By Patrick F. Cannon

When my children were about 10 and 11, we ventured south to Disney World in Orlando. As I recall, it was July and a bit on the warm side. We bought a package tour, which included air and a stay at a nearby Holiday Inn, rather than the much more expensive Disney properties. Epcot had just opened, so we spent a day there and another at the original Magic Kingdom. We also spent time at their water park, a welcome interlude in the heat.

            As I recall, we had a fun time, but the trip had some challenges. We had a delay at O’Hare when one of the plane’s engines caught fire. Eventually they fixed the problem, or so we were told, and we managed to get to the Orlando airport, which in those days was in its initial stages of development. Baggage claim, or example, was outside. The package included a rental car, which broke down before we were even off the property. That was fortunate because they were forced to give us a bigger car to replace it.

            As I recall, we stayed four or five days. The Holiday Inn had a nice pool, and the children took full advantage of it. But the most memorable non-Disney excursion was to an attraction called the Gatorland Zoo and Jumperoo. A kind of wildlife park, the highlight was watching the gators leap out of the water to snatch raw chickens from  their “keepers.” You entered through a gaping gator’s mouth. The gift shop was full of everything gator. A few years after our visit, the building burned down, but it was rebuilt and the zoo thrives to this day (www.gatorland.com).

            I can’t recall what it all cost, but we could afford it. Now, a four day “experience” for a family of four can cost up to $7,000 if you stay at one of the Disney hotels. I recently read that only about 20 percent of American families can afford Disney, much less a full week at some $10,000.

Coincidentally, CBS’s “Sunday Morning”  had a feature recently about the “American Girl” phenomenon. For those of you who don’t have a daughter or granddaughter, spending the day at one of their stores is something of a rite of passage for pre-teen girls. The dolls themselves cost about $175, but there are many add ons. While companion books are only about $10, how about a bedroom for dolly at $250? Or a bathroom for $220? Of course, you must have lunch at $30 a head; or maybe you prefer tea at $50?

At a minimum. mom and daughter are going to spend nearly $300. You can add that amount to the Disney experience – there’s an American Girl store in Orlando too.

As you can imagine – and maybe it has affected your family – through peer and other pressures, kids now feel they must have what their friends all seem to  have. When I was six or seven years old, a trip to the local amusement park, Kennywood in Pittsburgh, or a resort on Lake Erie for a week, was enough to delight me. I didn’t have access to the myriad influences and “influencers” that assault our kids today, so I was perfectly satisfied with simpler pleasures.

When we moved to Chicago, we lived within walking distance of what is now the Griffin Museum of Science and Industry. Admission was free. As it was and still is at Lincoln Park Zoo. The only extra at the museum was the coal mine, which cost 10 cents. Now, of course, they charge admission. Even so, a day for a family of four would cost about $250 these days if you opted for all the extras, vastly different from Disney. And you can drive to Six Flags Great America and spend a similar amount. But will that satisfy today’s children? Like so many things these days – a day at Wrigley Field for a Cub’s game could cost the family $400 – what used to be affordable for a middle-class family is now a luxury. It’s a shame really.

I don’t envy today’s parents. And I almost forgot about Taylor Swift. Although prices varied, mom (and sometimes dad) and daughter would have spent a minimum of about $500 per ticket to attend her recent tour. In Chicago, many attendees were from out of town, so add travel, hotel, and meals. When I was a kid, these stadium extravaganzas simply didn’t exist. Somehow, we survived.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F, Cannon

I recently read yet another article about comedians and others self-censoring their jokes and other remarks for fear of causing even the mildest discomfort in their audience or readers. It reminded me of this piece, which was published nearly 10 years ago.

By Patrick F. Cannon

Myron Cohen (1902-1986) was a well-known comedian from the 1950s until his death. He was best known for his dialect jokes, primarily done in a Yiddish accent, but with a sprinkling of Italian and Irish dialects too. They were done affectionately and were short stories rather than the typical one-liners of the time. Before becoming a full-time entertainer, he had sold fabrics to the New York garment industry and claimed his story telling him set apart from his competitors. (Only Billy Chrystal today reminds me of him.)

            He appeared regularly on Ed Sullivan’s variety show, and on both Jack Paar’s and Johnny Carson’s Tonight shows. I remember three of his short stories, and I’ll try to do them justice here, but of course his delivery and accents added much to them. (By the way, I don’t recall that he thought his sex life was so fascinating that anyone would want to spend an hour listening to its gory details. Why this has become the norm with comedians today escapes me.)

                                                Stage Delicatessen

Sam was a waiter at New York’s legendary Stage Delicatessen. His boss, the manager (maître de is perhaps too fancy a word for that place), was named Max. They had both been there for about 25 years and had never said a kind word to each other. Their feuds were legendary, and indeed the customers thought their constant bickering was part of the delicatessen’s essential ambiance.

            Then one day at closing, Max took Sam aside and said: “Sam, I know we haven’t always gotten along {a massive understatement}, but I know you’re a hard worker with loyal customers, so effective immediately, I’m giving you a raise.” To say that Sam was thunderstruck would be an understatement. He was almost struck dumb and could only reply with a very weak “thank you.”

            When he got home and told his wife, she was amazed and said maybe Max wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Anyway, Sam had a spring in his step the next morning when he arrived at work. He went to the back room to put on his white jacket and apron. Max entered, walked over to him, and said “Sam, you’re fired!” “Fired,” the stunned Sam replied, “yesterday you praised me and gave me a raise. How can you fire me?”

            Max smilingly replied: “You should lose a better job!”

                                                Watch Out!

 O’Hara was a motorman on New York streetcars when such things still existed. He had been assigned to a route in Queens for many years but then got transferred to a route in lower Manhattan. Being a bachelor, he decided to move to an apartment on the lower east side, so he could be within walking distance of the streetcar barn.

            One day, he noticed his watch seemed to be losing a couple of minutes a day. Since an accurate watch was important in his job, and he had a day off, he decided to have it fixed. As it happened, he noticed a shop down the street with a large watch in the window. Assuming it was a watch repair shop, he entered and went up to the counter. Behind it was an elderly man with a beard.

            “My watch is losing time,” says O’Hara, “and I wonder if you could adjust it?”

            “I don’t fix watches, I’m a mohel,” replies the bearded one.

            “What’s a mohel, for God’s sake?”

            “I circumcise little Jewish boys.”

            “But why do you have that big watch in the window if you don’t fix watches?

            “So, what do you want me to have in the window?”

Goldberg and the Pope

We’re back at the Stage Delicatessen. One table has for many years been set aside for a group of garment industry men who gather every week day for lunch. Not everyone comes every day; but on a typical day seven or eight show up. Two of them, Goldberg and Pearlstein, show up most days. They are both competitors and old friends. Over the years, Goldberg had become known as a name dropper. If you mentioned Frank Sinatra, for example, he would mention that he helped Frank get his first job singing in a club in Hoboken.  In fact, almost every time a lunch mate mentioned a famous person, it turns out that Goldberg knows him or her from somewhere.

            So, one day his pal Pearlstein says to him that he knows someone he can’t possibly know. “I bet you don’t know the Pope!” Now, at the time, John XXIII was pope. Without batting an eyelash, Goldberg replies “Of course, I know the Pope. We’re pals from a long time ago.” A hush came over the table. After a pause, Perlstein challenges his old friend: “I’ll tell you what. Let’s take the wives to Rome on vacation. If you can prove you know the Pope, I’ll spring for the whole trip, but if you don’t, you pay!”

            To everyone’s amazement, Goldberg agrees. Two weeks later, the couples are in Rome, seeing the sites and eating lots of pasta. Goldberg tells his friend that in two days the Pope will appear on his balcony in St. Peters Square to bless the multitude. “I’ll give you a pair of binoculars and when he appears, you’ll see me come out behind him.”

            On the given day, Pearlstein joins the huge crowd waiting for the Pope to appear. He trains his binoculars on the balcony. The double doors open and the portly Pope steps out. Then, just behind him, who should appear but Goldberg. Pearlstein’s jaw drops in disbelief. He is transfixed, but he feels someone pulling on his sleeve. Next to him is an elderly man, who says to him: “I can’t see too well anymore. Could you please tell me who is that man standing on the balcony with Goldberg?”

Copyright (sort of) 2017 and 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Two weeks ago, I was giving a tour at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Home & Studio in Oak Park, Illinois. As I assembled the group (from France, Spain, and Chicago this time), I noticed an emerging carpet of tiny blue flowers at the edge of the grass that hadn’t been there the week before.  In an area of ground cover in front of the house there were tiny yellow blooms struggling to emerge from the tangle. I think both are varieties of crocus, but I’m no horticulturist

They are, however, harbingers of Spring. As are the increasing number of squirrels one sees, as well as an odd bunny or two. When did you see your first Robin? I saw my first one a couple of weeks ago. He was pecking away in the grass in front of my building. It had rained, and there were worms and bugs lurking there. They are incredibly quiet and you must get close to them before they fly away. I’m no birder, but I won’t be surprised to see a Cardinal one of these days; and if I’m lucky, a Goldfinch or two.

My balcony overlooks an alley, but a nicer alley than most. The buildings and houses I can see are all well-kept; many have trees and gardens in their back yards. A few days ago, I noticed just a touch of green in tree canopies, the first buds beginning to open. This effect was even more noticeable when I drove next to a forest preserve on the way to visit a friend the other day. I also saw a small herd of white-tailed deer through the trees. Is there anything lovelier than these gentle neighbors?   Before long, when I look out the window, the trees will suddenly be in full leaf.

The local Jewel food store has begun to sell annual flower flats. I don’t have a garden, but I do have a balcony. Because of the chancy Chicago-area climate, I’ll wait until May before I buy pots of pre-arranged flowers at my favorite nursery. I’ll need to change them out one more time before Fall. But as I walk and drive though my own Forest Park and neighboring Oak Park and River Forest, I get to enjoy the flower gardens and perfectly trimmed lawns of my neighbors without having had to do the work myself!

I’m not a  fan of anti-lawn movement that replaces the tended front yard with a mini prairie. I would like to see more open land returned to the prairie landscape that once existed in parts of Illinois, much like we have set aside land for forest preserves. But you can’t bring back the prairie with a patch of land 30 or 40 feet by 20.

If you truly hate grass, there are many options to replace it —  ground cover, neatly mulched annual and perennial flowers, and plants, even a Japanese garden, with its small trees and shrubs and patterned sand. And please consign the vegetable garden to the back. The untended messes I’ve seen, particularly in Oak Park, are studies in chaos –and you can  get better vegetables at the Farmer’s Market!     

P.S. Happy Easter!   

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

According to the New York Times – who else? – the formal dinner party of yore is fast becoming obsolete. It seems young people prefer a more casual approach to entertaining. Perhaps a pot of chili on the stove; pizza delivered from that new Neapolitan spot that’s all the rage; or a vegan repast courtesy of Grub Hub. One is told that the food might even be served on recycled (of course) paper plates!

            In my day – admittedly quite a few years ago – hosting a dinner party was still the thing. One of the rituals for engaged couples was the trip to Marshall Field’s (or similar store in other cities) to register for your fine China, glassware, and silver flatware. All these necessities – so we thought – were sold by the place setting. Nowadays, high quality China, for example, can cost upwards of $250 per place setting (dinner, salad, and bread plates; and cup and saucer).  If you were to buy it new, a place setting of sterling silver flatware would cost a minimum of $500.   

            As I recall, in 1965 my fiancé Mary and I opted for a nice but reasonably priced China pattern and decent quality stainless steel for the flatware. We got some as gifts and eventually made up the rest of a service for eight. I’m not sure that was the only reason, but we rarely had more than eight guests for dinner. If you look at the photo above, you’ll notice all the chairs don’t match. Most dining room sets came with six chairs, so if you had more than six for dinner, you dragged a couple out the kitchen or even used folding chairs to make up the deficit.

            Now, if a young couple wanted to equip themselves with new fine China and sterling flatware, it might set them back around $6,000. Fortunately for many, however, they are often offered what they need from parents or grandparents. Just as often, they turn these offers down. They may see the China as too formal, and who wants to polish silver?  And they can get more “modern” China and stainless flatware at Crate & Barrell to serve eight for about $750. As it happens, my late wife Jeanette ended up with two extra sets of silver flatware when her mother died, and it took years to find any younger member of the family willing to take it.

            Jeanette loved to entertain and we hosted dinners for families and friends, and she hosted regular luncheons for her teacher and book group friends. She fussed over the table, having been taught that how it looked was an important part of the dining experience.  I live alone now, so the only formal dinners I host are on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.

            For both, I haul out the formal China and polish the silver. I often buy a floral center piece and use cloth napkins to match the table cloth. Before dinner, I serve cocktails and hors d’ oeuvres. In the interests of full disclosure, I do only the turkey; my son-in-law Boyd takes care of the rest. By the way, Boyd and my daughter Beth host and do their dinners properly.

            One thing neither of us insist upon is proper dress. By that I mean jacket and tie for the men and dresses for the ladies. I know you won’t believe it, but there was a time when you wouldn’t dare show up at a dinner party any other way. Or, for that matter, at a high-quality restaurant. At the last wedding reception I attended, most people were properly dressed,  But a significant few looked like the just came off the golf course. Since the reception was at a country club, maybe they had.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Occasionally, I’ve used this space to remind you that everything isn’t all gloom and doom; that many things in this world of ours are better than they’ve ever been. You may be pleasantly surprised to also discover that Americans agree about much more than  they disagree, despite what reading and listening to the news might suggest.

            Among my news sources are the emails I receive daily from Axios, which was started several years ago by former staffers of Politico. A recent issue stressed the issues that most Americans  agree on. Although perhaps a vain hope, it would be nice if our elected representatives paid more attention to what we think, rather than what they want us to think.

            Immigration is of course a  hot topic. Seventy-nine percent of us think it’s a good thing, while two-thirds believe local officials should cooperate with federal authorities on deporting illegal immigrants who have committed crimes.  Two-thirds also believe there should be a path to citizenship for illegal workers who contribute to the economy.

            An astonishing number of us no longer trust the Federal government to do the right thing. Only two percent say they trust them “just about always,”  with 15 percent trusting them “most of the time.” (As for me, I don’t know any of those gullible folks!) In 1958, 73 percent of us trusted the Feds. I was raised as a Roman Catholic, and we were encouraged to “examine our conscience” before we confessed our sins. Most of the people we elect to Congress wouldn’t think of doing such a thing, so they’ve richly earned our disdain. On the other hand, 59 percent of Americans trust their  state governments, and 65 percent their local. They must not live in Illinois or Chicago!

            It’s difficult to ignore (but our elected leaders have managed to) that 90 percent of Americans are concerned at the steadily mounting national debt, which stood at $38.8 trillion as I was writing this. It now stands at about 120 percent of our gross domestic product. In 1990, it was 41 percent; in 2000, 33.3 percent; in 2010, 85 percent; and in 2020, it reached 124.5 percent. Despite taking a meat ax to many Federal departments and agencies, the current administration has increased the national debt by $2.5 trillion in its first year. I call it robbing Peter to pay Paul. Before we blame one party or another, let me remind you that the last time we had a balanced budget was in 2001 during the Clinton administration.   

            Funny thing though. Despite widespread agreement on many issues, the country seems as polarized as ever. If we can’t agree on abortion, or sexual identity, or environmental issues, or soaking the rich, or you name it, then we refuse to agree on anything. And some of us even actively hate the other side, an attitude that’s ruined many a family dinner and even old friendships.

I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds on abortion, but just maybe Congress could pass immigration reform. After all, the Senate just passed a housing bill by 89 to 10. Yet it seems the House may not follow suit, or even if t hey do, the president might veto it. What’s the good of sending these knuckleheads to Washington if they refuse to listen to their constituents?  

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Purely on a whim – I hadn’t seen it since it came out in 1962 – the other night I watched The Music Man, starring Robert Preston and Shirley Jones in the film version of Merideth Wilson’s hit Broadway musical that was recently revived with Hugh Jackman.

            Wilson grew up in Mason City, Iowa, and the movie is a nostalgic look back at early 20^th Century small town America. Preston plays “Professor” Harold Hill, a con man who comes to town to talk the locals into forming a boy’s marching band, the idea being that he collects money for instruments and uniforms and flees with the cash. Alas for Hill, he meets the local librarian played by Shirley Jones as the best-looking spinster of all time. Predictably, he is reformed. Along the way, we hear songs like “Goodnight my someone,” “Being in love,” “Till there was you,” “Gary, Indiana,” and “76 Trombones.” The cast even included an eight-year-old Ron Howard!

            It’s a fine musical if a bit long. If you’re tired of gloom and doom, you might want to give it a watch and add to your joy by watching some of my other favorites from the Golden Age of the movie musical. To me, the pinnacle is held by 1952s Singing in the Rain, starring Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, and Donald O’Conner in a fond and hilarious look at Hollywood during the transition from silent to sound films. It defines the term “musical comedy.” Songs, mostly by Herb Nacio Brown, with lyrics by Arthur Freed, include “You Were Meant for Me,” “All I Do is Dream of You,” “Make ‘Em Laugh,” and of course “Singin’ in the Rain,” sung and danced by Kelly in a legendary sequence.

            Just a year earlier, Kelly again starred, this time with Leslie Caron, in the more romantic An American in Paris, with music by George Gershwin. In addition to songs like “S Wonderful,” “I Got Rhythm,” and “Our Live is Here to Stay,”  it included the “American in Paris Ballet,” which was featured in a recent program of the Chicago Symphony. The pianist Oscar Levant, who also provides comic relief as a neurotic composer, also played the third movement of Gershwins Concerto in F.  The art direction is also notable, making visual references to artists like Toulouse-Lautrec, Dufy, van Gogh, and Renoir.

            The final film on my list is 1953’s The Band Wagon, starring the 54-year-old Fred Astaire and the somewhat younger and stunningly beautiful Cyd Charisse. The cast also includes Oscar Levant (again!), Nanette Fabray, and the British musical star Jack Buchanan. Fred plays a fading Hollywood actor, lured to New York to do a new musical. The film opens as he gets off the 20^th Century Limited at Grand Central Station, ignored by the press who instead flock to see the also debarking Ava Gardner.

Fred finds that the British director, played by Buchanan, conceives of the musical as a kind of Greek tragedy, moaning chorus, and all. Charisse is a ballet dancer with a Svengali-like manager. Eventually, after a lot of singing, dancing, and romantic complications, all comes right in the end, with the cast on stage singing the final Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz song, “That’s Entertainment!” And it was.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

Bear Down!

By Patrick F. Cannon

Let me throw some numbers at you Chicago Bears fans. The franchise is worth a minimum of $8.2 billion. It is also extremely popular with television audiences. Last year’s playoff game with the Los Angeles Rams drew 45.4 million viewers. Regular season games average more than 20 million viewers, among the highest in the NFL.

            Since their home games are played at Chicago’s Soldier Field with a capacity of 61,500 , it’s clear that most fans see the games in the comfort of their homes, or at the local tavern. Few will never actually attend a game. In any event, anyone who has attended a professional or major college game will have to grudgingly admit that it’s better to watch most sports on television, given the advanced technology now available. It’s a good deal cheaper too! Getting yourself a beer and dog at Soldier Field will cost about $20, as opposed to about $5 at home.

            The cheapest season ticket – for 10 games on average – will set you back about $150 per game, and you’ll probably need binoculars to clearly see the action on the field. The best seats go for about $550 per. Oh, and for most of them, you’ll have to buy a seat license up front. That can add $3,000. I won’t even mention parking, and the hassle of getting there. Oh, and leaving after the game. And, of course, it might rain and/or snow, or be really, really cold.

            The team raised ticket prices for the 2026 season by 13.5 percent. God knows what the increase will be if they ever win the Super Bowl again. But apparently all this isn’t enough for the McCaskey family. They must rent Soldier Field and share concession income! Horrors!  This when most teams own their stadiums and get to keep all the dough. How unfair! Of course, many of them paid for their stadiums, something the Bears are unwilling to do. They do say they are willing to put up $2 billion of the cost, which seems like a lot, but not when compared to the cost of the Los Angles stadium, which totaled almost $6 billion. But let’s say the Bears can get by with $4 billion. So, who pays the rest, plus the additional infrastructure costs?

            The team is trying to solve that problem by setting up a bidding war, so far between Chicago,  Arlington Heights (where they already own sufficient land), and just south of the city in a place called Indiana. Who knows if Kenosha or Racine, Wisconsin might be next?

            Here’s my opinion on this trumped-up drama – why would anyone care if they play in Chicago or Gary? The simple fact is that most of the people who attend the games in person don’t live in the city of Chicago. Neither the Dallas Cowboys nor New York Giants (and some other teams too) play in those cities. Why should we care?

            I predict that in the end the State of Illinois will produce a package of infrastructure dough and give Arlington Heights the power to make a real estate tax deal that will satisfy the greedy McCaskey’s. And they’ll still be the Chicago Bears, “Monsters of the Midway.” Extra credit if you know where that nickname came from.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

The folks who manage my condominium building advised a few days ago that one of the residents who has an outside parking space had the car’s catalytic converter stolen. As you probably know, thieves target the converters because they contain precious metals – platinum, palladium, rhodium, etc. – that can be sold for cash.

            Since 1975, the converters have been mandated in America for most gasoline-powered vehicles to remove carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons, and nitrogen oxides from the exhaust. Most states require regular emissions testing to ensure compliance. In Illinois, the motorist isn’t charged for the test directly, but it becomes just one more item in an already bloated budget. But now that the Clean Air Act is kaput, I have a great idea that could significantly add to the government’s coffers.

            Not requiring them in the first place would reduce the cost of a vehicle by an average of about $1,500. Manufacturers would be delighted, but so would the consumer. But that’s not even the happiest effect. Imagine what could happen if the government mandated that all catalytic converters had to be removed from existing vehicles! But not just removed but recycled to reclaim those precious metals and the cash windfall they would produce.

            How this would be done, I would leave to our always efficient Congress to pass the necessary legislation. But if I may be so bold, here are my suggestions.

            First, it should be mandatory to have the converter removed. Failure would result in a stiff fine and mandatory jail sentence. As a sweetener, however, you should receive $50 when you do. But who would do the deed? Why not the nearest dealer of the company who manufactured the vehicle in the first place? You make an appointment, they put your vehicle on the lift, remove the offending converter, and replace it with an appropriate length of exhaust pipe. What could be simpler?

            In addition to the precious metals, the regular metals and other stuff would be recycled, with the proceeds split between the car companies and the Federal government. Since there are about 285 million registered vehicles in the United States, just think of the income and jobs that would be created! Speaking of jobs, all those lads who used to steal the converters in the dead of night could use their undoubted skills instead boosting the converters legally for those car dealers!

            Add those jobs to the new jobs in our reopened coal mines and booming oil refineries, and I see a new Golden Age on the horizon. Of course, air quality may suffer a bit, but maybe we could just all get used to wearing masks. I see another new industry emerging! As I often say: “It’s an ill wind that blows no good.”

            Anyway, thank you so much for your attention to my modest proposal.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

The British painter Joseph Millard William Turner’s 1838 painting, The Fighting Temeraire, which hangs in Britains National Gallery, is widely considered a national treasure. It shows the 98-gun ship of the line, which fought with Admiral Horatio Nelson’s fleet at the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar, being towed by a steam tug to the breaker’s yard. It was the ship that came to the rescue of Nelson’s flagship Victory in the heat of the battle.

            When he died in 1851, Turner left the works in his possession to the nation. As a result, Tate Britain, which houses most of the gifts, holds approximately 300 oils and 30,000 works on paper. There are relatively few Turner pictures in this country. The National Gallery in Washington and the Frick Collection in New York have several; and here in Chicago the Art Institute has two significant oils – 1838s Fishing Boats with Hucksters and 1837s Valley of the Aosta: Snowstorm, Avalanche, and Thunderstorm – and several works on paper.

            The artist was born in 1775 in London to lower middle-class parents. His father was a barber and wig maker, who would champion his talented son as long as he lived. A prodigy, Turner was accepted into the Royal Academy of Art school at age only 15 and became a full member of the Academy at the unheard-of age of 27. He made a good living, but later in life he became strangely reluctant to sell his work. For example, The Fighting Temeraire never left his studio.

            As you can see, a steam tug is towing the massive wooden hulk down the Thames to the yard where it will be broken up. It would have taken the wood from approximately 4,000 Oak trees to build the ship, and much of that wood would have been reused in a variety of ways, including furniture and other domestic items. The most obvious theme is the transition from wood and wind – gifts of nature – to iron and steam, the product of man’s inventiveness. Notice how the old ship travels from the light into the darkness – the smoke from the tug’s stack begins this transition.

Until his death in 1851, Turner became far more interested in atmosphere than accuracy.  He painted storms at sea and storms in the Alps, which became more abstract over time. He even had himself tied to a ship’s mast during a gale to personally experience its fury. These later pictures had a profound influence on Claude Monet, who studied them during his stay in London in 1870-71, where he travelled to escape the Franco-Prussian war.

I saw the Temeraire painting at the National Gallery during my first visit to London in 1992. During a later visit, I saw many more Turner paintings at Tate Britain. But what heightened my interest in him was Mike Leigh’s 2014 film biography, Mr. Turner. With the great British actor Timothy Spall as Turner, it concentrates on the final years of the very great but very eccentric artist’s life. The film puts you convincingly into the period and is visually stunning. It’s available for rental on Amazon Prime and other streaming services and is a wonderful introduction to this greatest of all British artists.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon

The Game’s the Thing

Sunday’s Super Bowl was a game of American football, won by Seattle over New  England by a score of 29 to 13.  Aside from citizens of those fine areas, most people watched the game more for the commercials and half-time extravaganza than the gridiron action. It also reminded me of how much the Bears defense needs to improve before it can make it to a future Super Bowl.

            It may interest the younger fans among you that the traditional half-time in a football game is taken up with a band concert. When I played in high school, we trooped to the locker room for a pep talk while our wonderful band entertained the crowd with stirring music and choreographed marching. As far as I know, this is still the case. Ditto at college games. And I can testify to the fact that half-time at professional games often still includes a band concert from a local high school or college.

            Though most still have these concerts, the television viewer would never know because half-time is now filled with a panel of experts telling you what you’ve just seen with your own eyes and suggesting what the combatants might do in the final half. But the Super Bowl is, well, a bit different. What you get now is a really big show (as Ed Sullivan might have said). Recent . games have featured the likes of Kendrick Lamar, Usher, Rihanna, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce

            This year we had Bad Bunny. I had always thought that the baddest bunny was Bugs of cartoon fame, but I’m afraid he’s been supplanted. This Bunny’s real name is Benito Antonio Martinez Ocasio, a singer from Puerto Rico. Since leaving the hutch, he has hopped to the heights of international stardom. Even though he raps and sings mostly in Spanish, his audience of English speakers doesn’t seem to care. It could be they’re used to not being able to understand lyrics in any language.

            I wondered how he got his stage moniker, so I looked it up. It seems he was photographed as a young lad wearing both a bunny costume and a grumpy expression. Thus “bad bunny,” and the beginning of a legendary career. The Spanish translation is “conejito malo.” One wonders what would have happened if he’d been wearing a donkey costume?

            His show was lavish, as one expects from the Super Bowl. Although I’m not entirely certain, it seemed to take place in a sugar cane field. Aside from a song by guest Lady Gaga, all the songs and raps were in Spanish. Since I don’t understand Spanish, along with perhaps 85 percent of the audience, I have no idea what was said or meant. There was much excellent dancing by scantily clad young people, which one has come to expect.

            Mr. Bunny was dressed in white and like most rap artists grabbed his crotch from time to time. I wish someone would tell me what this means, other than the obvious. As I watched the show, I couldn’t help wondering if White House aide Steven Miller was also tuned in. I thought it was more likely that he was watching the Puppy Bowl or Kid Rock. Just like most events these days, the Super Bowl has become political, or at least the show has. How silly.

            I personally think these shows would be more impressive if they focused on a single, talented performer. There are many who could hold a stage on  their own. Just give them a good backup band and a single spotlight, then let them move the audience with their talent alone. Or perhaps, because the event is so profoundly American, it could focus on great American music – jazz, Blues, and the wonderful songs of what has come to be known as “the great American songbook.”  Vain hope, I’m afraid.

Copyright 2026, Patrick F. Cannon