminating forever any danger to our public education system upon which rests the destiny, hopes, and happiness of this society."

Golden, Harry. Only In America, World Publishing Company, Cleveland and NY: 1958, p. 121-122.

"We and They" by Rudyard Kipling

 

Father and Mother, and Me,
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.
And They live over the sea,
While We live over the way,
But-would you believe it? --They look upon We
As only a sort of They!

We eat pork and beef
With cow-horn-handled knives.
They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
Are horrified out of Their lives;
While they who live up a tree,
And feast on grubs and clay,
(Isn't it scandalous? ) look upon We
As a simply disgusting They!

We shoot birds with a gun.
They stick lions with spears.
Their full-dress is un-.
We dress up to Our ears.
They like Their friends for tea.
We like Our friends to stay;
And, after all that, They look upon We
As an utterly ignorant They!

We eat kitcheny food.
We have doors that latch.
They drink milk or blood,
Under an open thatch.
We have Doctors to fee.
They have Wizards to pay.
And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We
As a quite impossible They!

All good people agree,
And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
And every one else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
As only a sort of They!

Little Oyster and Big Oyster - Ellis and Liberty Islands and the Story of Wells Fargo

Many people outside of New York City look at Ellis Island and Liberty Island thinking that they were always there. But that wasnt always true. In the 1600's when Hudson first arrived they were just mud flats created by the accumulated silt from the Southward flow of the Hudson River to the Harbor at the tip of Manhattan Island.

They were the oyster beds where the Lenape Indians got their oysters. At that time the oysters were 10 inches long. They were also the source of the wampum used as money by the Lenape and other tribes in the surrounding area.

As late as 1800 these 2 areas were called Liitle Oyster, which became Ellis Island; and Big Oyster, which became Bedloe's and then Liberty Island. But until then they were really just mud shoals and a hazard to navigation.But they were a great source of food; namely the Oyster. At that time the area was considered the largest oyster bed in the world.

A great book on the subject is "The Big Oyster" by Mark Kurlansky. A wonderful h in story of both the delicacy and New York's harbor of the time. Yet another good book on the subject is "The Oyster Pirates."

The photo above is from 1937 and shows a pile of the shells left from lunch. Although the size of the oyster had shrunk, the pollution and over harvesting had not yet decimated the oyster beds. But it had diminished them in both quantity and size.

And lets not forget the role these oysters played in uniting the East and West in developing America.

In 1841 a man named William Harnden, considered by many to be America's the nation's first "expressman", hired Henry Wells to figure out how to deliver things quickly between New York City and Albany. The Post Office was too slow, and personal couriers too expensive. That left only a few stagecoach companies to fill the gap. But Henry Wells had him beat by offering a unique idea; delivering for multiple customers at a time laid out logistically.

Wells, along with Will Fargo, who partnered up in the 1840's, had to prove their worth to get an investor to enlarge their business westward from Buffalo. And this is where the Oyster enters the picture.

One of their best known achievements was in bringing fresh oysters up to Buffalo, the jumping off point westward on the Erie Canal, from NewYork City's oyster beds to show case their ability to deliver.

Until then overland travel was considered too slow to deliver fresh seafood far inland. The Erie Canal was the best means of East West transportation, but the Southern route to New York was still mostly rutted, muddy roads.

If they could pull this off they would be able to secure the necessary funding to go Westward to St. Louis, and from there to the later Comstock Lode of Silver and the the gold of San Francisco. In the 1840's the train was still in the stage of proving it's worth. So the timing was just right.

Here is Mr. Well's account of that event, 75 years afterwards;

"It may amuse you to hear that the oyster was a powerful agent in expediting our progress.

That very delicious shell fish was fully appreciated by the Buffalonians — and deeply they felt the sad fact that there was one occasion toward spring, no oysters in Buffalo. James Leidley, the tavern keeper, asked me why the express could not bring them.

“Bring oysters by coach over such roads!” was my astonished exclamation.

His answer was the keystone to all success in enterprise.

“If I pay for them — charge just what you will.” They were brought — opened in Albany and brought to Buffalo at the cost of $3 the hundred — and the arrival of those oysters by express at Buffalo created a sensation as great as would today the coming hither of a section of the Atlantic Telegraph."

Later, in the 1870's, after trains were well proven, Wells Fargo still had routes not yet  covered by the trains. And in 1849 the stagecoach transported much of the gold from Sutter's Hill to San Fransico.

For the names of more books on this subject you can just hit the link below to the NY Public library.  Since there are no real photos of the old mud flats which became Ellis and Liberty Islands, that is where I got the photo of the oyster shells.

So remember, the next time you shuck an oyster, or eat one fried, it's not just an oyster you're holding. It's a piece of history.

https://www.nypl.org/blog/2011/06/01/history-half-shell-intertwined-story-new-york-city-and-its-oysters