Saturday, November 14, 2009

What’s Wrong with This Picture?

Walking the dog around our neighborhood is usually a pleasant experience, and is demonstrably good for my blood pressure. But last night and today, I came back from our walks more exercised in mind than in body. Here’s what I brought home – one of many I tore off telephone poles on our street and three of the side streets. (And I’m not one bit sorry I did!)

What's wrong with this picture

What’s wrong with this picture?

  • Whoever posted it has a staple gun and access to a copier (and probably the Internet for the picture), but is sadly lacking in cojones. No name, address, phone number, or even an organization name appears anywhere on the flier.
  • I don’t want to seem alarmist or paranoid, but posting a picture of our President, dressed like Che Guevara, with such a simple slogan invites the question, HOW? I doubt this person has impeachment, lawsuits, or elections in mind.
  • Socialism? Please. If President Obama really had us on the road to socialism, he wouldn’t be getting nearly as much flak from commentators on the left as he is from those on the right.

I think the anonymity of these fliers bothers me more than anything. If you or I write a letter to the editor, put up a lawn sign, affix a bumper sticker to our car, sign a petition, attend a rally or speak up at a meeting, we have the courage to stand behind our convictions. The positions we advocate can be argued with; or jobs, our associations and our reputations can be used by others to judge whether they believe or agree with us. But when I and my neighbors see this poster, we don’t even know whether the person who put it up lives in our neighborhood, our town, or our state. We have no way of knowing whether the person is a high school dropout with time on his hands, a college student conducting a sociology experiment, or a nut with a gun who might start targeting houses where the car in the driveway still sports an Obama sticker.

This is the second time similar fliers have appeared in our neighborhood; I never saw the first set, which were removed by other members of our neighborhood association who felt they were racist and created an atmosphere of fear that we do not want in our diverse small town neighborhood.

Our local police, contacted about the earlier posters, said there was nothing they could legally do. I plan to urge my Council member to introduce an ordinance stating that all signs, posters, or fliers put up on the public ways must have visible the name and address or phone number of the person posting them. Anonymous hate- and fear-mongering has no place in this or any community.

(Lest my readers think I’m marooned in a sea of right-wing nutcases, let me hasten to add that I live in one of the most liberal districts of one of the most liberal towns in Maine, judging from our last two elections; and I also believe that most of the Republicans in town are people of good will and good sense.)

I can thank Mr. Anonymous for one thing, though. I didn’t have to rack my brains for something to blog about today!

Friday, November 13, 2009

Friday Five: Friday the Thirteenth!

Friday 13th The very erudite Sophia at RevGalBlogPals (I think she can really read the Greek) tells us: “The fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskevidekatriaphobia, a word derived from the concatenation of the Greek words Paraskeví (Παρασκευή) (meaning Friday), and dekatreís (δεκατρείς) (meaning thirteen), attached to phobía (φοβία) (meaning fear). The term triskaidekaphobia derives from the Greek words "tris", meaning 'three', "kai", meaning 'and', and "deka", meaning 'ten'. the whole word means three and ten. The word was derived in 1911 and first appeared in a mainstream source in 1953. (Wikipedia)
With thanks to my dear spouse TechnoGuy for the great suggestion, it's a Friday the 13th Friday Five!”
1. How is this Friday the 13th looking for you?

Pretty peaceful. There’s a possibility Onkel Hankie Pants will be released early from work today, so we might do some errands in the afternoon. No special plans, though.
2. Have you ever had anything unlucky happen on Friday the 13th?

Not that I can recall. But then, I consider myself a very fortunate person.
3. Did your family of origin embrace or scorn superstitions?

Somewhere in the middle, I guess. Although, if we said “I wish it were Christmas, or my birthday, or next week…” my mother always said “Don’t wish your life away.”
4. Are there any unique or amusing ones from your family, region, or ethnic background?

My father had some that had to do with boats, although I’m not sure how seriously he took them. You mustn’t paint a boat blue; you mustn’t say “pig” on a boat; and whistling on board might whistle up a wind that you wouldn’t want.
5. Do you love or hate horror movies like "Friday the 13th"?

I guess I’d have to say hate, as I haven’t seen a horror movie of that type since Monster from the Black Lagoon over 50 years ago. I just find them boring, not scary.

Here’s hoping you all have a lucky Friday the 13th! Thanks to PixelPackingMama on Flickr for the photo! And thanks a lot to Sophia for giving me an easy way to fulfill my NaBloPoMo pledge today!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Trampling Out the Vintage

200px-JohnSteinbeck_TheGrapesOfWrath When I was in eighth grade, our English teacher, Mr. Robert McConville, chose a novel for each of us to read and report on. The one he chose for me was John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, and it was a wonderful choice for me. It had a very strong influence on my politics, and also became one of the novels I would remember always. (I did reread it a few years ago and felt just as strongly.) In 1991, the Steppenwolf Theater’s production of a play based on the novel was shown on PBS and I watched that, but for some reason I had never seen the John Ford film until this evening.

I’m not going to do an exhaustive review just now, but wanted to put down a few thoughts (and also get my daily blogpost in before bedtime!)

  • What actors do we have now who can convey sincere idealism as well as Henry Fonda and James Stewart did? Is this something that 21st century actors are even asked to do?
  • In the opening scene where Tom Joad (Fonda) hitches a ride to get home and insists on telling the driver he's been in prison, as he leaves the truck he tells the driver he was in the penitentiary for "homicide" which he pronounces "home-icide." Shortly afterwards he and Preacher Casey are told about the real "home-icide" by Muley -- the sharecroppers' homes being knocked down by tractors.
  • In the book, Weedpatch Camp (run by the USDA) is presented as an oasis in the middle of the Joad family’s journey. In the movie, it’s called Wheat Patch Camp, appears near the end of the film as almost the Promised Land (although the family leaves it for the promise of cotton-picking work in Fresno).
  • Throughout the film I kept hearing Woody Guthrie's Ballad of Tom Joad and Vigilante Man in my head.
  • The supporting actors in the film looked so realistic as starving migrants that I was surprised when I looked them up and discovered I’d seen them in other films. I do wonder about some of the extras, whether they were real “Okies and Arkies.”
  • Speaking of which, when OHP and I were in the Monterey Bay area of California (near Steinbeck’s hometown of Salinas), there was a local establishment called “Tressie’s Okie and Arkie Tavern.” I never went there, though. It sounded a little scary. But since I’m talking about 1971-72 here, someone much like Tom Joad could well have been the owner.
  • The term “Great Migration” means a lot of different things in U.S. history. The first was the Puritan migration to New England, which began in 1630 and about which much has been written. The Great Migration of African-Americans from the South to the northern industrial cities has been the subject of several books. I’m thinking that I would love to read a family/social history of some of the real people who, like the Joads, traveled Route 66 from Oklahoma, Arkansas and the rest of the Dust Bowl to California in the 1930s. I wonder how things turned out for them after all their suffering?
  • It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t see this film a long time ago, since it was only digitally restored in 2003, so a print seen earlier (according to the extra feature about the restoration) would have been of much lower picture quality.
    I would definitely recommend both the book and the film for understanding of an important period in our history, and also for their literary and cinematic artistry.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Veterans’ Day: Remembering a Relative

The Spanish-American War, like all our country’s wars up till World War II, saw more U.S. servicemen die of disease than of wounds sustained in combat. One of those servicemen was my great-granduncle, George Warren Hodgins. This is some of his story. (Below, a photo of George published in the history cited here.)

George Warren Hodgins

George Warren Hodgins was born in Calais, Maine, on July 17, 1864, the eighth of 12 children born to William Hodgins and his wife Eliza Nason, and the fourth to be born an American citizen after the family’s move across the river from St. Stephen, New Brunswick. My guess is that he was named for a family friend, as no earlier Georges or Warrens are to be found in either family. Four years later, my mother’s grandfather, Allen Drew Hodgins, was born, and it seems safe to assume that Allen looked up to his older brother, since he named a son Warren after him. (There are several indications that G. W. Hodgins went by Warren both inside and outside the family.)


Warren’s father was a ship carpenter and also had a small farm. Thus, according to Warren’s biography in Worcester in the Spanish War (1905), his boyhood “was given to farm work and the public schools.” The 1880 census found Warren, age 16, “at home;” he is also said to have worked for a time in a shop in Calais. William Hodgins was evidently prosperous enough to send several of his children to some post-secondary education, and Warren was one of these. At 19, in the winter of 1883-84, he attended Eastman Commercial College in Rochester, NY; but it appears that his aptitudes and interests lay elsewhere, for in 1885 he began learning the machinist’s trade at a shop in Worcester, MA. He remained there until 1896; his older brother, John Nason Hodgins, also lived in Worcester with his family, and both brothers were connected with the local Fire Department. In 1896 Warren returned to the farm in Calais for about 18 months, perhaps to help his aging father; he returned to work in Worcester March 1, 1898, and on April 29 joined Company H, Wellington Rifles, 2nd Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteer Militia.


The book Worcester in the Spanish War, in which I found much of my information, twice mentions this poignant anecdote: as he was in the process of enlistment, Warren was asked for the name of a friend or next-of-kin who should be notified in case of his illness or death. He replied, “That is a good idea, for I have no expectations of coming home alive.”

The regiment, now styled as part of the 2nd Massachusetts Infantry, U. S. Volunteers, traveled first to Framingham for some training and then South by train, spending some of their training time in Lakeland, FL, and later in Ybor City. As June wore on, they at last embarked on the vessel for Cuba; they landed June 23rd.


It was only a short time after their arrival that the company was called to assist at the Battle of Las Guasimas, June 24th. This battle is generally characterized as a cavalry action (including Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders) so it’s not clear what part the Rifles played in it. The event did give rise to this amusing anecdote: “When the alarm for Las Guasimas fight called them from their bivouac, they marched away carrying their provisions in all sorts of ways. Private Hodgins had the most of his hardtack strung on a string and the streamer of tack was suspended from his bayonet as he threaded the Cuban mazes.” (Worcester in the Spanish War, p. 183)


Speaking of hardtack, bad food and water probably killed at least as many soldiers as mosquitoes did. The rations included pork and beef that the troops called “embalmed;” hardtack; and canned tomatoes. However, at least the troops in Cuba could take advantage of some of the local fruits, with mangoes, limes, and other delicacies available for the picking according to contemporary accounts. By the way, the month’s pay for a private like Warren Hodgins was $15.00.

Sp-Am War Memorial Worcester Mass


The city of Worcester has a memorial plaque for the members of the Wellington Rifles, shown above (click on the photo to enlarge it and you will see Warren Hodgins’ name in the first column). It lists the battles of El Caney and San Juan Hill and the Siege of Santiago as actions in which the Rifles took part. Having arrived in Cuba in late June, much of the regiment would be on its way home by August (the eastern half of Cuba had surrendered in mid-July but the troops were kept on the island because those at home feared the spread of yellow fever.) But Warren Hodgins’ premonition had been correct. He was too ill to travel home with his regiment and had to be left behind at the field hospital in Siboney. Soon, the hospital ship Missouri arrived to carry the sick soldiers to a hospital that had been set up at Montauk, Long Island. (Again, fear of yellow fever was probably the rationale for locating the hospital in a fairly remote location for that time.) Warren was taken on board, but died soon after, probably on September 3, 1898. (I’ve seen several dates, but this seems to be the most likely.) He was buried at sea.

Hospital Ship Missouri painted by Jacobsen

(The Missouri, painted by Jacobsen. ) The Missouri docked at Montauk and unloaded its passengers on September 10, 1898, as described in the New York Times, which listed the names of those who had died on the voyage, including Warren Hodgins. Camp Wikoff, the site of the hospital at Montauk, was a hellhole, understaffed and poorly supplied. Warren may have escaped even further suffering by dying on board the Missouri.


There were four principal diseases that killed soldiers in the Spanish-American War: dysentery, typhoid, malaria and yellow fever. I do not know which of these accounted for Warren’s death; I hope to obtain records from the National Archives someday to learn a bit more.


Politically speaking, the Spanish-American War was not our finest hour. It was precipitated by the sinking of the battleship Maine in Havana harbor, an event about the causes of which there is still controversy. Americans were urged into war by William Randolph Hearst’s jingoistic Yellow Journalism. Why did Warren and his comrades in arms enlist? Was it patriotism, a wish for adventure, a desire to be one of the gang? Perhaps, at least for some, it was the idea that Cubans, Puerto Ricans and Filipinos, though in some ways very different from machinists and store clerks in Worcester, should have the same rights of self-government that Americans enjoyed. Over a hundred years later, there has been some, though not enough, progress toward that ideal, and Warren played his part.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Reading Report


Books to the ceiling, books to the sky.
My piles of books are a mile high.
How I love them!
How I need them!
I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.

≈ Arnold Lobel



To date this year I have read 151 books; this includes two books that I read a significant portion of but did not finish and do not plan to revisit. I would like to reach 200, but I’m not sure I’ll make it.

Of the books, 94 were mystery/detective/suspense novels or collections of short stories in that genre. This is partly because I have two “projects” or challenges going on in that genre; one is to read all the Edgar Best Novel Winners, in chronological order (they’ve been given out since 1954, and I’m up to the late 90s now); the other is to read at least one mystery, by an author new to me, from every state in the Union and Washington, D.C. I just finished a book from Michigan a couple of days ago. The other reason, besides that I like mysteries, is my participation in the DorothyL listserv, where I am constantly reminded of old favorites who have new books and l also learn about authors I’d not been aware of.

Nine of the books were fantasy or speculative fiction; most of those were by Terry Pratchett. The two books I didn’t finish also fell into that category.

Fiction of various other kinds accounted for 30 books; I also read one autobiography, two memoirs, and 15 other non-fiction books.

The third challenge I’ve set for myself is to complete reading the Guardian 1000 Novels Everyone Must Read (I’ve done a recount and it’s actually 1070, since they lump all Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series together as well as some other trilogies, quartets and other series). Optimistically believing that I might have 25 years of reading in which to do this, I calculated that I should be reading 40 of the novels per year (since I had already read a couple of hundred or so during the course of my reading life). So far this year I have read 21 novels from the list.

So, between now and December 31, my goal is to read 48 1/2 more books (I’ve already made good progress on #152), of which 19 ought to be from the Guardian’s list. Since I have some other things I want to do and/or have to do, I may not reach that goal. But I will enjoy trying!

Monday, November 9, 2009

A Suggestion for Conde Nast

By now anybody who follows food writing knows that the November issue of Gourmet magazine is its last. The website will remain up for an unspecified time and some recipes will be available on another website, but the magazine which made foodies of so many is no more.

I would like to propose to Conde Nast, the magazine’s publishing company, that they follow the example of their other publication, The New Yorker, and make available the entire run of the magazine on DVD. I received the complete New Yorker on DVD a few years ago for Christmas and it is a wonderful product – easy to search, easy to read on the computer screen, and if you wish, you can print out a story to peruse in your favorite armchair. Not only can one read the first publication of works like E. Annie Proulx’s Brokeback Mountain, John Hersey’s Hiroshima, and articles by John McPhee and Calvin Trillin, but one can also enjoy looking at the cartoons, seeing what was playing on Broadway or who was appearing in nightclubs at any time during the magazine’s history. And the advertisements are a lot of fun to read as well. (Since the New Yorker is still being published, an extra DVD is offered every year to update the set.)

I would so love to have Gourmet in this format. I know that Google Books now has the complete run of Life and New York, Ebony and Mother Jones, and it’s nice to have them available for free (although I find their site less pleasant to use than the DVD New Yorker), but why shouldn’t Conde Nast make a little more money off Gourmet? A few other magazines have also been issued as sets of DVDs – Rolling Stone, MAD, Playboy (the 1950s issues) and National Lampoon; I think National Geographic issued a DVD archive a few years ago too.

Well, that’s my bright idea for the day. Too bad I don’t know anybody at Conde Nast. Are there any old magazines you’d like to see on DVD?

Sunday, November 8, 2009

A Good Day at Church

I have to confess that since we moved to Maine and joined Big Taupe Church, my attendance has not been the kind that would get me a nice little lapel pin at the end of the year. It’s partly my introvert self having trouble with a church four times as large as my old one, and partly a sort of spiritual “meh” that has more to do with me than with any particular church and finds me far too often succumbing to the lure of reading the Times in my bathrobe.

Today, though, we were scheduled to usher so we had to show up, and I’m really glad we did. I might have known things would go well when I was able to pin on my usher’s boutonniere without stabbing myself. When Twin Cities organist and composer Paul Manz died recently, I thought about suggesting to our organist that he play some of Manz’s work. I didn’t have to do it, though, as our prelude this morning was Manz’s Partita on St. Anne – a tribute to one fine organist from another.

We’re in the middle of a three-week series on the Book of Ruth, and the children’s time featured a puppet show telling the story of Ruth and Naomi. The puppets, made by a church member and recently donated, were near life-sized so that I could see them even from my usher’s station near the entrance doors. I hope we’ll see those puppets again!

In our denomination, the sermon is central to worship, and today we heard a sermon that spoke to my condition and, from what I heard, to others’ as well. Today’s Scripture reading was Ruth 2, and the sermon title was Gleanings. The minister began by quoting Karl Barth, that one should write sermons with the Bible in one hand and the daily newspaper in the other. She then expertly related the themes of Ruth to three major headlines of this past week: the repeal by 52% of the voters of Maine’s same-sex marriage law; the tragic shootings at Fort Hood; and the announcement of double-digit unemployment. She gave us a word of comfort, a word of warning, and a word of exhortation – and most of all, a word of hope.

Taking up the offering is the part of ushering I dread, since we use those baskets on sticks and I’m usually afraid I’ll poke somebody with them. But today I was able to forget myself because the choir was singing Ralph Vaughan Williams’ setting of Walt Whitman’s Dirge for Two Veterans. Like the sermon series, the offertory had been planned weeks or months in advance, in this case for the Sunday nearest to Veterans’ Day. As happens surprisingly often, the music was exactly appropriate for this particular day (and beautifully performed, as well). As the service drew to its close, I noticed some welcome changes – we sang Marty Haugen’s “As the grains of wheat” as the offertory response, and the choir replaced the benediction response that I’d been getting a little sick of with the familiar three-fold Amen.

In the afternoon, I returned to church for an Ecclesiastical Council. This is the next-to-last hoop to be jumped through for candidates seeking ordination in the United Church of Christ. (The last one is to be called to a church or other ministry setting.) I’ve been to several of these in the past, but this one was special. My friend A., the candidate, was one of the girls who made friends with me when I arrived at a new high school midway through my senior year. I’ve always remembered something from the description under her yearbook picture: “Striving for: servantship in a world of dirty feet.” After college she took a graduate degree in Christian Education at the Lutheran seminary in Chicago (where a cousin of Onkel Hankie Pants was one of her professors), then returned to Maine, raised three fine sons with her husband, and worked in Christian education for two UCC churches and then the Maine Conference. At our 40th high school reunion she told us she was returning to seminary to prepare for ordination.

At an Ecclesiastical Council, the candidate reads her/his ordination paper, which includes, among other things, a statement of faith, a discussion of one’s call to ministry, and further statements about the candidate’s theology and understanding of ministry. The candidate can then be questioned by the clergy and lay delegates and then a vote is taken. A.’s paper was excellent, as I knew it would be, but I was even more impressed by her answers to some difficult questions posed (not in a hostile manner) by the delegates. Of course, she was unanimously approved, and some church in these parts will be very fortunate to get her as their pastor and teacher. I went home rejoicing, feeling much better about the church both universal and particular, its future, and my part in it.