Saturday, May 10, 2014

"Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees."
last word of General Jackson

Indiciative of the problems encountered attempting to run the Confederacy is that post war the former CSA members could never agree on when Confederate Memorial Day was to be observed.  The Carolina's and Pennsylvania (not normally considered a southern state) chose May 10 for their observance, which not coincidently is the date of perhaps the second most revered Confederate General Thomas (Stonewall) Jackson's death.

For anyone curious to learn more about the Civil War in laymen's language I recommend the Disunion blog on the New York Times Opinionator page.

This is Ben Cleary's post on the Death of Jackson

The Death of Jackson

Disunion follows the Civil War as it unfolded.
It was around 9 p.m. on May 2, 1863, during what would later be known as the Battle of Chancellorsville in central Virginia. Gen. Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson, with a few aides, was in front of Confederate lines scouting the federal position. The day had been a horrible one; Jackson, a senior general under Robert E. Lee, had attacked the Union’s right flank, demolishing the XI Corps. But the Union troops regrouped and counterattacked, and night fell on a confusing, bloody scene. Thousands were dead; thousands more would die in the coming days.
Jackson had decided to venture forth to see the damage and plan for the next day. Suddenly there was a shot; then a volley. They came from the 18th North Carolina Regiment, who mistook the general and his party for Union cavalry.
Jackson’s horse bolted, charging into the trees. He checked him with difficulty. “Cease firing!” yelled Lt. Joseph G. Morrison, Jackson’s brother-in-law and a member of his entourage. “You are firing into your own men.”
But the chaos continued. “Who gave that order?” replied Major John D. Barry of the 18th. “It’s a lie! Pour it into them, boys!” The North Carolinians obeyed with another volley.
Jackson was hit three times. His horse bolted again. This time it could be stopped only by two of his aides.
When the firing stopped, Jackson’s men gathered around him. It took a few minutes for them to realize that their general, a living god who ranked just below Robert E. Lee in the Confederate pantheon, had been seriously wounded. “How do you feel, General?” asked Capt. R.E. Wilbourn after he halted Jackson’s horse. “Can you move your fingers?”
Jackson could not. His arm was broken. A musket ball had broken two bones in his right hand; a second bullet hit the left forearm. The third wound was the most dire: the bullet struck him about three inches below the left shoulder, severing the artery and breaking the bone. Jackson, nearly fainting, was helped from his horse. His aides supported him as he staggered into the woods to lie down. They gave him a little whiskey, which the teetotaling general resisted before drinking. Then they applied a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.
A federal attack seemed imminent. The general had to be moved. The officers tried to walk him back to Confederate lines, but it became obvious that he was too weak. They placed him on a stretcher, just as Union artillery opened fire. Canister and grapeshot ripped through the woods and struck sparks on the road. One of the stretcher-bearers fell, wounded in both arms. An officer caught the handle of the stretcher just in time; Jackson did not fall.
The firing continued. The soldiers lay around Jackson, shielding him with their bodies. Shortly thereafter, still under fire, they again tried to help the wounded general walk. Again he was too weak. They returned him to the litter. They had not gone far before one of the bearers tripped. This time Jackson fell. He groaned in pain.
Finally the party found a horse-drawn ambulance. Morrison got in to hold the general’s wounded arm. At Chancellor’s, the house from which the battle took its name, the men were joined by Jackson’s friend and medical director for his unit, Dr. Hunter McGuire. “I am badly injured, Doctor; I fear I am dying,” Jackson told him. “I am glad you have come. I think the wound in my shoulder is still bleeding.”
The situation was grave. “I found his clothes still saturated with blood,” wrote McGuire, “and blood still oozing from the wound.” McGuire put his finger on the artery. “Then I readjusted the handkerchief which had been used as a tourniquet, but which had slipped a little.” If he hadn’t done so, McGuire said, “he would probably have died in 10 minutes.”
Jackson was in tremendous pain, but controlled it, wrote McGuire, “by his iron will.” Still, the doctor noted that his lips “were so tightly compressed that the impression of his teeth could be seen through them.”
McGuire administered whiskey and morphine, and rode with Jackson in the ambulance to a field hospital some four miles away. There, Jackson was stabilized in a hospital tent. A team of doctors assembled. Chloroform would be administered, McGuire told Jackson around 2 a.m. His wounds would be examined. Amputation was probable. Did the general consent?
“Yes, certainly, Dr. McGuire, do for me whatever you think best.”
The anesthetic took effect. “What an infinite blessing!” said Jackson. He repeated the last word “Blessing … blessing …” as he drifted off. The musket ball was removed from his right hand; then his left arm was amputated.
Afterward, Jackson seemed to be doing well. He ate and drank and talked to visitors about military matters and theology. He also sent Morrison to Richmond to bring Anna — Jackson’s wife and Morrison’s sister — to be with him as he convalesced. One puzzling and disturbing episode: a pain in his side. Jackson told McGuire he had injured it during his fall from the litter the night before. McGuire examined him and found nothing.
Civil War Timeline
Fort Sumter
An unfolding history of the Civil War with photos and articles from the Times archive and ongoing commentary from Disunion contributors.
Meanwhile, the Battle of Chancellorsville continued; May 3 was the second-bloodiest day of the war. Robert E. Lee feared the hospital would be overrun. He sent word for Jackson to be moved, suggesting Guinea Station, some 27 miles east and south on the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac Railroad. From there, Jackson could easily be evacuated further south if necessary.
The move was accomplished Monday, May 4. “The rough teamsters sometimes refused to move their loaded wagons out of the way for an ambulance until told that it contained Jackson,” McGuire wrote, “and then, with all possible speed, they gave the way and stood with hats off and weeping as he went by.” The country people brought such gifts of food as were to be had from their meager stores “and with tearful eyes they blessed him and prayed for his recovery.”
At Guinea Station Jackson seemed to be recovering. He settled into the plantation office of “Fairfield,” the home of the plantation owner Thomas Chandler, and slept well the first night. McGuire was optimistic. He was also vigilant, strictly limiting the number of visitors and watching through the night while Jackson slept.
Jackson’s chaplain, the Rev. Beverly Tucker Lacy, arrived the next day. He held a bedside prayer service, which deeply gratified the profoundly religious Jackson. Lacy later took Jackson’s amputated arm to Ellwood, his brother’s nearby home, and buried it in the family cemetery, and returned the next morning for another prayer service. That evening, thinking that Jackson’s recovery was underway, McGuire allowed himself to sleep on the couch in the sickroom.
Jackson awoke with nausea around 1 a.m. He directed his body servant, Jim Lewis, to wet a towel with cold water and place it on the painful area on his side. Lewis wanted to wake McGuire. Jackson refused, knowing how much sleep the doctor had lost the last few nights. The hydrotherapy continued until dawn, with Jackson’s pain increasing. When McGuire awoke and examined his patient, he diagnosed pneumonia, certainly resulting from his fall from the litter the night he was wounded.
Mrs. Jackson arrived with their infant daughter as the crisis was unfolding. She seemed to sense the prognosis immediately.
More doctors arrived. There were consultations, prayers and hymns. Jackson sank into delirium, talking as though he were still commanding his troops. Then he would rally, talking to his wife and playing with his daughter. “Little comforter,” he called her, still insisting to those around him that he would recover. He was relieved to learn that Lee had won the field at Chancellorsville, though at an almost incomprehensible cost of 13,000 casualties, against the Union’s 17,000.
But Jackson continued to decline, and by Sunday, May 10, McGuire was certain that he would not last the day. Mrs. Jackson went into him and, weeping, broke the news. Jackson sent for McGuire. “Doctor,” he said, “Anna informs me that you have told her I am to die today; is it so?”
McGuire answered in the affirmative.
“Very good, very good,” said Jackson. “It is all right.”
He tried to comfort his wife. After he died, he said, she should return to live with her father, who was “kind and good.” They discussed his wish to be buried in Lexington, Va., near where they had lived when he taught at the Virginia Military Institute.
There was a farewell visit with his daughter. “Little darling,” he called her. “Sweet one.”
Before sinking into a final delirium, he took note of the time. “It is the Lord’s Day,” he said. “I have always desired to die on Sunday.” He then began talking as though he was still on the battlefield: “Order A.P. Hill to prepare for action! Pass the infantry to the front!”
Jackson died at 3:15 p.m. His final words: “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”

Thursday, May 8, 2014

The Puzzler

My bride and I met over a Sunday crossword puzzle.  I was quietly sitting by the apartment pool working the Times puzzzle when she took umbrage with one my answers.  I detest people looking over my shoulder when I'm working especially when they are right and my practice answer is incorrect.  Hoping for a repeat along with a bit of peace, the next Sunday I brought 2 papers along with 2 pens. We've been puzzling since.

Our neighbors were likely Chiropractic students at the local college, most with a limited grasp of the liberal arts, and for quite a few English was neither a first or second language.  To assist the language skills of her nearest neighbors, former teacher, later Mrs. T, would copy the cryptoquip from the daily paper for her "students", expecting their finished answers by a set time when she would explain the joke.

Our daily newspaper habit has evolved so that now we pull out the puzzle pages and toss the rest of the paper.  We each have our domains.  I suduko, she cryptoquip's and we fight over the crosswords.

Perhaps the greatest Cryptoquip ever was in yesterday's paper.  Try it you'll love it.

Directions: The Cryptoquip is a substitution cipher in which one letter stands for another.  If you think X equals O, it will equal O throughout the puzzle.

In this puzzle A = S





Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Hardest Workin Man in Showbiz

Should you find yourself in or near Augusta, Georgia on your way to the beach, stop in and find the James Brown statue downtown on Broad Street between 8th and 9th, you'll be glad you did.  First thing you notice is that it's not standing on a plinth, James life sized is a man of the street.  Next, is his grin.  Bandmates say they couldn't get the grin off him for days after the artist took reference photos.

For much of his life James was banned from Augusta.  He won his early release from a youthful robbery conviction on the promise of never returning to his home town.  Try as he might he couldn't stay away from home for long. Eventually, Augusta welcomed him home.


Saturday, May 3, 2014

Blue Angels

Between our house and the river is a non commercial airport, used primarily by the jet set crowd. Fifty one weeks each year the airport is a good neighbor. They do a great job reinforcing the noise abatement requirements, bring in well paying jobs, and are unusually candid when speaking publically. Mayberry likes its airport. The fifty second week, this week in fact, we LOVE our airport, it's air show weekend.

Blue Angels support team arriving

There are planes of all ages and sizes but the star of the show is the US Navy Blue Angels precision flight demonstration team. There are two ways to see the team in action. The first is to buy your ticket and take your chances. A crowd is promised for each weekend performance, parking is distant and portapotties dear.

The second is to take advantage of the early bird specials. The Blue Angels and groups sponsoring them are all about publicity. The team doesn't just show up in the morning and put on a show in the afternoon. The arrive several days early, make themselves available to media and who ever else shows up, then practice their routine at the times the event planners have them scheduled for 2 days prior to the show.

To jumble the meaning and intent of President Kennedy's inaugural speech when asked what my country could do for me I said put on an air show, and so it did.  I was in the cheap seats directly across the runway.

A crowd of maybe 50 showed for the afternoon practice.  From our vantage point the Blue Angels were a  hop skip and jump away. Generally, the US military gets uncomfortable when their aircraft are in close proximity to civilians.

The Navy puts on a wonderful show, and I am grateful to see it from such a vantage point, but I couldn't help imagining the what the practice cost, per viewer, was yesterday afternoon.  From my perspective- Priceless

If your in the area I suggest you take in a show, contact a local they know the best places, away from the crowds and traffic, to see the best of the best doing what they do best.


Friday, May 2, 2014


Lawrin the only Kansas bred thoroughbred to win the Kentucky Derby-1938

As a lad I lived in Prairie Village, Kansas a suburb of Kansas City.  At that time PV was  doing the slow roll from farmland to suburbs.  The streets in KC and its neighbors are numbered 1 Street, 1 Street terrace, 2nd street.... to 1,000,000 now.  At the time there were farms at 90th while the world ended at 100 street.  I lived at 70th terrace.

The summer drill at my home was dinner was at 6, do not be late.  That was my sole responsibility as a kid.  Go away, come back by 6, don't be hanging around here.  My buddies and I rode our bikes everywhere, especially to the community pool which was on 77th street, across the park from Dr. Phil McGraw's high school (he wasn't always a Texan), he lived in PV too.

Long gone by then, but spoken about by local old timers was the Woolford horse farm, home to Lawrin, the only Kansas bred Kentucky Derby winner (1938) ridden by Eddie Acaro in his first Derby win.

His stables may be long gone, but Lawrin and his sire Insco were buried on the farm.  Their gravesite is now located in a suburban cul-de sac, near 82nd street,  a few blocks from our old stomping grounds.

I love Derby Day


Thursday, May 1, 2014

May Day

1 May 1865, Charleston, South Carolina

“I might tell you a great deal about Charleston, but to-day I will speak of one incident only – the first celebration of May-day in free South Carolina. When our soldiers were made prisoners by the rebels they were carried to Belle Isle, near Richmond, or to Salisbury, in North Carolina, or to Andersonville, in Georgia, or to Charleston. . . . Here they were detained on what is called the Race Course. Charleston was once noted as the head-quarters of a jockey club, and many of the finest horses in the country were owned, and raised, and raced here. . . . Robust, healthy young men soon sickened under this [cruel imprisonment], and many of them died. Two hundred and fifty-seven of them were found dead, and were buried in an enclosed piece of pasture near by. . . .

Accompanied by a few friends, I went out one day and saw their graves; and on them the marks of the hoofs of cattle and horses and of the feet of men. Very sad we felt when we looked on these melancholy red mounds and on this wicked profanation of the resting-places of our martyrs. We all sat down and thought what we should do. We resolved to have a fence built around it, and, if we could raise the money, a monument erected to the memory of the soldiers who rested from their sufferings below. The general gave me liberty to pull down some rebel buildings not far off, and nearly thirty colored men volunteered to put up the fence, without any wages or reward. Very soon there was more than half an acre enclosed.

On May-day I told all the colored children of the free schools of Charleston to go out to the Race Course with bouquets of roses and other sweet-smelling flowers, and throw them on the graves of our martyrs. Nearly three thousand children went out, and perhaps double that number of grown-up people. The children marched from the Race Course singing the John Brown Song, and then, silently and reverently, and with heads uncovered, they entered the burial ground and covered the graves with flowers. Afterwards they went to the fields near by and sang the ‘Star Spangled Banner,’ ‘America,’ and ‘Rally Round the Flag.’

This is how the colored children spent May-day in Charleston. It was the first free May-day gathering they had ever enjoyed.”

Uncle James [James Redpath], “Eye and Ear Notes: May-Day in Charleston, S.C.,” The Youth’s Companion 38 (1 June 1865): 86.

“In the last autumn of the Civil War, in 1864, two hundred and forty-nine Union soldiers, prisoners of war, died while confined upon the race-course in Charleston, S. C., and were buried there in two rows of graves. In April, 1865, the war was over, and the flag was raised again on Fort Sumter with patriotic ceremonies, including an oration by Henry Ward Beecher, especially named for that service by President Lincoln. . . . James Redpath had recently been appointed superintendent of education in Charleston, and he suggested to Rear-Admiral Dahlgren, present as commander of the United States fleet, to come ashore May 1 and assist in the decoration of these soldiers’ graves, among which were some of the sailors in the United States navy. Other engagements kept Admiral Dahlgren from taking part in the ceremony, which was carried out by Mr. Redpath and a number of his teachers. . . . Among those who spoke on that first Memorial Day, besides Mr. Redpath, were Gens. Stewart L. Woodford, James Hartwell, and James C. Beecher, brother of Henry Ward Beecher. . . . The wives of several of these gentlemen were present, and Mrs. James C. Beecher directed the negro women who took part in the celebration.”

“Memorial-Day Texts and Suggestions,” The Homiletic Review 39 (May 1900): 431.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Help wanted

Forget politics and suspend judgement while you think back to the day before you ever heard of Edward Snowden. Edward was a young man with a good job, working in a cube in a nondescript office building, in a beautiful Maryland town, attempting to keep democracy out of government. Likely he flirted with a woman down the hall, lunched with his peers, went home to his cat at the end of the day. Edward also had a boss, in a heirarchy with expectations, responsible for head count, payroll and performance. Then one day Ed goes walkabout.

Things will never be the same in his old office. First, there's the guys in bad suits crawling over every inch of space in the building looking for what, they don't know and know they don't. New computers and multiple passwords for everyone not forcibly reassigned to Tallahasse, along with endless grilling of the troops by real spooks. Relentless re-education. Eventually things in the office return to new normal and the boss realizes he still has an important job to do, his reward structure hadn't changed and his headcount was down.

Imagine the applicant search, or a candidate tiptoeing through that job search minefield. "Wanted, contractor to replace Edward Snowden...."

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Jack Crepes

I worry that I'm becoming a hoarder. If I like something I buy several, just in case I'm never able to find another. Lately, I've been stocking up on Jack Purcell badminton shoes. Canvas, leather, blue, white, dirty white all reside in my closet, my collection felt compete until I came across the Crepe Collection from Converse, for spring/summer 2014.

Imagine crepe soled Jacks! Brothel creepers for the masses. From what I can tell they do not go one sale until mayday, but I'll be first in line when they do. Shuttlecocks anyone?


Friday, April 25, 2014

Snowy Mountain

Snowy Mountain by Cui Ruzhuo

Real life is so much better than make believe.  The painting above, Snowy Mountain by Chinese artist Cui Ruzhuo, sold at auction for US $3.7 million in Hong Kong earlier this week, has gone missing.

Security film shows a guard kicking the painting into a pile of trash; later janitors tossed the trash and likely  Snowy Mountain as well.  Interested parties are combing the local landfills, I suspect that it was stolen, but  that appears to be a minority opinion. Should you happen to find it, Poly Auction in Hong Kong would love to hear from you. 


Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Follow up day

I'm having a difficult time moving out of vacation mode. I'm tired, sore and unmotivated, for that I blame Fitbit's weekly stat report. Below is yesterday's report summary:

Hi Toad D., here are your weekly stats.
4/14/2014 to 4/20/2014


88,855 TOTAL STEPS (2100 steps/mile)
12,694 steps DAILY AVERAGE
BEST DAY 17,767 steps
213,549 total lifetime steps
42.07 miles
6.01 miles DAILY AVERAGE
BEST DAY 8.41 miles

*** Thursdays and Sundays are rest days.

I was hesitant to buy a pedometer figuring that once I knew how far I walked I'd lose interest in tomorrow. So far Fitbit has kept the dogs and I moving, but we are too tired to care any more. Perhaps we need to join someone's friend group.

II. Two Books
I have recently come across 2 books you may be interested in. The first for the Brits and car guys is "The British Car Industry Our Part in its Downfall" by James Ruppert retells the story of the mass suicide of British car manufacturing in the 1960's and 70's, as seen from the cars in the Ruppert family's garage. If you have owned and loved Brit cars for as long as I have you know some of the story, but there were still bits I was unaware of,such as how the British Army re-created Volkswagen after the war, and how while BMW owned Rover, BMW co-opted the ready to market Mini and developed their X line of 4 wheel drive cars using Land Rover technology.

The other of more general interest is "The Ayatollah Begs to Differ" by Hooman Majd.

Mr. Majd, the son of a Iranian diplomat during the Shah's reign was educated in Britain and the US, now lives in America, and is a frequent visitor to Iran where members of his family still live. Iran is still too misunderstood in the west and Mr. Majd attempts to lift the veil and give westerners a look at how the people, government and the Shia branch of Islam coexist. He provides a clever look at and context for modern Iran.

III. Tom: the Unknown Tennessee Williams

I picked this up at Faulkner House book story in Nola and am finding it a slog. Have you gotten through it? Is it worth the continued effort?

Monday, April 21, 2014

Seersucker at Stein Mart

To my mind, a late Easter calls for men to wear seersucker, and for the first time in a decade, I awoke Sunday morning without benefit of a traditional blue/white seersucker suit. Bubba, the iconic white, horizontally striped number slept soundly in the closet awaiting its season. I am simply without.

My plan was to visit Perlis while in NOLA, but rains, volume unseen since Noah, kept me closer to downtown. Instead, I visited Rubensteins. If you haven't been there I suggest a walk through. Rubensteins provides a level of service unheard of in your community. I am convinced, a gentlemen of means, could soundly rely upon Rubensteins staff to regularly refresh his wardrobe, sight unseen. Once they get the cut of your jib, there will be no need to call ahead with your wants, somehow they'll know what and when and have it ready to ship.

I'm between sizes, and likely to be for a while, that's why I'm hesitant to replace my missing suit. I did look though, and have this suggestion for you guys unfamiliar with seersucker, or uncertain if you can pull it off. Seersucker looks good on anyone confident to wear it.

Stealing from one of ADG's post last fall, I went to Stein Mart to see Flusser's summer offerings. I am reluctant to pay a lot for a suit that won't get much wear. That puts my favorite seersucker, BB's, out of reach, for now. Stein Mart is offering good looking Flusser seersucker seperates, $60 for the jacket, $30 for pants. Tell 'em ADG sent ya.

Spring has sprung, rejoice.


Friday, April 18, 2014

The White Shoe Rule 2014

Several years ago I reached out to Mr. David Bagwell, esteemed Fairhope, Alabama attorney and overall nice guy in an effort to persuade him to allow me to reprint his story The White Shoe Rule.  David graciously consented and I have been thankful ever since.  David's "Rule" is required reading no matter on which side you dress, just in time for Easter Week.

 David Bagwell, by the way, lives in Point Clear, Alabama and has his own "White Shoe Law Firm" in Fairhope, Alabama, both on Mobile Bay.


David A. Bagwell

Fifty years ago, and more, the tradition in the Deep South was that beginning on Easter weekend -- well before what people now call “Memorial Day”-- it became safe to wear white pants and skirts, white shoes and spectators, and a straw hat. I lump all that light-colored stuff together into what I call “The White Shoe Rule”.

Some Southerners today don’t buy that. They say that The White Shoe Rule doesn’t start until what we now call “Memorial Day”. Most of those people seem unusually certain that they know what they are talking about. But Southern tradition suggests that they are wrong.

It’s a serious fashion question, even in this time of war and economic travail. Maybe it’s idle and frivolous to speak of the rules of fashion anytime, some think, but even during war and elections and recession, life moves on, and so must we.

So, when may we properly begin --and when must we properly stop-- the wearing of white? Good question.

Do you remember the book The Southern Belle Primer by the wonderful [late] Marilyn Schwartz, whose subtitle was to the effect that Her Royal Highness Princess Margaret could never get into Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority because she wore white shoes in Texas the wrong time of year? I’m convinced that a lot of people beyond princesses misunderstand all this “White Shoe Rule” stuff. A lot of us don’t know as much about our dress code history as we should, or as much as we think for that matter.

Oh, sure; I know that every written source on fashion which might mention it, will say that you cannot wear white or straw hats before “Memorial Day”; we’ll get to all that in a moment. What you will read in those books is just – out with it now – just the Yankee rules. It’s ok for them to have their rules, but here in the South, ours were always different.

Of course nobody should wear white all of the time. In 1880 Mark Twain wrote of his character Colonel Grangerford that “every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to toe made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it.” But every day? Even in winter? In deepest winter, now, you’ll obviously make a spectacle of yourself in white. Mark Twain did. On December 7, 1906, when Mark Twain went to a copyright law hearing in the Capitol in Washington, D.C.– in December in Washington, mind you – he wore a suit of white wool flannels, not white linen. But the ruckus he raised by wearing a white suit in Washington in the winter landed him in stories in the New York Times, Herald, and Tribune the next morning. Of course, his point about copyrights was in the article, too, which just goes to show you that clothing can not only make a fashion statement, it can also help your substantive statement get published. Twain said funereally that “when a man reaches the advanced age of 71 years as I have, the continual sight of dark clothing is likely to have a depressing effect upon him”. And “a group of men in evening clothes looks like a flock of crows, and is just about as inspiring”, he said. But, if you aren’t 71 and you aren’t Mark Twain, and it is not 1906–and I’m not and it isn’t– you must pay some attention to these rules, you know. Which means that you must know what the rules are.

The first thing to understand is that there are EXCEPTIONS to all this White Shoe Rule stuff, no matter when the starting date is.

One exception is "The Southern Resort Exception". At any Southern resort, like Boca Grande or Palm Beach or farther off in Bermudan or Carribean resorts and all that, white clothes and straw hats are ALWAYS allowed, regardless of the season. My father told me that the Northerners who went to the University of Alabama with him in the early 1930s wore white shoes all winter, on the apparent theory that Tuscaloosa was a Southern resort, which is clearly twelve points off true north.

What’s a “Southern resort”, anyway, outside of Boca Grande or something? Well, the place where I live – Point Clear on Mobile Bay -- qualifies as “a Southern resort”, although locals don’t wear white shoes here in the winter. What about Charleston and Savannah and Mobile? Well, maybe, but that’s pushing it. My correspondent in Charleston reports that a man dressed in all white, especially if any of it is patent leather, tends to be called there “full Cleveland”. To an Englishman, any place where it is warm, and not raining at that moment, is apparently considered a “Southern resort”, which is precisely how H.R.H. Princess Margaret got in such hot water out in Texas for wearing white shoes in Dallas before their time– whatever their time is in Dallas. There are wonderful photos of Winston Churchill in a white suit, often wearing his favorite white panama Stetson in the “Open Road” pattern; you know, the pattern which in gray was worn by LBJ and by every single graduate of the Colorado School of Mines. But whites in London? A British judge told me once that, years before, he looked out his office window one summer day and saw his boss wearing a white suit and white panama hat in London, and that he involuntarily exclaimed at the sight “A Panamanian ponce!” [“ponce” of course being English slang for procurers for pay of the favours of exceptionally fast females].

The second exception to the White Shoe Rule is “The Yacht Exception”. I am not sure of the breadth of this exception, either, never having owned a yacht and all, but I think that weather permitting, you may always wear white clothes on a yacht, at least if you don’t change your own engine oil, and no gentleman does that. This may be a sub-theorem of the Southern Resort Rule, since one always keeps her yacht in the South during the winter, doesn't she? And, speaking of The Late Princess Margaret, since the British Royal family has sent the Royal Yacht BRITANNIA to the wreckers for scrap, I just don’t know where they wear their whites, other than maybe Dallas in a pinch. The picture on my wall of Commodore Vanderbilt on his yacht – and before “The Late Unpleasantness” his yacht was the biggest yacht in the world – shows him in black wool with fur trim, so obviously it is not de rigeur that you wear whites on your yacht in winter. What’s a yacht? Well, paraphrase what J.P. Morgan said about “if you have to ask . . .” I do know that none of my little canoes and ducking skiffs and kayaks and rowboats and motor skiffs is “a “yacht”, and so mostly I just wear khaki shorts.

OK, exceptions aside, what exactly is The Rule?

Well, everybody agrees on the ENDING date of The White Shoe Rule, namely, that after Labor Day, you cannot wear white pants or suit or shoes, unless you meet one of the exceptions.  It's just the BEGINNING date for The White Shoe Rule that causes the problem.

To Northerners, the rule was always-- at least after Memorial Day was declared, after the Civil War -- that you cannot wear white pants or skirts or suits or shoes until what Northerners have mostly called “Memorial Day” [earlier perhaps “Decoration Day”], which is now of course the last Monday in May.

But then that’s Northerners. Both my ancient memory and my research confirm that in general, over the South, Easter weekend – and not Memorial Day-- was the beginning for the White Shoe Rule. Remember that Easter was the day on which boys got a new white linen coat, if their parents could afford one? And white shoes? They didn’t wait until “Memorial Day”.

That Easter rather than Memorial Day was the starting date for The White Shoe Rule in the Deep South is not surprising, for two reasons. First, the South obviously gets hot earlier than the North does; I mean, what level are we on? Second, what we now call “Memorial Day” was originally set up as a memorial for Union soldiers in the Civil War, and when and where I grew up in Alabama, it was called “Yankee Memorial Day”. Here in Alabama the Federal workers got a holiday on “Yankee Memorial Day”, but the State workers got the holiday on “Confederate Memorial Day”, which in Alabama was April 26th [The rest of us in the private world, fusionists like L.Q.C. Lamar in John F. Kennedy’s book Profiles in Courage, always worked on both Yankee Memorial Day and Confederate Memorial Day]. Nobody in the deep South would have dated a fashion requirement or anything else from Yankee Memorial Day. Easter was it.

My theory is that the people who think that the first day of The White Shoe Rule is Yankee Memorial Day rather than Easter, and who are moving the fashion goal posts from Easter to Yankee Memorial Day, are just one small part of the general Yankee-fication of America. National Public Radio, no less, reported that Texas singer “Kinky” Friedman, late of the singing group “Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys”-- Kinky won the “Male Chauvinist of the Year” Award of The National Organization for Women with his song “Put Your Biscuits in the Oven and Get Your Buns Back in Bed”-- ran for governor of Texas in 2006 on the platform “Stop the Wuss-ification of Texas”. Kinky lost, but that is just a small skirmish in the larger battle.

But, for some reason– I don’t know why-- Easter was not necessarily the beginning day for straw hats for men. Strangely and “counter-intuitively”, as intellectuals seem to say, there was often a totally separate and clear rule for straw hats, and it certainly wasn’t Yankee Memorial Day, which was far too late to switch to straw hats in the Deep South or anywhere. There was something called “Straw Hat Day” in the old days when people wore hats, and on “Straw Hat Day” it was like some Fred Astaire musical with a chorus, and everybody in unison– men and women, but mostly men -- all doffed their felt hats and put on their straw hats.

When was “Straw Hat Day”? Well, if you research it on the internet you’ll find all kinds of things. “Straw Hat Day” in Pennsylvania was when Penn played baseball against Princeton on the second Saturday in May; some people say in Philadelphia Straw Hat Day was on that second Saturday, and some say on May 15th. Surprising numbers of people dogmatically declare that May 15th was and is and is to be “National Straw Hat Day”, as if President Coolidge or somebody had so decreed. Well, not so fast. There wasn’t ever a “National Straw Hat Day”, and there isn’t now; there was always a whole lot of local option in the deal and in the deep South it tended to be earlier. We had a “Straw Hat Day” in the cities in Alabama where I grew up, and surely in many other towns, but it was not May 15th; instead, it was both a moveable feast and a changing target. The Mobile Register on April 10, 1912 ran this story suggesting that in the late 19th century “Straw Hat Day” was April Ninth:

A number of the old veterans of the Veteran Volunteer Firemen’s Association enjoyed a banquet given at Dauphin and Jackson streets last night. Formerly the ninth of April was a day of great festivities in Mobile. The firemen pulled out their engines and paraded with them amid the acclamations of the entire populace of Mobile and music furnished by bands.

The day was the day recognized as the beginning of spring and straw hats and spring frocks made their appearance and general celebration was indulged in. This custom was in vogue up to the year 1888.

[We presume that the “veterans” part meant “veterans of The Late Unpleasantness”]. What do you suppose happened in 1888 to change this tradition? Well, in 1888 the first paid professional fire department was started in Mobile, which killed this celebration.

So what took its place after 1888 with respect to straw hats? Likely nothing in Mobile, between 1888 and 1931, other than fashion chaos. In 1915 in Jacksonville, Florida, the Mayor and Police Chief declared a “Straw Hat Day” and almost caused a revolution, and apparently they dropped it. In the twentieth century, after 1931 anyway,“Straw Hat Day” in Mobile was on whatever springtime day the Mayor’s proclamation of “Straw Hat Day” said it would be, but it was always just before Easter, usually on either Maunday [or “Holy”] Thursday, or the next day on Good Friday, just in time for the spring and Easter– read: white– finery to flower. The earliest recorded Mayor’s proclamation of Straw Hat Day in Mobile that I found in the City Archives was in 1931.

Why was it in 1931? Well, it’s hard to say for sure, but one clue is that the local paper, the Mobile Register for March 7, 1931, said "The first straw hat of 1931 appeared on Royal and Dauphin streets yesterday, far ahead of the official advent of spring. The latest model of 'head-gear' was worn by a stylishly dressed man, who did not seem embarrassed by eyes that stared and comments made as he passed along the avenues". Maybe the uncertainty of the proper beginning day for straw hats in March of 1931–sounds to me like the first day of Spring on March 20th or 21st tended to be the date to most people – prompted the male populace to demand that the Mayor set a clear official beginning date for straw hats; who knows at this point? While the files are not complete, these proclamations of “Straw Hat Day” seem to have run pretty steadily from 1931 until John Kennedy ran for president in 1960, when fashionable young men decided that fashionable young men simply did not wear hats any more. If fashionable young men don’t wear hats, then there is no need for a “Straw Hat Day”.

These old Mayoral proclamations here of “Straw Hat Day” are wonderful throwbacks to another world of springtimes filled with wisteria and azaleas, usually reciting in multiple “whereases” that “Mobile is a veritable flower garden with the air scented with street perfume and the streets lined with the riotous coloring of floral displays”, that “our birds are singing everywhere and their songs are the harbingers of new life and springtime”, noting the date of the Mobile Bears’ opening baseball game and pointedly proclaiming that the proper hat to be worn at all baseball games “is a STRAW hat” – note that it is not a baseball cap– and declaring “Straw Hat Week”. “All citizens of the city”-- and not just men-- were “urged to put away their winter chapeaux and to replace them with sparkling new STRAW HATS”. So Straw Hat Day was always just before Easter. “Straw Hat Day” in the South never had anything to do with Yankee Memorial Day.

I’m not the guy to talk about women’s Mardi Gras finery in Mobile and New Orleans, other than admiring it and paying for it, but everybody knows that women beat Easter to the punch by forty or more days during Mardi Gras, wearing light clothes and straw hats.

But, then in the fall, the Southern cities would flip back to felt hats, on some designated day after Labor Day which was proclaimed by the Mayor. Generally this was called “Felt Hat Day” and nationwide it tended to be on September 15th. In warm and humid Mobile it tended to be a little later, about the beginning of dove season. In Montgomery where I grew up, that day was called “Anti-Straw Hat Day” and back in the 1920s it was September 15, which we self-employed people now commemorate instead as a day to pay the Internal Revenue Serve its quarterly tax payment. In Montgomery on one such Anti-Straw Hat Day in the 1920s Montgomery Mayor Will Gunter issued this proclamation:

Whereas the weather has been dry and the pastures burned up and the supply of roughage for the cows, mules, and horses, as well as goats and sheep, has been exhausted, now therefore I, Mayor W.A. Gunter, Jr., do hereby proclaim that these animals will be authorized to attack anyone found wearing a straw hat on the streets today or hereafter and such citizens are at their own peril and must defend themselves without recourse to the police department or other guardians of the law. – W.A. Gunter, Jr., Mayor

[The Montgomery Advertiser reported that the next day the Mayor showed up at the office in his straw hat and told the reporters that “he was going to risk the cow’s designs upon his headgear until next pay-day came around, through force of necessity”.]

And, it’s worth noting in passing – since it is clearly forgotten by most of us– that back before air conditioning became general, there were official Mayoral proclamations banning suits and coats in the daytime in the summer, beginning about July 1st. Apparently in Mobile around which I live and work, the “Coats Off Campaign” in late summer was started by the Junior Chamber of Commerce just after WWII, and by the middle 1950s Southern mayors often proclaimed that beginning on “Sport Shirt Day” on July 1st or 2nd or something, and usually running all summer until the official first day of fall on September 21, “the proper, modest and polite attire for gentlemen in the City [shall] be and the same is hereby declared to be a neat, lightweight sports shirt instead of coat and necktie for all occasions from sunrise to sunset, and also proper evening attire except for formal occasions”. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama in the mid-1950s, the Mayor in the third week in April “proclaimed the opening of the sport shirt, straw hat and sport shoe season for the comfort of the city’s male population”, some three months before they did that here on the coast.

Now, why in the world was all of that ever abandoned in the South? Obviously the advent of air conditioning nipped it, but still, that is a tradition that Southerners ought to have preserved, just as they ought to have preserved more old buildings and houses and all of that. Here in Fairhope we still have a sportshirt tradition in both the summer and the winter, and we impart this tradition to our sons and grandsons in Homeric song before the fire of an evening. Now, admittedly, this fashion stuff was mostly higher- income people in the first place, and whether or not this date was observed by a man plowing a mule –switching his and his mule’s hats from the wool hat to the straw hat– I just cannot say for sure. But I can say for sure that a man who wore a felt hat until Yankee Memorial Day looked pretty strange indeed on a Southern street. So did a man who even recognized Yankee Memorial Day, for that matter.

But these rules seem to be moving fast. Friends – those who know – say that at the Fairgrounds in New Orleans, plenty of the horse owners in the winners’ circle wear white suits in the early spring, even shortly after Mardi Gras. Maybe New Orleans always started wearing white after Mardi Gras; I don’t know, or maybe even never stopped wearing white? Is New Orleans a “Southern resort”? But, why-oh-why do New Orleanians have to wear those black shoes and bright shirts and ties with their white suits; it’s Atticus Finch morphing into “Fast Eddie’s Used Cars”, for Heavens’ sakes.

The edges of The White Shoe Rule are increasingly ragged. In the women’s fashion field, there is some analog to “Moore’s Law” in computers, such that the rapidity of changes in fashion trends tends to multiply by a factor of four every three years, or something. Attractive young women in high fashion who are inexplicably close to me report that “modern fashionistas wear white year-round to get that ‘edgy look’ as they call it”, not following any rule but their own. Examples? Wearing white leather boots in the winter, for instance; obviously not meant for summer, but still white. The apparent idea of “edginess” is “intentional fashion faux pas”. But, the edgy look of white shoes year round can only be pulled off by those who are, you know – edgy. “On the average woman, it will simply look like someone who didn’t quite know whether it was Easter or Memorial Day yet.” Which is still better than those white patent shoes and belt on Fast Eddie’s used car lot, and all. Whether white rubber boots on a shrimper are “edgy” or not, I’ll let you decide; I mean, some of these questions are pretty far out.

Well, I don’t have a yacht, and I’m not too sure this is a southern resort, but for my money, white clothes are ok from Easter through Labor Day, on clear days anyway, and being reasonable about it, like “ok at garden parties but not funerals”. Suit yourself, but if you don’t agree, then you must be a Yankee. Which is ok. But let’s just recognize the possibility of diversity on this question.

Thank you David!


Thursday, April 17, 2014


Nubile, once simply meant of marriageable age (street legal) now has such ugly connotations.  At the cost of outing myself as a MCP, thinking back to beaches crowded with bored, bikini clad golf widows and pools filled with young Canadian school marms soothes the soul.  Memories of beach front bars with sundressed patrons are helping to ease my transition to real life.  I thank the gods that women dress to impress other women.

While unwilling to do the Google circle thing, I do want to give a WOW to the customer service department of J Crew.  I screwed up big time, placing my annual Jack Purcell order and having it sent to our old address.  By the time I realized my mistake, the package had shipped.  I was anticipating a hassle, but a couple of emails later  the Crew crew cancelled my original order, refunded the charges and reordered with the correct address.  My package was waiting for me when I arrived home. Crew has a new friend.

Wouldn't you hate waking up knowing that today you were going to thread shoe strings in tennis shoes all day?

While in lazing in southern Toronto (Captiva)I had an opportunity to read the birthday book Mrs. T gave me.  If you enjoyed John Kennedy Toole's "Confederacy of Dunces" you'll like Jerry E. Strahan's "Managing Ignatius".  Jerry is the real life, general manager of Lucky Dogs in NOLA, and has been for 20 plus years.  To paraphrash Joe Walsh, it's lucky he's sane after all he's been through.  Wienie vendors are unique breed, and Jerry has dealt with them all their misfortunes.   His tales of day to day life on the streets of New Orleans' French Quarter will make yoiu thank Fortuna that the wheel of life shines on you. This is a family book, the stories that Jerry left out probably keep him up nights, because the ones he tells are unlikely to make you want to chuck it all for a chance to push a cart in NOLA.  His is a pretty good read and worth the $3 or so. Check Ebay or Alibris


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Dial up Internet? Still?

Home again, home again, jiggity jog.

It's always good to go, but so much better to come home. Florida was lovely, with only 2 lousy weather days.

Biblical rain has followed us these past few weeks.  We brought New Orleans torrential rains. I'd never been wetter.  It stormed the week between trips in Mayberry as well, with weather warning blowing as we left on our drive down south. No point sticking around to watch bad weather.

My parents rarely travelled for recreation, but when they did my father was in full comand.  The order of the day was to leave before sun up, drive several hours then stop for breakfast.  After we ate, the only stops were for gas, until mid afternoon.  Then we stop for the night at a highway motel, swim, eat and crash.

I inherited my father's predilection for leaving early, it likely made sense in pre-a/c equppied cars, but Mrs. T dsabused of that notion.  Now, we leave whenever it's convenient, usually mid afternoon.  Stopping as necessary so we  hit Atlanta in time for rush hour and enjoy the ride.  I like our way better.

We drove to Captiva, Florida which lies slightly west of Ft. Myers arriving just in time to pick up Mrs. T's 2 sons at the local airport. We did little while there other than eat (at home), lie in the sun and recover from a long winter. I won't bore you with "we had more fun than you" because we didn't. None the less it was a glorious and sorely needed vacation.

I'm glad to be home though.  It's snowing as I write this, but surrounded by the dogs, my toys and the comforts of home I don't care.  It's good to go, it's better to return.  I think I'll curl up with the Odyssey. 

PS:  Driving 2500 miles dependant upon local radio stations made me recall the days when FM radio was a radical idea.  Where else could you hear Janis Joplin or The Chambers Brothers on the radio.  Like too much else the money boys FU'ed fm radio too, turning into the AM goo FM was meant to subvert. Having to endure 4+ days of mindless 3 minute pop, my head is about to explode.  Next time I hear Happy someone may get hurt.

I am glad you're here.  Many thanks


Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Mr. President

Mr. President:
It is with pain that I announce to Your Excellency the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia.

The operations which preceded this result will be reported in full. I will therefore only now state that upon arriving at Amelia Court House on the morning of the 4th with the advance of the army, on the retreat from the lines in front of Richmond and Petersburg, and not finding the supplies ordered to be placed there, nearly twenty-four hours were lost in endeavoring to collect in the country subsistence for men and horses. This delay was fatal, and could not be retrieved.

The troops, wearied by continual fighting and marching for several days and nights, obtained neither rest nor refreshment; and on moving on the 5th, on the Richmond and Danville railroad, I found at Jetersville the enemy's cavalry, and learned of the approach of his infantry and the general advance of his army toward Burkeville.

This deprived us of the use of the railroad, and rendered it impracticable to procure from Danville the supplies ordered to meet us at points of our march. Nothing could be obtained from the adjacent country. Our route to the Roanoke was therefore changed, and the march directed upon Farmville, where supplies were ordered from Lynchburg.

The change of route threw the troops on the roads pursued by the artillery and wagon trains west of the railroad, which impeded our advance and embarrassed our movements. On the morning of the 6th General Longstreet's corps reached Rice's station on the Lynchburg railroad. It was followed by the commands of Generals R.H. Anderson, Ewell, and Gordon, with orders to close upon it as fast as the progress of the trains would permit or as they could be directed (diverted) on roads father west.

General Anderson, commanding Pickett's and B.R. Johnson's divisions, became disconnected with Mahone's division, forming the rear of Longstreet. The enemy's cavalry penetrated the line of march through the interval thus left, and attacked the wagon train moving toward Farmville. This caused serious delay in the march of the center and rear of the column, and enabled the enemy to mass upon their flank. After successive attacks Anderson's and Ewell's corps were captured or driven from their position. The latter General, with both of his division commanders, Kershaw and Custis Lee, and his brigadiers, were taken prisoners.

Gordon, who all the morning, aided by General W.F. Lee's cavalry, had checked the advance of the enemy on the road from Amelia Springs and protected the trains, became exposed to his combined assaults, which he bravely resisted and twice repulsed; but the cavalry having been withdrawn to another part of the line of march, and the enemy, massing heavily on his (Gordon's) front and both flanks, renewed the attack about 6 P.M., and drove him from the field in much confusion.

The army continued its march during the night, and every effort was made to reorganize the divisions which had been shattered by the day's operations. But the men being depressed by fatigue and hunger, many threw away their arms, while others followed the wagon trains and embarrassed their progress.

On the morning of the 7th rations were issued to the troops as they passed Farmville, but the safety of the trains requiring their removal upon the approach of the enemy all could not be supplied. The army, reduced to two corps under Longstreet and Gordon, moved steadily on the road to Appomattox Court House. Thence its march was ordered by Campbell Court House, through Pittsylvania, toward Danville. The roads were wretched and the progress of the trains slow.

By great efforts the head of the column reached Appomattox Court House on the evening of the 8th, and the troops were halted for rest. The march was ordered to be resumed at 1 A.M. on the 9th. Fitz Lee, with the cavalry, supported by Gordon, was ordered to drive the enemy from his front, wheel to the left, and cover the passage of the trains, while Longstreet, who from Rice's Station had formed the rear-guard, should close up and hold the position. Two battalions of artillery and the ammunition wagons were directed to accompany the army, the rest of the artillery and wagons to move toward Lynchburg.

In the early part of the night the enemy attacked Walker's artillery train near Appomattox Station on the Lynchburg railroad, and were repelled. Shortly afterward their cavalry dashed toward the Court House, till halted by our line.

During the night there were indications of a large force massing on our left and front. Fitz Lee was directed to ascertain its strength, and to suspend his advance till daylight if necessary. About 5 A.M., on the 9th, with Gordon on his left, he moved forward and opened the way. A heavy force of the enemy was discovered opposite Gordon's right, which, moving in the direction of Appomattox Court House, drove back the left of the cavalry and threatened to cut off Gordon from Longstreet. His cavalry at the same time threatening to envelop his left flank, Gordon withdrew across the Appomattox River, and the cavalry advanced on the Lynchburg road and became separated from the army.

Learning the condition of affairs on the lines, where I had gone under the expectation of meeting General Grant to learn definitely the terms he proposed in a communication received from him on the 8th, in the event of the surrender of the army, I requested a suspension of hostilities until these terms could be arranged. In the interview which occurred with General Grant in compliance with my request, terms having been agreed on, I surrendered that portion of the Army of Northern Virginia which was on the field, with its arms, artillery, and wagon-trains, the officers and men to be paroled, retaining their side-arms and private effects. I deemed this course the best under all the circumstances by which we were surrounded.

On the morning of the 9th, according to the reports of the ordnance officers, there were 7892 organized infantry with arms, with an average of 75 rounds ammunition per man; the artillery, though reduced to 63 pieces with 93 rounds of ammunition, was sufficient. These comprised all the supplies of ordnance that could be relied on in the State of Virginia. I have no accurate report of the cavalry, but believe it did not exceed 2100 effective men. The enemy was more than five times our numbers. If we could have forced our way one day longer it would have been at a great sacrifice of life, and at its end I did not see how a surrender could have been avoided. We had no subsistence for man or horse, and it could not be gathered in the country. The supplies ordered to Pamplin's Station from Lynchburg could not reach us, and the men, deprived of food and sleep for many days, were worn out and exhausted.

With Great Respect
Your Obedient Servant
R.E. Lee

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Bon Voyage

On this day, 20 years after Columbus "discovered" North America, a Spaniard, Juan Ponce De Leon "discovered" the fountain of youth, and named it La Florida.  Where he landed has been disputed for centuries, some say near where St. Augustine is today, others say just north of Miami.  Like most disputes the claimant with the loudest voice or fattest wallet wins, historical accuracy be damned. St. Augustine is good enough for me.

One of the earliest explorers of the gulf side of Florida was Hernando De Soto in 1539.  He and his men  eventually passed near Mayberry.  It was they who introduced European diseases to the local Mississippian populations wiping out many, and whose cruelty created the widespread antipathy of the locals for white men everywhere they went.

In need of stone crab claws, Mrs. T and I  leave today to see for ourselves where Cortez's first landed in Florida  then onto Captiva, Florida a lovely barrier island, a million miles away from memories of snow and ice.    

Postings will be sporadic for the next week, but we will be thinking of you.

Love to all,

Tuesday, April 1, 2014


The unexamined life is not worth living sayeth Socrates.

I received a FitBit Flex fitness tracker for my birthday, I love it. This is not an endorsement, merely my one day experience.

 Amongst its thousand features, Fitbit is a modern wristband pedometer, measuring the number of steps taken daily, which then, from your inputs, computes distance traveled, calories burned, and overall activity level.  The data is then available for display and sharing on your phone or computer.  The top photo is my display, taken yesterday, which was a fairly typical day for me.  Sadists can add friends to their fitbit circle, so they can each compare and contrast their daily grind, goading slackers into better performance, fitness and overall virtuousness. I'm not that competitive.

One of the available measurements, the sleep tracker, will keep me up nights however.  When it's bed time, you tap Fitbit, FB signals nighty night, and off to slumberland you go.  Typically, we go to bed LATE (after 2) and one of the dogs wakes me at 8.  I put my head down, and am out until morning, or so I thought.

Sunday, we were tired from travel and went to bed early (11:25). It took me 2 minutes to fall asleep (typical), but was awakened 26 times.  I had no idea.  Somehow I lost almost 2.5 hours of sleep. A 70% sleep efficiency (sleep/time horizontal) sounds shamefully poor.

Some things in life you simply do not care to know, but I want to know where my sleep went 'cause I want it back.


Monday, March 31, 2014

Performance Art

In Sunday's  (30 March, 2014) St. Louis Post Dispatch:  Sarah knows her art and her craft, I suspect a 20 yo editor in the fuel supply.(emphasis mine)

In orchestras, a sea change in gender proportions

Think back to the symphony orchestra of yesteryear, as seen in Disney’s 1940 film “Fantasia”: all male, but for two female harpists.
Now take a good look at the orchestra of today: In the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, women players outnumber the men. The numbers were 50-50 in 2011-12; women outnumbered men for the first time in 2012-13, with 46 women out of 97 musicians; and this season the breakdown is 45 men and 51 women.
Things have changed at orchestras all over the country, if not always to the extent found here. The numbers are largely due to a combination of so-called blind auditions and changing societal attitudes...


In a world increasingly ruled by cynics knowingly offering the lowest quality goods and services secure in the knowledge the masses will meekly grumble and pay up, I've had the opportunity this week to experience 2 art realms of near human perfection.

The first,  a capital A art, is live theatre.  Certainly, bad theatre and bad art exist, but never is shlock the artist's goal.  Live theatre is transcendent. Transforming empty space to somewhere deep within your soul, via a gesture and a few lines of dialogue is one of life's eternal mysteries. Each performance, repeated however many times during its run, is unique.  Human perfection, while never achieved is the objective, the target not often missed.

The second sphere of performance art lies in the world of fine dining.  Mrs. T and I had perhaps the finest meal of our lives at chef John Besh's Restaurant August last Friday. We arrived early in the evening to have an opportunity to talk with our waiter before the evening performance.

Imagine making the same dish many times each day, knowing each must taste exactly alike the last not only today but forever.  Sounds boring until you try it.  The cutting, chopping, plating, presentation were exquisite.  The front of the house true professionals.  I'd return in a heartbeat. 

For she:
 A Tasting Of Farmers Market Vegetables

apple and parsnip soup
salad of charred broccoli
Landrem citrus, shallot, cotija cheese
spring pea yard egg raviolo
carrot and brown butter
medallions of blackened beets
fresh cheese, charred tomatillo and jalapeno
Meyer lemon souffle tart
lemon curd and gingersnap ice cream

For he:

market vegetable chop salad
with petite herbs and champagne vinaigrette

Gulf snapper "courtbouillon"
shrimp, blue crab, and jasmin rice

Soon our local farmer's markets will reopen.  Until then....