We Really Miss You, Fred

We Really Miss You, Fred

By Patrick F. Cannon

My contention that Fred Astaire was one of greatest singers of popular song of his era – hell, of any era – is often met with incomprehension or bemusement. Surely, people think, you mean one of the great dancers? That’s, of course, if they have any real idea of who he was in the first place. Like so many artists of even the day before yesterday, he has faded into the mists of entertainment history.

A case in point: I give tours at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Home & Studio in Oak Park, and mention that the actress Anne Baxter was his grand daughter. Most of the 15 or so people on the tour don’t have a clue who she was, since her heyday was in the 40s, 50s and 60s. The exceptions would be people older than 70 and cinema nuts. While Fred Astaire had a much higher status and fame than she, he is just as dead for most young people.

Yet, he deserves their attention. In an age of increasing and unceasing vulgarity, he might offer an oasis of grace and elegance. Even his walk was worth watching. In one of his best musicals – and one of the best of all movie musicals – The Band Wagon, he has arrived in New York on the 20th Century Limited. He is a Hollywood star whose career in is decline, and he has taken a role in a new Broadway musical. On the train, he meets Ava Gardener, playing herself. They chat a bit, but when they get off the train at Grand Central Station, she is mobbed by reporters and photographers, while poor Fred is ignored.

Alone, he begins walking to the terminal, while singing “I’ll go my way, by myself…”  I urge you go Google these opening lyrics, which should lead you to an outtake from the movie. Notice how Fred’s walk is gracefully attuned to the music, how this simple act becomes imbued with meaning and emotion. Notice also how beautifully the song is sung, how each word is presented clearly for your consideration.

Two of the greatest composers of American song of the 20th Century – really of all time – Irving Berlin and George Gershwin both were quoted as saying that they preferred Fred above all others to sing their songs. Why? Because they could count on him to sing the song as written, to annunciate the words clearly, and to be in tune and on pitch. I should also mention that the great Tony Bennett, now 90, many years ago mentioned Fred as one of his inspirations.

I have a CD of some of his greatest songs. I keep it in my car and play it often. Like Bach’s Goldberg Variations, I never tire of listening to it. If you don’t know Fred as a great singer, I’m sure you would be able to find albums on Amazon or any of a number of music sites that would convince you. While we all should keep up with contemporary music (selectively!), we should also find time to honor the great art of the past.

Finally, if you get a chance to watch any of his movies, you’ll discover that he could dance a little, too.

#####

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

 

It’a Bird, it’s a Plane, or Maybe Just Stupid

It’s a Bird, it’s a Plane, or Maybe Just Stupid! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

As a kid, I read my share of comic books. Early on, they tended to be about Disney characters, or Bugs Bunny (a particular favorite), or any of a number of cartoon characters. Increased age and sophistication led me to Superman, Batman, Rubber Man (or was it Plastic Man?), and characters like Terry and his pirates and the Lone Ranger. Finally, my literary bent was satisfied with something called Classic Comics. One of them, Ivanhoe, painlessly introduced me to Sir Walter Scott.

I remember being jealous of a classmate who lived in a vast apartment on South Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. His room included a closet devoted to his comic book collection, each title neatly stacked on floor to ceiling shelves. This, I thought, was what it meant to be truly rich! (I wonder if he kept them and eventually sold them at auction, becoming even richer.)

Whatever meager collection I might have had probably didn’t survive my family’s move back to the Pittsburgh area in the early 1950s. We lived in McKeesport, which had a Carnegie Library. Once I had a library card, I don’t think I ever read another comic book. Compared to books like Dick Stover at Yale (and the like), they seemed like pretty childish stuff.

Eventually, I graduated to more serious literature. Even in high school, we were required to read Shakespeare, Dickens, Longfellow, Whitman, and Twain, among others.  A university education added more modern writers, like Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Elliot, Cummings, O’Neil, Wilder, and many, many more, from both sides of the Atlantic. As an aside, I took a course in the British Victorian novel, where we were required to read 10 novels. When the course began, the professor informed us that the final exam would have questions on only six of the ten. Feel free, he told us, to try to decide which six! If only there had been a Classic Comic of Vanity Fair!

At any rate, imagine my surprise when it occurred to me a few years ago that actual adults seemed to be buying, reading and collecting comic books. And were being aided and abetted by a film industry that spews forth an endless stream of “super hero” movies that pile up immense sums of money at the box office. They are typically full of violence and are clearly not meant for the little kids that read comics in my day.

Instead of the simple good guys verses bad guys stories of the old comic books, our heroes are now full of angst and demons. Bruce Wayne (Batman for the uninitiated) dwells endlessly on the death of his parents, while spending their hard-earned money on fancy cars, caves and English butlers (once the redoubtable Michael Caine, and most recently Jeremy Irons, out for some of that cash).  Most recently, the comics moguls have doubled down and released something called Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice. The implications of this for the future of civilization are frightening to contemplate.

To make even more dough out of this phenomenon, a series of conventions are now held around the country to feed the frenzy. The largest is held in San Diego, but Chicago has its version called “The Wizard World Comic Con.” I know this because a few years ago I was driving past the Stevens Convention Center in suburban Rosemont and thought I had entered some kind of parallel universe. All around me were strange creatures dressed like the usual super heroes, but also others impersonating characters from Harry Potter and the like. These were not children, I hasten to say, buy young (and not so young) adults.

I don’t want to make too much of this, but I do see this preference for a fantasy world as part of a general vulgarization of American taste, and a turning away from the sometimes difficult realities of every day life. But when faced with a race for president that includes candidates like Batsman (Donald Trump), Elastic Woman (Hillary Clinton), Iron Head (Ted Cruz), and Marxman (Bernie Sanders),  I’m not sure I can blame them for fleeing from reality.

 

 

 

 

How it’s Made

How it’s Made 

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m fascinated by a program on the Science Channel called “How it’s Made.” Each program includes three or four products and shows their production process from raw materials to finished product.

I now know how breakfast cereal is made, along with numerous other food products. We’ve all probably seen brief scenes showing car assembly on the evening news, but I’ve seen the complete process for both regular passenger cars and exotics that can exceed 200 miles per hour. Have you wondered how those golf balls you regularly hit into the water come to be on your tee? Or how crayons are made? Or circuit boards? Or cricket bats?

It’s fascinating stuff. It’s also instructive, because what you’re actually watching most of the time is the miracle of computer controlled machine tools that are efficiently doing the work that was once done by people. There are still men and women on the automobile assembly line to be sure, but in greatly reduced numbers. So-called robots are now doing most of the welding, stamping and boring. And they don’t belong to unions.

These are the jobs that once went to high school graduates who didn’t go on the college, either because they couldn’t or didn’t want to. Starting after World War II, a willing worker could get a good job at the steel mill, the auto plant, the appliance manufacturer – indeed, any number of companies that were satisfying a pent up demand stifled by depression and war. Now, as some politicians are fond of reminding us, many of these jobs have gone to foreign shores, because enlightened (to me) trade policies have leveled the labor playing field, with the result that the worldwide standard of living has steadily risen.

It is well to remember that the United States is still a manufacturing power. While China, with four times the population, leads the world in total manufacturing value, the per capita value of those goods was $1,856 in a recent year, as compared to the United States’ $6,280. Keep in mind also that, even though the brand names might sometimes be foreign, most of the automobiles sold in this country are made here.

The American worker is also highly productive. Only Switzerland, Luxembourg and Norway have more productive workers, and they are obviously very small economies. What this means, and “How it’s Made” confirms it, is that fewer workers can get the same work done. And these workers are more likely to be people who know how to operate computers and complicated machinery. It isn’t enough, now, to just have a high school diploma.

Despite what politicians tell you to the contrary, the decline in the numbers of high paying manufacturing jobs was and is unavoidable. For many years, we have been in a transition to an information-based economy, where education is king. The most recent figures show an unemployment rate for college graduates of 2.8 percent; for high school graduates it’s 5.4 percent. Average weekly income is $1,137 and $678 respectively.

In January, the number of job openings in this country rose above 5 million for the first time. That strongly suggests that employers are finding it difficult to find qualified applicants for some jobs. Only education tailored to the new realities can reduce that number. Finally, we should recognize that it’s too late for some people. If they’re willing to work at a lower paying job, we should continue the earned-income tax credits and other programs that permit them to maintain a decent standard of living, while giving their children the kind of education they’ll need in an inevitably changing economy.

####

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

A History of the World

(Just last night, I finished reading A History of Turtle Soup. Most edifying and instructive. Last week found me completing Embalming Around the World. Exciting stuff as you can well imagine. It occurred to me that one could spend a great deal of time reading these fascinating books, but wouldn’t it be much better to put all of these histories together in a fresh history of the world?  Many years ago, Will and Ariel Durant published their 11-volume Story of Civilization. Since then, much new stuff has been uncovered, so I decided I would take on the task of bringing the world’s story up to date. So,  here is a sample chapter for your edification. As you can imagine, much work needs still to be done, but fortunately all the required information is already stored in my brain, so completion of this vital  project should take months rather than years.)

Chapter Two

The Dawn of Civilization and the Rise of the Ians

It’s unclear when people began to speak to one another. Perhaps the first communications consisted merely of grunts and screams. Imagine a cave dweller cooking a hare over an early fire, then chewing on the result. He grunts with pleasure. His mate hears the grunt and it sounds just slightly different than the grunt when he uses the facilities. She tries the hare herself and grunts similarly.

She has also noticed – even then, women paid more attention to subtleties – that when he stubs his toe, he gives out a shriek. When he comes upon a large and toothy cat, he also gives out a kind of shriek, but it’s louder and more prolonged. Soon, people began to understand the differing sounds of annoyance and fear. They also noticed that in the former the sound almost always comes out sounding like “ouch.” In much the same way, the grunt of satisfaction is soon regularized into “good.”

While people were soon chattering away at breakneck speed, it didn’t yet occur to them to write the new words down. Actually, the use of pictographs came before the Palmer Method. The Sumerians (the first of the Ian civilizations) often traded goods among themselves. When one group had a surplus of alfalfa sprouts but a shortage of malt beverage, they would often do a trade. We know their level of sophistication because, to prevent pilfering enroute, they would fill a jar with pebbles coinciding with the number of baskets of sprouts, and then seal it with clay cylinders. At the other end, the recipient would break the jar and count the pebbles. If the pebbles and baskets matched, all was well. If not, woe betide the shipping company. In fact, this is where Summery executions began.

Eventually, a thrifty shipper noticed that you could actually make marks on the clay stopper before it dried, using dots for each basket instead of putting pebbles in a jar. This eliminated the need for pebbles and jars; thus, the first recorded instance of improving the bottom line.

Every system has its faults, of course. It wasn’t long before the shipping companies discovered that they could make their own clay disks with fewer marks and enjoy a few sprouts on the trip without being discovered. Soon, however, the shippers began to do elaborate drawings of the goods instead of simple marks. The shipping companies soon countered this by hiring talented artists to duplicate even the most sophisticated symbols. Not surprisingly, they were called “counter” fitters.

An interesting footnote: J. Pierpont Morgan, the celebrated American financier, began to collect these disks when their meaning became clear. Not only did the disks look nice in glass cases, but he was in a position to appreciate their relevance to his own business practices.

The Sumerians lived in what is now the Middle East. It was either merely hot or really hot all the year. Nearby, in a mountainous region where snow was not unknown lived a tribe called the Friesians, who lived in cedar forests (now part of Lebanon). They often traded their timber with the Sumerians, usually during the colder months in the mountains. They began to equate Sumeria with warm weather and soon began to refer to the warmer months in their own country as summer.

Another early civilization of note was the Assyrian, the so-called “donkey people.” Much later, after a particularly virulent outbreak of hoof and mouth disease wiped out the donkey population, they transferred their allegiance to the hardier camel and became simply the Syrians.

The Assyrians thought big. One only has to peruse the massive statuary and tablets displayed at the British Museum to be convinced of this. Indeed, the museum would be a much smaller place without them and the famous Elgin Marbles (see discussion of cultural piracy later in the book).

In case you get lost at the museum, the Assyrians are the ones with the wide beards. It’s the Egyptians who have the narrow ones. Also, the typical Assyrian beard seems braided, much like today’s dreadlocks. It would appear that they did not perhaps have razors quite so good as the Egyptians, but a much higher order of beard dressing.

They were also prodigious warriors (“the Assyrians came down like a wolf on the fold”). It must have been a daunting experience to see them charging their enemies on their famous war donkeys. Even the women participated in these battles, although they demurely rode sidesaddle, hence the word “asside.”

Now that their hieroglyphics have been deciphered, we know that the Assyrians had all the hallmarks of a developed civilization: language, art, trade, politics, and cities, subjugation of weaker neighbors, marriage and divorce.

In this, they resembled their rivals, the Hittites, who appear to have emigrated to Anatolia from the Balkans, and who can blame them? Before they disappeared, they conquered the Babylonians and fought the Egyptians to a draw, mainly because they discovered iron, which held an edge better than sticks and, heated up, could put a snappy crease in their uniforms. Ultimately, of course, the formula for iron was discovered by their enemies, who soon were hitting back with a will. We hear nothing about them after 1200 BC; maybe they went back to the Balkans, which might explain a lot.

While peoples in other parts of the world struggled along at the same time, we know little about them because they left no written record. In great part, what they left behind were big rocks. Later to become notably articulate (after the Roman conquest), the early Britains seemed capable only of constructing massive henges, the most notable of which is near the modern village of Stone on Stoke. What these circles of shaped stone actually signified is mere conjecture. The most plausible theory holds that they are a kind of astrological timepiece. This was all well and good for those at the henge. It appears, however, that if you were in Scotland, you couldn’t get the time of day.

The Assyrians were eventually conquered by the notably talkative Babblelonians, who also gave their name to the storied city. While they gave fits to the nearby tribes (the Israelites for example), they were also really keen gardeners. The famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon were justly famous. It was while reclining in the gardens that the Great Hammurabi (in Babylonian, this means “the big hammer”) drafted his famous laws, the first fully codified system of government we know of. While he made sure the codes put him in full charge, they at least permitted one to appeal for mercy before being dragged six times around the city gates.

Before leaving the Dawn of Civilization, we must pay some attention to that other great Ian people, the Egyptians. During their heyday, they were called the “Profile People,” since the court painters didn’t seem able to draw faces straight on. Like other ancient peoples, the Egyptians worshiped nature and animals, thus the term animus. Their major deity was the Sun God, Rah. When his likeness was paraded in the temples, the worshipers were often heard to chant in unison “Rah, Rah, Rah.”

They believed strongly in the afterlife, so modern Egypt is dotted with tombs of various kinds, the most famous being the pyramids. These vast edifices contained the mummified bodies of notable Pharaohs, along with their treasures and all the food and comforts they might need in the afterlife. It wasn’t long before these tombs were looted, so many of these kings now reside in museums, which at least have climate control systems and functioning cafeterias (although one can’t, in conscience, recommend the food).

It should be mentioned that many of the later Pharaohs were actually Greeks, Cleopatra being of course the best known. By the time of her reign, Egypt was in decline and would soon become part of the great Roman Empire and thus related to the next great historical period: the Classical World.

 

 

Sacre Doo!

Sacre Doo! 

By Patrick F. Cannon

Have you noticed the paucity of French names among your fellow citizens? We have numerous examples from Germany, Great Britain, Poland, Mexico, China, India – well, you name it, we have it.

But why no DeGaulles, Rollands, Petains, Chiracs, Foches, or de Lattre de Tassignys, for that matter? I have long puzzled over this, but in a flash of enlightenment (just in time for this article), the answer became clear. It’s simply this: the typical French person would chafe (is that a French word?) under the reasonable restrictions we place upon ourselves.

Of course, on our own continent we have the French speakers in Quebec. Notice that many of them refuse to speak English to their fellow Canadians (or is it Canadiens?), and have on several occasions tried to secede from Canada itself. Although you may catch sight of a Quebecer wintering in Florida, one suspects it’s only because they can’t afford Martinique.

I have been to France several times; indeed, I once spent a year there, courtesy of the United States Army. One thing I noticed almost immediately is that the average French person walks along with his or her head down, while tourists are looking up to gawk at the Eifel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. One reason, of course, is that they’ve seen this famous landmarks many times. But the main reason they look down is to avoid stepping on doggy doo, whose volume increases as the day goes on.

Now, to their credit the French are dog lovers, but the thought of bending over and picking up their poop would be anathema to them. This is the job for the municipal authorities, who hose down the streets and sidewalks early every morning, thus providing a clean canvas for little Fifi and her friends. No doubt also that there is the inevitable French union to make sure no one takes jobs away from the Pooperintendants.

As to smoking (who can forget film actor Jean Paul Belmondo with a fag dangling from his lip) the French have among the toughest smoking bans in the world, which apparently is routinely and increasingly flouted.

Here’s an example closer to home. Several years ago, my friend Jerry McManus was giving an architectural walking tour in Oak Park to a group from France. Not everyone spoke English, so they had an interpreter with them. As was customary, Jerry began with a list of simple rules (don’t walk on the grass, don’t look in people’s windows, etc,) before he started the tour. He noticed that the interpreter wasn’t passing these simple and sensible rules along to the group. When he asked why, he was told: “You don’t tell adults what to do!”

Now, we pride ourselves on our individual freedoms, but the French tend toward anarchy. They also tend to believe themselves far superior to other beings, although they don’t mind us as much as the English. They are willing to be among the barbarians for short visits, but the thought of actually immigrating to the outer world must fill them with dread. So, we can continue to stride confidently along our own sidewalks without fear (except perhaps near the French consulate or the Alliance Francais).

###

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

Help! The World is Shrinking!

Help! The World is Shrinking! 

By Patrick F. Cannon 

I write this from Florida, where I’m spending time with my son, Patrick and staying for a a few days with my brother Pete and his charming wife, Mary Beth. To get to this earthly paradise, I had to fly from Chicago. I chose United Airlines, which had a decent fare and a reasonable departure time. It was only a short flight – a bit over two hours – so the potential for discomfort was minimal.

But, nevertheless, they did their best to torture me. Over the past few years, seats have become increasingly smaller. While a couple of inches of decreased width and leg room may not seem much, they were deducted from already tortuously tiny seats. If you’re a petite little thing, it may hardly matter. But if you’re six feet two inches tall and weigh close to 250 pounds, every inch counts. While it’s possible to survive being cramped for a two hour flight, try the same seat on an eight-hour flight to Europe.

Don’t hold me to it, but I read somewhere recently that Americans on average are three or more inches taller than they were 100 years ago. And surely you’ve read that an increasing percentage is obese or at least pleasantly plump. So, of course, everyone recognizes this by making everything smaller.

Airplane seats are only the most notorious example of the world getting smaller while we get bigger. Automobiles are also getting smaller. I own what is now considered a full-size sedan. It’s just fine for the front seat passengers. If, however, you have to carry some folks in the back, you have to adjust the front seats far forward, thus scrunching yourself so close to the steering wheel that your head almost touches the windshield.

In 1948, I think it was, my father was able to finally buy a postwar car. He wanted to buy a Buick, but he would have had to pay a high premium above list because new cars were still scarce and Buicks were then the Cadillac of the middle class. He settled for a Mercury. Even so, the back seat was so capacious that I could not reach the back of the front seat with my legs fully extended, and I was tall for my age. To get the same kind of room nowadays, you would have to spend big bucks on the largest Mercedes, or even bigger bucks on a Rolls or Bentley.

While most of them are hideous architecturally, I can almost understand why people are moving to the far reaches of civilization so they can afford a bigger house or “McMansion” as they are derisively called by the urban sophisticates. An affordable house in Chicago is likely to be a bit on the small side. I remember years ago looking at a townhouse development and thinking the interior looked reasonably spacious. Then I noticed that the furniture in the model was actually about two-thirds normal size. I hadn’t realized that such stuff existed; perhaps it was manufactured by the Lilliputian Furniture Company.

Back to the airlines. At present, they’re making a pile of money, what with the current decline in the cost of fuel. But apparently, they want to pile it up for future eventualities, so they have decided that if you want a real seat, you’ll have to pay extra. The “one percent” still gets to cavort with Champagne in their giant seats up front, while the 99 gets squeezed in the back, although you can pay extra to get back the two inches the poor slobs in the far back have lost. Why hasn’t Bernie Sanders taken up this cause? Maybe he’s flying first class?

####

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Pesky Facts

Pesky Facts 

By Patrick F. Cannon 

One of the hallmarks of our recent political discourse is that many people prefer not to let actual facts sway them from their cherished opinions. I am indebted to David Brooks of the New York Times, our most rational conservative voice, for pointing out some of the following.

While most Americans accept that there are probably something like 10 million illegal immigrants currently in the country, they also seem under the impression that the thieving and raping hordes continue to pour across our border (you know, the one that Mr. Trump wishes to beautify with a wallier wall). In fact, according to the Pew Research Center, more Mexicans left the country from 2009 to 2014 than arrived, to the tune of 140,000. As Brooks points out, maybe Trump wants the wall to keep them from leaving? You know, he does own quite a few golf courses. Would you care to guess the nationality of the folks who maintain them?

Then, there is the question of the criminals and rapists. Here are some more facts to ponder:

  • Approximately 1.6 percent of immigrant men between the ages of 18 and 39 end up in jail.
  • Three percent of their native born neighbors are in there with them.
  • If you’re born in this country and lack a high school education, you have an 11 percent chance of ending up in jail.
  • If you’re from Mexico or Central America, with similar educational attainment, you have less than a 3 percent chance of being a burden on the taxpayer.

It seems hardly necessary to point out that this is a country of immigrants. My own father was born in Ireland. The people who came over on the Mayflower were themselves immigrants, after all. And legal immigrants, many from Asia, tend to be highly educated and able to make immediate contributions to our growth and prosperity.

That’s why it’s so sad for me, an independent conservative, to see the great Republican Party turn itself into a contemporary version of the 19th Century “No Nothing” nativist party. If it survives that long, how will it appeal to a country that will be minority Caucasian by 2044?  It should remember that its first president was Abraham Lincoln, who had been a Whig, a once thriving party both in this country and Great Britain. The Whigs died because they were no longer relevant. It is well to remember that history can repeat itself.

#####

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Don’t Touch that Table!

Don’t Touch that Table! 

By Patrick F. Cannon 

I’ve been watching Antiques Roadshow since it first aired in 1997. From time to time, I’ve also watched the British original when it has occasionally popped up on the Bravo or Ovation channels. It started in 1979 and is still going strong.

In case you’re not familiar with the format, people haul their (hopefully) valuable antiques and collectables to a local venue, where experts from various fields (furniture, art, ceramics, dolls, toys, etc,) either confirm or dash their hopes. Most episodes have a surprise or two, like someone finding an old picture in grand dad’s attic that turns out to be a Winslow Homer water color worth $100,000.

People will discover that some antiques are worth more when they look shiny and new (porcelain, for example), but that others had better show their age.

“This is a fine bronze, beautifully cast. But you shouldn’t have cleaned and polished it, for the market demands patina, and even though it’s by an acknowledged master, it’s only worth $10,000 instead of the $50,000 you could have gotten.”

“Can I ask? Was it refinished at all? Ah, I was afraid so. It’s a common mistake, unfortunately. If it were dark and dingy as one would expect after 250 years, it would probably fetch $500,000 at auction, but…”

If you’re a regular watcher, these quotes will have a familiar ring. I’m sure many viewers have looked at that old desk that Uncle George refinished for them a few years ago and broken into tears of regret. Oh my God, what have I done?

I suppose there are good reasons why the experts prefer the dingy to the clean. For one thing, it presumably makes it easier to date the piece. They like nothing better than pulling drawers out, turning things over, and muttering about oxidation, primary woods and the lovely gloom that generations of dirt and grime can produce. Being an expert on the effects that coal fires and candle smoke can have on finishes gives them an edge over the hapless layman, after all. And it’s certainly true that today’s craftsmen can produce superb fakes of anything done by masters of the past.

So, if you have an old piece of furniture or a bronze (or any number of things) and have had it cleaned , repaired or in any way refurbished, you’re probably sunk, even though it might look absolutely lovely to the uninitiated.

Why am I troubled by this? Probably because I find myself wondering what the original creator of the piece in question would think of today’s passion for dirt and grime. Would Thomas Chippendale really be happy to see a chair, upon which he lavished so much attention, now dark with the pollution of the ages, and with threadbare upholstery to boot? Somehow, I don’t think so.

After finishing the chair, he would have stained it in the shade he or the customer wanted, and then added some varnish for protection. If he came down from the cabinet maker’s heaven today and saw it covered with dirt and discolored varnish, does anyone doubt that he would be appalled? I should think he would immediately roll up his puffy sleeves, strip off the dirt and old varnish and restore it to its original glory. “Why,” I’m sure he would think, “would anyone want a dirty old chair?”

When an artist finishes something – whether painting, statue, chair or building – it seem to me that it looks the way he wanted it to look forever. While the artist may have had some vague feeling that nothing actually lasts forever, he is unlikely to lose any sleep over it, since life was and is short. He moves on to the next project and hopes for the best.

If you’ve been in any of the world’s great art galleries, you’ve surely looked at paintings so dark with age that significant details are no longer visible. I can assure you that the artist who painted them wanted you to see and appreciate the smallest detail. If they remain uncleaned, the artist’s intentions have been lost.

On a more personal note, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Home and Studio in Oak Park, Illinois, where I have given tours for many years, has the dining room table and chairs he designed for it. Some years ago, Wright’s widow, the exotic Olgivanna, donated the table and six chairs to the now museum. They were refinished to the original natural Oak shade. Later, two additional chairs were sent on permanent loan by the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation. They are as nearly black and they can be, standing in sharp contrast to the others. As the Foundation still owns them, their decision to leave them alone must stand.

If Wright would come down from Olympus (where he surely resides) and visit his old house, would he not say: “If I wanted those chairs to be black, I would have painted them black! They better be refinished the next time I see them!”

####

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

 

Turn of the Screw

Turn of the Screw 

By Patrick F. Cannon

(I recently found this piece, which I wrote for a magazine 30 plus years ago. I think it still says something about the human comedy.)

It is one of life’s truisms that if you go up a ladder with a screwdriver to remove, let’s say, a drapery rod, you will find – as you sway back and forth – that you have brought a regular screwdriver when, in fact, all the screws have Philips-heads.

So it’s back down the ladder and out to the kitchen to root through the tool drawer. There will be no Philips-head screwdriver, even though you own three of them. Regular screwdrivers will, of course, abound. So will various hammers, hundreds of nuts an bolts (none of which will match), odd pieces of sheet metal of no apparent utility, nails either too large or too small for any earthly use, tubes of pipe joint compound that will have disappeared by the time you need them, rusty razor blades, two cores that once held electrical tape, a full roll of masking tape that won’t come off in pieces longer than two inches, various pieces of string that might someday be tied together to wrap a package, worn out sandpaper, a wrench too small for the next pipe that bursts, three blown fuses and copious amounts of the kind of fuzz usually associated with pants pockets and cuffs.

You will ultimately discover – when it’s too late – that one of the Philips-head screwdrivers is in the backyard, hidden in the grass, waiting to be chewed up by the lawnmower. Another is in the glove compartment of the car. The third is in the pocket of your son’s winter coat, now hanging in the cloakroom at school. He will not recall why he put it there.

Muttering, you will go back up the ladder with the wrong screwdriver. The passage of an hour will find you sitting quietly, staring out the window. Your color will be returning, the sweat drying on your forehead. When you wife walks in the door, she will start to greet you, think better of the idea, and proceed to the liquor cabinet. You will resolve for the hundredth time to make sure that tools are returned to the drawer after each use.

You will, of course, be lying to yourself. Some things, after all, are beyond human control (and understanding, for that matter).

###

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon

Let’s Encourage the Others

Let’s Encourage the Others

By Patrick F. Cannon

In 1757, the British Royal Navy court martialled Vice Admiral John Byng for dereliction of duty, deciding he failed to give vigorous enough battle with the French in their successful attempt to take Minorca. The British government of the time was in trouble for a variety of reasons, and decided that making an example of poor Byng would show how determined they were in prosecuting the war against their ancient enemy. Byng was found guilty and executed on the quarter deck of HMS Monarch by firing squad, which apparently was less humiliating than being hanged, although the result was roughly the same.

When he heard of this, Voltaire included a similar incident in Candide, where the hero witnesses a similar  execution in Portsmouth and is told that it is good to kill an admiral from time to time “pour encourager les autres” (to encourage the others).

(A small digression. After fighting the French for a thousand years, the British victory at Waterloo ended the military phase of their competition. But old animosities die hard. I remember a television interview with an elderly Church of England Vicar when the Channel Tunnel was being dug. He was asked what he thought of soon being able to get to France in minutes instead of a long ride on the ferry. His response: “why would anyone want to go to France?”)

Anyway, it appears that our own government preferred to levy huge fines on corporations found guilty of financial shenanigans during the late troubles, rather than sending the corporate leaders to prison as a way of “encouraging the others.” Alas, the firing squad is no longer considered an option. It may be that their own sense of guilt in fostering the housing bubble by essentially forcing mortgage companies to lend money to unqualified borrowers had something to do with it. A series of highly publicized trials could well have rubbed both ways. Better apparently to just fine the corporations (thus sticking it to the stockholders) than send the guilty executives to jail.

An investment banking firm with a trillion dollars or so of assets hardly misses 4 or 5 billion, and probably gets to write it off its tax bill anyway! How much more satisfying it would have been – both to most Democrats and Republicans – if a few of the worst offenders had been sent away to join the legendary Bernie Madoff in the Federal pen “pour encourager les autres.”

No wonder that other famous Bernie, the venerable Sanders, has gained so much traction with young people and left wing Democrats (who yearn wistfully for the final triumph of Marxism).  They see the fat cats getting a slap on the wrist, while the poor shmoe who gets caught dealing a bit of weed gets years of hard time. Some of them, of course, did lose their jobs, but how many of them actually lost their ill gotten gains?

I’m for the absolute minimum of financial market regulation, but when the laws that are on the books are broken, the culprits should be dragged to the quarter deck just like the unfortunate Admiral Byng and made to understand that the rule of law applies to everyone. I’m OK with fining their employers too, because they almost certainly looked the other way as long as the profits kept rolling in.

Finally, I should make it clear that the financial markets generally work just fine, Bernie Sanders to the contrary. The tendency to demonize whole groups for the misdeeds of the few is a regrettable feature of our recent public discourse.

###

Copyright 2016, Patrick F. Cannon