The Common Air that Bathes the Globe

A BURST OF VIVD PINK NEAR THE DRIVEWAY
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Thanks to my brother - in - law Tom Burrows
for his beautiful photograph of this late summer blossom!

*********************

With Labor Day Weekend upon us,
who better than our
200 - year - old
American Superhero Walt Whitman
to help us celebrate
"the social and economic achievements of American workers."

As my friend Len once observed:
"Every reminder of Whitman is bracing!"
Whitman is so vast and inclusive, so enthusiastic about life in these United States, that nearly any passage or poem would be appropriate for the occasion of Labor Day. Time after time, he provides comprehensive lists of jobs, professions, States, claiming his identity as "Southerner . . . Northerner . . . Yankee . . . Kentuckian . . . Hoosier . . . Kanadian":

I am . . . A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,
A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,
Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion,
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker,
Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

I resist any thing better than my own diversity,
Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

*********************
These are really the thoughts of all . . . in all ages and lands,
they are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This the common air that bathes the globe.

*********************
This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,
This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,
This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have,
and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

*********************
No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them,
No more modest than immodest.

Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!

Whoever degrades another degrades me,
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

Through me the afflatus surging and surging,
through me the cur- rent and index.

I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy,
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have
their counterpart of on the same terms.

Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars . . .

Song of Myself, 16, 17, 19, 24
in Leaves of Grass

*********************

"I wear my hat as I please indoors or out."

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
photographed on New Year's Eve 1886
by George Collins Cox (1851–1903)
photo restored in 1979 by Adam Cuerden

*********************
"When quoting Whitman," Len advised, "be sure to stand up and read it aloud for the full effect (and for the benefit of others in your vicinity!)."

Len's advice reminded me of a long ago teacher evaluation that I received at Notre Dame, when a student had listed under my "weaknesses": "Likes to read aloud." Haha! But true!

As Len then pointed out, "If people only knew the hilarious comments students often provide on course evaluations, they would want these anthologized. But then the teachers would be tempted to read these aloud."

Whitman was ever one to proclaim, but also one to whisper:

"This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you . . .

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you."

*********************

Additional examples of Whitman's bracing words:
~ Quotidian ~ Book List ~ Fortnightly ~

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, September 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Ferry Connections

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Ferry Cross the Mersey with Grandpa ~ Sam, Ron, Ben ~ Summer 1999
Ferry Cross the Mersey by John Haslam
as seen in the Crosby Herald
Ferry Cross the Mersey
(click to hear tune)
Life goes on day after day
Hearts torn in every way
So ferry cross the Mersey
'Cause this land's the place I love
And here I'll stay

People they rush everywhere
Each with their own secret care
So ferry cross the Mersey
And always take me there
The place I love

People around every corner
They seem to smile and say
We don't care what your name is boy
We'll never turn you away

So I'll continue to say
Here I always will stay
So ferry cross the Mersey
'Cause this land's the place I love
And here I'll stay
And here I'll stay
Here I'll stay

1960s hit in the UK & the USA
by Gerry and the Pacemakers
1983 cover by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Needlecraft by Abacus Designs
Almost as enchanting as fairies at bottom of your garden is the adventure of riding a ferry boat, a magical crossing to a new shore of possibility. In addition to the romantic Mersey Ferry in Liverpool, the poets have also found great romance in the Staten Island Ferry and the Brooklyn Ferry.

The Staten Island Ferry is featured in the movie Working Girl, along with Carly Simon's inspiring hit:

Let the River Run
(click to hear tune)
We're coming to the edge,
running on the water,
coming through the fog,
your sons and daughters.

Let the river run,
let all the dreamers
wake the nation.
Come, the New Jerusalem.

Silver cities rise,
the morning lights
the streets that meet them,
and sirens call them on
with a song.

It's asking for the taking.
Trembling, shaking.
Oh, my heart is aching.

We're coming to the edge,
running on the water,
coming through the fog,
your sons and daughters.

We the great and small
stand on a star
and blaze a trail of desire
through the dark'ning dawn.

It's asking for the taking.
Come run with me now,
the sky is the color of blue
you've never even seen
in the eyes of your lover.

Oh, my heart is aching.
We're coming to the edge,
running on the water,
coming through the fog,
your sons and daughters.

It's asking for the taking.
Trembling, shaking.
Oh, my heart is aching.
We're coming to the edge,
running on the water,
coming through the fog,
your sons and daughters.

Let the river run,
let all the dreamers
wake the nation.
Come, the New Jerusalem.

Music and lyrics by Carly Simon
American singer, songwriter, musician

Sixty years before Simon's song, American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay captured the charm of the Staten Island Ferry in her poem "Recuerdo," about two light - hearted lovers and a kindly mysterious stranger who enters their life briefly on the ferry:

Recuerdo
(set to music by American composer John Musto)
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1901)
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923

Recuerdo -- I remember.

Millay remembers this night of innocent joy and hopeful recklessness. Who needs money! Right? Walt Whitman too remembers -- and foretells. The lyrics of Millay, Simon, and the Pacemakers seem to have been predicted already in Whitman's triumphant description of "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," in 1856:

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose . . .

The similitudes of the past, and those of the future . . .

What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?"

To the passenger crossing the Mersey who sees the "People . . . rush everywhere / each with their own secret care," Whitman says, "Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd." To the "sons and daughters" of Carly Simon's song, the dreamers whose hearts are aching, Whitman says, "I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me." To Millay's lovers, who watched the sun rise, "dripping, a bucketful of gold," Whitman says, "I too many and many a time cross’d the river, the sun half an hour high . . . the glistening yellow."

For Whitman, the ferry boat is a microcosm of all that has been, all that is, all that is yet to come. Reading the twentieth century verses of the writers who have joined with Whitman in praise of the ferry, it seems that he was right: "Fifty years hence . . . A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence . . . Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood."

quoted passages from Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
by Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892
American poet, essayist, journalist, humanist

We gave her all our apples; we gave her all our pears . . .~ Combined McCartney Family Artistic Endeavor ~
acrylic on cardboard, late 1990's ~

Previous Posts Concerning Liverpool
Birds of Pray, August 14, 2009
Liver Building, Cunard Bldg, Port of Liverpool Bldg
(photographed from the Mersey Ferry)

Happy Batday, April 28, 2010
The Overhead Railway
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Smart Beautiful City

A CITY WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

All photos in this post ~ Astana, Kazakhstan ~ August 2017
Earlier this week, I spent two days at Purdue University's Dawn or Doom Conference, an annual event that takes a close look at both the rewards and risks of emerging technology. The theme for Dawn or Doom '17 was inspired by Professor Michael Bess's insightful, disturbing book about biomedically enhanced humans: Our Grandchildren Redesigned: Life in the Bioengineered Society of the Near Future. Topics ranged from Designing Humans (think Gattaca) to Designing Food (think Monsanto) to Designing Information (think fake news) to Designing the Workforce (think Brave New World) to Designing Cities:

"Whether it was Uruk,* the first ever human city, or Sumerians throwing up ziggurats like they were temporary housing, or the social engineering dreams of the 19th century utopians or the Puritans' visions of a godly “city on a hill,” humans have always seen cities as a way to solve humanity’s hardest problems.

"Of course, reality is a different beast. Cities are notoriously hard places to manage, among other things because of the amount of information required to allow them to run at all, let alone perfectly. But that doesn't mean people don't try to build perfection. And the latest incarnation of these utopian cities are known as “smart cities” their deep and embedded technology." ~ Gerry McCartney

*Uruk, was in Sumer but is regarded as pre-Sumerian.
Ur was up the road about 300 miles.

We then listened to two speakers who explained how these new “smart cities” are going to enable us to build the technological advanced “city on a hill” of the 21st Century: Mike Langellier from Techpoint and Paul Singh from Results Junkies.

Gerry's thought - provoking introduction to "Smart Cities" brought to mind a few connections worth sharing:

1. from Song of Myself, Part 42 ~ Walt Whitman

"A call in the midst of the crowd,
My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. . . .

This is the city and I am one of the citizens,
Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets,
newspapers, schools,
The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories,
stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate . . .

the fathomless human brain . . . "

[See also Ferry Connections & House With a Past]

2. from the novel Benediction ~ Kent Haruf

"What if we said to our enemies [or at the national level, what if we said to our citizens]: We are the most powerful nation on earth. We can destroy you. We can kill your children. We can make ruins of your cities and villages and when we're finished you won't even know how to look for the places where they used to be. We have the power to take away your water and to scorch your earth, to rob you of the very fundamentals of life. We can change the actual day into actual night. We can do these things to you. And more.

"But what if we say, Listen: Instead of any of these, we are going to give willingly and generously to you. We are going to spend the great American national treasure and the will and the human lives that we would have spent on destruction, and instead we are going to turn them all toward creation. We'll mend your roads and highways, expand your schools, modernize your wells and water supplies, save your ancient artifacts and art and culture, preserve your temples and mosques. In fact, we are going to love you."

3. from the musical Godspell ~ Stephen Schwartz

Beautiful City
sung in the movie adaptation,
featuring Victor Garber, Lynne Thigpen, et. al.

Come sing me sweet rejoicing
Come sing me love
We're not afraid of voicing
All the things
We're dreaming of
Oh, high and low,
And everywhere we go

We can build
A beautiful city
Yes we can
Oh yes we can
We can build
A beautiful city
Call it out
And call it the city of man [and woman]

We don't need alabaster
We don't need chrome
We've got our special plaster
Take my hand
I'll take you home
We see nations rise
In each other's eyes

We can build
A beautiful city
Yes we can
Oh yes we can
We can build
A beautiful city
Call it out
And call it the city of man [and woman]

Come sing me sweet rejoicing
Come sing me love
We're not afraid of voicing
All the things
We're dreaming of
Oh, high and low,
And everywhere we go

We can build
A beautiful city
Yes we can
Oh yes we can
We can build
A beautiful city
Call it out
And call it the city of man [and woman]**

**A simple suggestion, as Schwartz is
not exactly known for inclusive gender.

In closing, I'm charmed by these contrasting thoughts about the men and women who populate the cities. Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892) offers an expansive view, complete with quaintly agrarian metaphor:

"In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them."

from Song of Myself, Part 20)
For others, the human density not only of a large smart city but even of a beautiful college town can be overwhelming. A hundred years before Whitman, English poet Thomas Gray (1716 - 1771) wrote:

"Cambridge is a delight of a place now, there is nobody in it.
I do believe you would like it, if you knew what it was without inhabitants.
It is they, I assure you, that get it an ill name and spoil all."

from the Works of Thomas Gray
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, October 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Build Back Better
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

More Dawn or Doom Links

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Nothing To Live Against

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Philadelphia: Ginkgo Branch & View from 3rd Floor ~ Autumn 2000

Josef In The Windowsill: So Placid and Self - Contained!
(Same Window, Same Ginkgo Branch ~ Summer 1994)
In The Little Book of Letting Go, Hugh Prather questions why we wear the seams of our socks against the skin, so that they look smooth on the outside but feel bad on the inside. Wouldn't inside out make more sense? Interior vs Exterior.

Circumstances vs State of Mind. Which matters more? Prather says don't let circumstances become more important than your mental state: "If it were possible to summarize all mystical teachings in a single sentence, this one would come close: Make your state of mind more important that what you are doing" (7, 76).

I don't know why Hugh Prather calls his book "Little" since it is really just a normal - sized book. However, if you're familiar with author Susan Jeffers, she really does have a couple of tiny books containing advice similar to Prather's. Prather says we have two minds -- one that is whole and peaceful; another that is always conflicted, fragmented and busy. Susan Jeffers calls these two minds The Higher Self and the Lower Self. The Higher Self holds inner peace, strength, wisdom and spiritual dimension, whereas the Lower Self is a "place of struggle, lack, fear, and pain" (The Little Book of Peace of Mind, 4).

I have long been aware that when I get upset it is due to circumstances (missed appointment, messed up recipe, items lost or misplaced). This awareness, however, has not yet prevented me from feeling irritated, even though I tell myself over and over that these details are insignificant and have nothing to do with my Higher Self; they are merely circumstances that I needn't react to. As Jeffers says, "Your inner peace has nothing to do with the dramas of your life" (LBPM, 9). But, guess what? I react anyway, giving those annoying little details and missteps the power to determine my mood and the way I feel about and act toward others. It's all small stuff? Oh, really?

As you may have noticed not long ago on the Quotidian Kit, one of my favorite lines of fiction is actually about this same idea. In one of Margaret Atwood's "True Romances," a character is lamenting that her bad boyfriend has left her, and now she has "nothing to live for." Her level - headed friend asks, "Were you living for him when he was here?" And the distressed one says, "No . . . I was living in spite of him, I was living against him." The wise friend concludes, "Then you should say, I have nothing to live against."

I do recall applying this lesson during my early Philadelphia years, back when I was trying to improve my urban attitude. Thinking of Atwood's story, I said to myself, "You need to give up living against the city! You have nothing to live against." But it's such a bad habit with me, it seems that I will try to live against almost anything! The weather, the grocery store, the holiday season, organized religion, centuries of misogynism -- you name it; unless I consciously stop myself, I will try to live against it. And how does one little person live against an entire city or an entire cosmos or an entire family? Not only is it impossible, it is just not necessary to do so, even if it does feel so at times.

Nothing to live against. Brian Andreas makes a similar suggestion in his story, "Western Mysticism": "It's much easier, he told me, if you like the parts you like & you like the parts you don't like. Is that some Eastern thing? I said & he said not really since he was from Idaho & it worked there just fine" (from StoryPeople).

Still I wonder, how do you really learn to "like the parts you don't like"? How do you learn to say, "Oh well," if that's what the occasion calls for, to be dismissive, remain impassive, impersonal, detached? Easy to know these ideas so well yet remain painfully inept at living them out. Oh, Great Buddha (misogynist though you were), Oh, Mother Theresa, tell us: how ON EARTH does one "let go"; how draw the line between "circumstance" and "state of mind"? For a Doubting Thomasina, a Daughter of Descartes, a Western Girl With Glasses, it's not always easy.

Honestly now, what kind of person are you if your circumstances don't impact your state of mind? Isn't that kind of like Oliver singing, "If you don't mind taking it like it turns out / it's a fine life"? But that's not what we believe, is it? What if you do mind? Despite the song, it was not a fine life for Oliver, nor for Charles Dickens. Was Dickens any more Eastern than I?

Was Walt Whitman?

I think I could turn and live with animals,
they're so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied,
not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another,
nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the earth.
(from Song of Myself, #32)

I loved this stanza as a student and for a very long time afterward, even now I guess. Yet I have to agree with the critic who said that Whitman probably didn't mean it -- maybe about the animals he did; but surely not about himself. After all, he lived a life of highly refined intellect, not possible (as far as we know) for cows or cats.

When reading Hugh Prather's book, I couldn't help but notice how often his examples were about puppies. Very appealing and touching, but hello we are not dogs or cats or cows. We are humans with baggage and memory and very complicated brains and the need for discourse. On the more useful side, however, Prather says that progress matters more than achievement, direction more than perfection. We can choose, we can decide. In the best interest of inner peace, we can wear our socks inside out.


P.S. Christmas is coming!
Next post will be on Monday, December 14th
Between now and then, be sure to read
my shorter, almost daily blog posts on
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com
(Ginkgo trees, leafless trees, Christmas trees)

Classic Cinema, 1924 - 1945

KEYWORDS ARE YOUR FRIEND
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

New York Movie (1939)
Edward Hopper (1882 - 1967)

This post serves as a memory prompt and a keyword search for the growing list of movie classics that Gerry and I have been watching recently. Not to be lazy, but my goal here is modest, no reviews -- just a list of titles and stars.

It turns out that we were watching so many old-time classics that we couldn't keep them all straight in our heads. Thus, I have compiled these lists in an attempt to prevent all of our recent viewing from merging into one huge indiscernible dramatic mishmash.

Here are the movies we've been watching, loosely organized by year, with a few cross references and connections of interest thrown in for good measure.

For the specific day - month - year of every release,
try this website: The Numbers
1924 Battleship Potemkin

1927 Metropolis

1930 Anna Christie ~ Greta Garbo

1931 Susan Lenox ~ Greta Garbo & Clark Gable

1933 Baby Face ~ Barbara Stanwyck, John Wayne

1933 Duck Soup ~ Marx Brothers: Chico, Groucho, Harpo, Zeppo


1934 The Thin Man ~ William Powell, Myrna Loy, Maureen O'Sullivan

1934 The Barretts of Wimpole Street ~ Norma Shearer & Frederic March & Charles Laughton & Maureen O'Sullivan

1934 Babes in Toyland ~ Laurel & Hardy
[see also 1998 The Impostors ~ a tribute of sorts to L & H with Stanley Tucci, Oliver Platt, Alfred Molina, Tony Shalhoub, Steve Buscemi, Billy Connolly]

1934 It Happened One Night ~ Claudette Colbert & Clark Gable

1934 Imitation of Life ~ Claudette Colbert
[see also 1959 Lana Turner]

1934 Of Human Bondage ~ Bette Davis & Leslie Howard


1935 Top Hat ~ Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers

1935 The 39 Steps ~ Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll

1936 Modern Times ~ Charlie Chaplin & Paulette Goddard


1938 Jezebel ~ Bette Davis & Henry Fonda

1939 Goodbye, Mr. Chips ~ Robert Donat & Greer Garson
[see also 1969 with Peter O'Toole & Petula Clark]

1939 Mr. Smith Goes to Washington ~ Jean Arthur, James Stewart

1939 Wuthering Heights ~ Merle Oberon, Laurence Olivier and David Niven [and many more versions]

1939 The Women ~ Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Rosalind Russell, Paulette Goddard, Joan Fontaine, Lucile Watson, Mary Boland, Florence Nash, Virginia Grey, Marjorie Main, Phyllis Povah, Ruth Hussey, Virginia Weidler, Butterfly McQueen, Theresa Harris, Hedda Hopper

And this isn't even the complete list!
Film scholar Victoria Amador refers to The Women as a
"gay camp classic film . . . an estrogen-soaked comic souffle . . . "
So many women!
1939 ~ Jamaica Inn ~ Charles Laughton, Robert Newton, Maureen O'Hara
[Based on the novel by Daphne du Maurier]

1940 Rebecca ~ Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier
[Based on the novel by Daphne du Maurier]

1940 The Shop Around the Corner ~ Jimmy Stewart & Margaret Sullavan

1940 The Great Dictator ~ Charlie Chaplin & Paulette Goddard

1940 His Girl Friday ~ Rosalind Russell & Cary Grant

1940 The Philadelphia Story ~ Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart

1940 The Letter ~ Bette Davis, Herbert Marshall, James Stephenson

1940 Remember the Night ~ Barbara Stanwyck & Fred MacMurray.


1941 How Green Was My Valley ~ Walter Pidgeon, Maureen O'Hara, Anna Lee, Donald Crisp, and a young Roddy McDowall

1941 The Lady Eve ~ Barbara Stanwyck & Henry Fonda & Charles Coburn

1941 The Maltese Falcon ~ Humphrey Bogard & Mary Astor
& Jerome Cowan as Miles Archer
-- not the same as Lew Archer / The Name is Archer

1942 Mrs. Miniver ~ Greer Garson & Walter Pidgeon

1942 The Magnificent Ambersons ~ Joseph Cotten, Dolores Costello, Anne Baxter, Tim Holt, Agnes Moorehead

1942 Now, Voyager ~ Bette Davis

The title derives from this brief poem by Walt Whitman:

"The untold want by life and land ne’er granted,
Now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find."

Thanks again to Victoria Amaddor, Ph.D.
for additional insights & witty repartee

1943 Casablanca ~ Humphrey Bogart & Ingrid Bergman

1943 Shadow of a Doubt ~ Teresa Wright, Joseph Cotton, Macdonald Carey


1944 Laura ~ Gene Tierney, Clifton Webb, Vincent Price

1944 Arsenic and Old Lace ~ Cary Grant

1944 Double Indemnity ~ Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, Edward G. Robinson

1944 Meet Me in St. Louis ~ Judy Garland


1945 Blithe Spirit ~ Rex Harrison, Constance Cummings, Kay Hammond, Margaret Rutherford

1945 Christmas in Connecticut ~ Barbara Stanwyck, Dennis Morgan, Sydney Greenstreet, S.Z. Sakall

1945 Leave Her to Heaven ~ Cornel Wilde & Gene Tierney

1945 The Valley of Decision ~ Gregory Peck & Greer Garson, Jessica Tandy, Lionel Barrymore, Reginald Owen

1945 Mildred Pierce ~ Joan Crawford
[also 2011 ~ Kate Winslet]

For a continuation of the above list:
Classic Cinema, 1946 - 1986

For a list of current suggestions:
Barb Reviews the Movies
We always read and follow - up on these lively suggestions!

For a comprehensive contemporary list:
Joan Tollifson's Recommended Movie List
Thanks to my friend Diane Cox for sharing Joan's master list!

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, February 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Given Life by an Intimate Sun

Ponta Delgada, Azores
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

The Sea of Portugal

Oh salt laden sea, how much of your salt
belongs to the tears of Portugal!
By crossing your waters, how many mothers wept,
how many sons and daughters prayed in vain!
How many would be brides denied
for you to be ours, oh sea!

Was it all worth it -- the price that was paid?
All is worth doing, if one is great of soul.
Beyond the Cape of Bojador, for those who dare to sail,
all pain must be renounced, all suffering cast off.
Perils and unfathomable depths to the sea gave God,
for the sky above is mirrored within.

Fernando Pessoa
My preceding Fortnightly concluded with a preview of Pessoa's work, and a promise of more Portuguese poetry to come. Once again dipping into the anthology, I have chosen a selection of poems from the three youngest poets, all of whom lived and wrote, intensely and somewhat sadly, in the early 20th Century: Pessoa (1888 – 1935), his friend and colleague Mario de Sa-Carneiro (1890 – 1916), and Florabela Espanca (1894 - 1930). As you can see from the dates, their lives were not long. Pessoa was plagued by ill health and alcoholism; Sa-Carneiro and Espanca died of suicide.

A little more sunshine -- and I would be an ember.
A little more blue -- and I would take flight.
But I lacked that impulse to get there . . . "
from the poem "Almost"
~ Mario de Sa-Carneiro ~

Fernando Pessoa (with glasses),
Florbela Espanca (mid / left),
Mario de Sa-Carneiro (above her, wearing hat)
The most optimistic of this group is Fernando Pessoa, whose ode to the machine is worthy of Dawn or Doom or Walt Whitman. He grants technology a role in the creation of his poetry and looks to the future as well as the past:

Ode Triumphant

Under the powerful light of the industrial lamps
I possess a fever and through gritted teeth I write.
I write, overcome, drunk with all this beauty,
A beauty entirely unknown to the ancients.

Oh wheels, oh gears, grrrrind eternally!
Mighty spasms constricted by machines enraged!
A thunderous rage both within and without,
pervading all my nerves detached,
all my taste buds, all I feel with!
My lips are dry, oh noise so loud and so modern,
as you I hear with such close intensity,
and my head burns from singing you with excess
in pronouncement of all that I feel,
with an exuberance to match yours, oh machines!

In "Lisbon Revisited (1926)" Pessoa writes of both sea and city, and existential angst:

Nothing connects me to nothing . . .
Once more I see you,
city of my youth so tragically lost . . .
And once more I see you,
my heart at a distance, my soul much less so.
Once more I see you -- Lisbon, my city . . .
Once more I see you,
but alas, myself, I do not!
The magical mirror in which my image reflected, cracked,
and in each fateful shard remains a fragment of me --
a fragment of you and me!

The theme of nothingness appears throughout Pessoa's work, as he wonders about the elusive meaning of life. He wrongly foresees a negated fate for his poetry, though this strain of gloom did not prevent him from writing prolifically and with a great sense of affirmation, under a complicated system of pseudonyms. The following two examples come under the name of Ricardo Reis:

Nothing remains of nothing. We are nothing.
With a little sun and air, we hold back, delay
the stifling darkness that weighs heavy
on the moistened land.
We are all death deferred, and we multiply.

Laws created, statues viewed, odes concluded --
everything has its graves, and if we, who are given life
by an intimate sun,
too must rest, why not everything else?
We tell tales upon tales -- we are nothing.

**********************

Yes, I know that
I'll forever be a nobody.
I know very well that
a single work I shall not complete.
And more so that
I'll never know me.
Yes, but now,
whilst this time lasts,
this moonlight, these arms,
this peace that we feel,
permit me to believe
that which I may never be.

The tragic poet, Florabela Espanca (8 December 1894 – 8 December 1930) predicts, again incorrectly, that her work may share a similar fate:

Vanity

I dream that I'm the Golden Girl of poets,
She who says it all and knows it all,
who finds pure and perfect inspiration,
who gathers the boundless into a single line!

I dream that in just one of my lines is a brightness
enough to fll the whole world! Delighting
even those whose hearts are sore and broken!
Even those with profound and yearning souls!

I dream that I am Somebody here in this world --
She of the vast and profound wisdom,
at whose feet the Earth bows!

And when I'm dreaming skyward at my highest,
and soaring at my loftiest up above,
I wake from my dream -- And I'm nothing!

It is typical of Espanca's sonnets to initially fill the reader with hope, until the introduction of despair in the last few lines. In "To A Young Girl," for example, we join in the poet's encouragement of the young girl to embrace life in every aspect -- yes, do this; yes do that! But "dig yourself a grave"? No, don't do that!

To A Young Girl
For Nice

Open your eyes and face your life! Your fate
has to come true! Fling your horizons wide!
Raise bridges up across the boggy mires
with your precious, young woman's hands.

Along the fascinating highway of your life
keep walking on ahead, on over the mountains!
Bite into fruits as you laugh! Drink from the springs!
Kiss everyone your good luck brings your way!

Wave a hello to the farthest-distant star,
use your own hands to dig yourself a grave,
and then, with a grin, lie down in it!

Then may the earth's hands lovingly
bring up into the light out of your body's grace,
slender and new, the stalk of a flower!

Struggling against both physical and mental illness, it was difficult for Espanca to choose the joyous life that she describes in the opening of nearly every poem. If only she had been able to see that she herself was the "Enchanted Princess of Dreamland," that she, like her contemporary Pessoa, had been "given life by an intimate sun." Well, maybe she did.

What You Are

You're the One every little thing gets down,
rubs wrong and embitters, everything humiliates you;
you're the One Heartache called her daughter,
the One deserving nothing from man or God.

You're the One whom the bright sun darkens,
who doesn't even know what road she's traveling on,
the one without a single gleaming, wondrous love
to dazzle you, and give you light and warmth!

A Dead Sea with no tides or wide waves,
made up entirely of bitter tears,
groveling on the ground like beggar-women do!

You're a year when spring never came --
Ah! If only you could be like other girls,
O Enchanted Princess of Dreamland!

Thanks again to these two enchanted wanderers
for their photos of Portugal and for the book of poetry!h

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, August 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

To the Literary Battle Fronts

INSTILLING DIGNITY, CHANGING STORIES
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Mural by
The Graffiti Girls Kenya

Journalist Elizabeth Okwach: "In Kenya, a group of fearless women are finding ways to express themselves by painting graffiti. In the process, these women are challenging stereotypes by visualizing civic issues that are impacting their community.

"Working in Kenya’s capital Nairobi — and major surrounding cities — Graffiti Girls Kenya are painting murals that are gracing the walls of creative hubs and community centers. Even though the murals are bright with color, the themes of these works cover a wide range of societal ills."

Graffiti Girls "sees public art as a crucial venue to address"
the problem of Gender Based Violence.

Artist Nelly Bradbury: “Our messaging through graffiti is bold and clear. When people are passing by they are able to see it and even guide them . . . I believe that public art is changing the social conditions of our community and instilling a deep sense of dignity. It is also changing peoples’ stories that have been ignored or overlooked.

~from OkayAfrica, June 2, 2022

While the artists' collective raises awareness visually, the AMKA writers' collective takes a verbal approach. Director Lydia W. Gaitirira expresss concern that while "written works form a good basis for analyzing perceptions on important social, political, economic and other issues . . . a lot of the creative literature available to young women . . . is designed primarily to entertain . . . [and] often ignores the pertinent issues."

The Fresh Paint literature project offers a corrective to fill that gap. Through prose and poetry, numerous serious writers are telling their stories of personal and political revolution from "the literary battle fronts."

Featured recently on
Kitti's Book List and The Quotidian Kit

~ Volume 1 available on amazon ~
~ Title story available on wordpress ~

This post will focus on a few more selections
from the Fresh Paint collections.
In the following poems, a trio of poets
raise their voices and our consciousness.

1.
The first is a saga of birth, suffering, and as yet unrealized potential, somewhat reminiscent of Walt Whitman's Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, except -- instead of bird, boy, and sea -- the dominant motifs are mother, child, and earth (see also Yeats's "The Second Coming"). This is a long poem; here are the first five stanzas:

The Day the Cradle Gave Birth
~ by Kingwa Kamenchu (in volume 1, 108 - 112)

I know the story of how
She had once been
The cradle of all mankind,
The genesis of all living and breathing,
The birth ground of all empire.
But then in time,
Things had fallen apart

But I've been watching and waiting
And reading the signs
And they all tell me
That the cradle is once again pregnant
Heavy.
Ready to deliver
Any time soon

I see it in the way
Those children inside her stir,
Move, foment, and seethe,
With the pain of being inside
In that watery dark for far too long
A watery dark they have been stuck into
Pegged in, enclosed around, hemmed into,
Trapped down in, shoved upon, condemned to,
Misled, misinformed, and
Hoodwinked is their destiny
For far too long.

They know they must get out now,
Get away from the suffocation and bleakness inside.
These days, you see,
They have their learning; they have seen other worlds
Sniffed the tangy possibility of new vistas
They know who they are
What they want
And they will take no less

I see it in the way
Those children kick,
Jerk about, lash out, and thrust against,
Refuse, demur, dissent
To the condemnation; hit against the inner
enemies as well,
Refuse to be stifled,
After all these years
After numerous struggles
From the war trenches to the academies,
To the literary battle fronts,
They have never given up . . .


The sixth stanza describes Mother Africa's 50 - year pregnancy: "abnormal, surreal, absurd." While the other six continents "Dance, sashay and flourish" and "rule the world," she is restricted by her so - called "condition." In the seventh and eighth stanzas, "Her body has been one big war zone . . . Such a torturous existence" of labor pains, birth pangs, loss of blood.

Then for a brief moment, seven short stanzas, the poet is graced with a vision of hope. Africa has delivered the "home grown . . . fruit of her womb":


Fat, gurgling, cherub-cheeked babies,
Round and luscious, black skins satedly gleaming.
Long gone were the pathetic skin and bone wasted tots
Staring out of wide vacant eyes, flies nibbling at their corners
BBC, CNN, long packd up and trotted off to the
wildebeest great migration
in search of the new exotic; Real African picture. . . .

But I blinked
And when I opened my eyes,
She was still pregnant
Flailing her arms and legs
Rolling her neck from side to side
Moaning in pain and anguish
Like before

And it made me sit and wonder,
What will it take?
For this glorious, blessed cradle,
To give birth once again?


2.
The second poem, like the first, is rich in literary allusion and geography -- the Nile, the streets of Harlem, the "belly of the Sahara . . . a thousand lands." Jallow writes with hope that the world is wide and scorn may be supplanted by song. However, many wrongs remain to redress:

From Shame and Fantasy I Rise
~ by Maimouna Jallow (in Volume 2, 26 - 27)

I too, I dance and I rise
With diamonds at the meeting between my thighs,
Reclaimed the names that you gave me,
And found in them some things that might surprise.

Too many details remained buried under the cloak of the past,
Even if slavery never did lay its hands on my brown skin.
Shame and fantasy reduced my tribe to just half of a caste
Only the walls murmuring whispers of the original sin.

You called me Zero Point Five,
Mathematically drawing a decimal into my existence,
As though in those numbers did not lie
Thousands of years of resistance.

You called me IN-FER-TILE,
Supported by false tales of scientific evolution.
But I flow through man-made boundaries, a child of the NILE,
And my name is written in stone, engraved in the memory of revolution.

Now, just like then, Mule-atta dances off your tongue,
Insult camouflaged by exoticism,
An eroticism splattered on big screens uncensored.
Darwinism dons past colonialism and has just met commercialism.

But under the glow of Harlem streetlights, I too was reborn.
Invoked my sisters of the cowrie crowns,
We rose and danced away your scorn.
Cleaned away the bruises and beneath found mud brown.

And from the belly of the Sahara, we prayed to Orishas.
Baptised ourselves: half of a yellow sun, half of a full moon.
Journeyed a thousand lands learning the wisdom of philosophers
And found that God put a prayer and song in our mouths too.


3.
The third poem personifies and addresses Nairobi directly. The poet calls on the city to account for an unfair history and provide for an equitable future. All three poems share themes of revolution and rebirth. All three ask the reader to question the power of location and the significance of placenames. What will it take? Are you that place?

Are you that place?
~ by Nebila Abdulmelik (in Volume 2, 7)

Are you that concrete jungle
Crumbling under the weight of
Manoeuvring, manipulative matatus
Where passengers are shuka'd at whim?
Are you where darkness whispers sweet lullabies
Or where lights play dirty tricks
Where money is mobile
And glass ceilings tower as high as KICC?
Where freedom is plastered on bus stops
And injustice deeply rooted
Into territorial boundaries
Where few attest their tribe is indeed Kenyan
Where Tusker runs like maji
Where unga is revolutionised
And revolutions are most definitely not televised
Where radios relentlessly relay well kept secrets
Where the rain commands the city
And payday drives traffic
Where the likes of Kibera & Sinai make way
For the likes of Karen & Spring Valley?
Are you the capital of thieves and robbers
Or a megapolis of IT geeks, business gurus and self-made men
Where every pocket is packed with dreams
But not every dream packs pockets
Tell me, Nairobi, are you that place?

Tumutumu Mission Station,
Kenya, ca.1910-1930,
about 2 hours north of Nairobi

***************

Tumutumu Presbytery,
a few decades later.
My friend Mumbi says:
"This is not what it looked like
when I was baptized there at age 12."

Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, April 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

House With a Past

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

A fortnight ago in "House Sisters," I posted the article about our West Philly renovation project that appeared in The Philadelphia Inquirer, on March 27th, 1994. Eleven years later, on March 26th 2005, our West Lafayette renovation project was featured in the Lafayette Journal and Courier. Just this past week, when I shared my address with a new acquaintance, she immediately recalled, "Oh, your house was in the paper a few years ago!" Nine years ago, in fact! How nice that she remembered!

Here is a copy of the article she was thinking of
(click on text to enlarge for reading)

Residing for a decade in Philadelphia, we became spoiled by the housing stock, with choices from every century of American history. We were returning to Indiana for many good reasons, but we were sad to leave our grand old historic houses behind. Would we be able to find something as beautiful as our urban Victorian? Miraculously, the answer was "Yes." For the life of us, we could not remember ever having driven by this house when we lived here before (1988 - 1993), though we certainly must have done so. Nevertheless, we learned through the grapevine that it might be available, so on a leap of faith we flew out, made an offer, and thanked our lucky stars.

Indiana Victorian ~ Sideview Before Addition

Work in Progress, as described in newspaper article

Completed Project (see related post on my book blog)

I can easily get lost for an entire afternoon browsing through all the old papers that came with the house, reading the descriptions of all the previous owners and real estate transactions, even last wills and testaments! In Philadelphia, I had to go to the courthouse and painstakingly track down all the previous deeds of ownership on microfilm (very old tech), but when we bought the house here, the realtor simply handed us a thick folder bulging with over a hundred years' worth of brittle time - worn papers already compiled.

I'm sure you remember Robin Williams, in Dead Poets Society, telling the students to listen closely to what the old photographs are whispering:

"But if you listen real close,
you can hear them whisper their legacy to you.
Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - -
Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day!"
That's exactly the same feeling I get when looking at all these old names and signatures. Just to name a few, there were Robert Alexander and his wife Elizabeth, who signed her name with an "X" in 1825. Their homestead deed from the United States of America was authorized "By the President John Quincy Adams."

Next came Nancy G. & Henry L. Ellsworth (the first Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office), who owned the parcel of land when it consisted of 130 acres, plus additional property stretching all the way over to Illinois. In their day, the main road at the end of our hill (now called North River Road) was called Ellsworth Street. The Ellsworths eventually sold to the land developers who gave their name to the area, the Chauncey Brothers of -- coincidentally! -- Philadelphia (Elihu, Charles, and Nathaniel). Before West Lafayette incorporated independently of Lafayette, it was known as "Chauncey," but for practical reasons the rather less charming "West Lafayette" won out instead. We still have Chauncey Avenue, Chauncey Hill Mall, and Chauncey Village Apartments, but what a unique name it would have been for the entire town.

It's not yet clear to me which property owner built the house, somewhere around 1895; but we do know that from 1912 - 1955 it was occupied by the Topping Family, including son Robert W. Topping, who wrote A Century and Beyond: The History of Purdue University and Just Call Me Orville: The Story of Orville Redenbacher. And later, from 1968 - 1999, the creative Scarcelli Family.

Though I never have any sense that the house is haunted, I feel sure that some of The Others must live here; after all, there have been so many of them! As Walt Whitman writes in "Song of the Open Road":

You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. . . .

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
~ Selected lines from Parts 3 and 13 ~

Thank you old house for imparting your secrets!

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, April 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Rocky Road

ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS


To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
to conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
to look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you,
however long but it stretches and waits for you.
by
~ Walt Whitman ~
from
"Song of the Open Road"
When my friend Catherine flew out to visit me a few years ago, she spent her time on the plane reading Anne Lamott's Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith. She loved the passage about the Virgin Mary's frustration with her teen-age son: "What on earth did Mary do when Jesus was thirteen? Here's what I think: She occasionally started gathering rocks." Lamott imagines Jesus driving his parents crazy and sassing back: "'You're not the boss of me. I don't even have to listen to you.' And what is Mary doing this whole time? Mary's got a rock in her hand" (98 - 99). And so does Lamott, though of course she never throws it. The tactile sensation of its polished solidity calms her heart, absorbs all the anger. She and her son resolve their conflict. Rock gathering as natural therapy.

When I picked Catherine up, she insisted that before going home we stop by my favorite bookstore, VON'S, where you can get, in addition to books, every kind of way cool bauble, bangle, bead, magnet, or lucky rock imaginable. She bought not only a brand new copy of Plan B for me to keep, but also a handful of the most beautiful rocks ever! I love them all, but my favorite has to be the rose quartz, a soothing stone believed by some to convey unconditional love and tolerance. I keep it along with my rose quartz necklace and earrings (gifts from another friend) in a pink seashell dish, right beside my bed, along with my Little Book of Peace of Mind, which may sound trite but is not.

Quite the opposite, this little book by Susan Jeffers is full of accessible mantras that help me think better: "When entering a room . . . focus on what you are going to give rather [than] what you are going to get in the way of approval"; "Visualize those who [are] nourished by your gift"; "In everything we do, we have been handed the Kingdom. May we always remember this"; "By definition, if we say THANK YOU often enough, any trace of poverty consciousness disappears; we begin feeling incredibly abundant!" That sort of thing.

In the introduction Jeffers writes, "I'm amazed at how obvious are the causes of our upsets in life, big or small." She recounts an ancient saying: "'The road is smooth. Why do you throw rocks before you?' We all throw rocks before us, sometimes making our Journey very difficult. So let's begin clearing the debris to make way for a more joyful, abundant . . . and peaceful . . . life! (ellipses, Jeffers). Later, she says, "Feel the relief this freedom brings. Feel yourself lighten as you let go of all the unnecessary burdens you have created for yourself" (Jeffers, xii, 30; see also 67 - 77). When I read these words about throwing rocks and letting go, the strains of an old favorite song -- "By My Side," from the Godspell soundtrack --echoed through my head, a song whose verses have intrigued me for years with their concept of making a CHOICE on a DARE, to put a pebble in your shoe; then to take it out again and give it back to the Universe -- "Meet your new road!"


Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Will you take me with you? . . .

Oh please, take me with you
Let me skip the road with you

I can dare myself
I can dare myself
I'll put a pebble in my shoe
And watch me walk, watch me walk

I can walk and walk

I can walk!

I shall call the pebble Dare
I shall call the pebble Dare
We will walk, we will talk together
We will talk
About walking
Dare shall be carried

And when we both have had enough
I will take him from my shoe, singing:

"Meet your new road!"

~ lyrics by Jay Hamburger


Ah ha! Now, I think I know what the Wise Fool answers when the Wise Old Sage asks, "Why do you throw rocks before you?"

I do it to dare myself!














seeker of truth

follow no path
all paths lead where

truth is here

~ E. E. Cummings

And in closing:

Anything is one of a million paths. Therefore you must always keep in mind that a path is only a path; if you feel you should not follow it, you must not stay with it under any conditions. To have such clarity you must lead a disciplined life. Only then will you know that any path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you to do. But your decision to keep on the path or to leave it must be free of fear or ambition. I warn you. Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question. . . . Does this path have a heart? All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long, long paths, but I am not anywhere. My question has meaning now. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

Carlos Castaneda
from The Teachings of Don Juan
("Chapter 5": Monday, January 28, 1963)