Small Towns With Spirit(s)

It was a small town in western Iowa, just a half-square mile in size, with a shrinking population.  It might have well disappeared like many other specks of settlement on the prairie but instead became notorious.  That was due to a law known as the Volstead Act which implemented the new Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution, going into effect on 17 January 1920 --Prohibition.

These few hundred farmers were having none of it.

One of them, Alphons Kerkhoff, is said to have developed the recipe for a fine rye whiskey and was one of the biggest producers.  The bootleggers hid their stills (one supposedly in a church basement), and their product for the customers in hollowed fence posts and local cemeteries.  None other than Chicago's Al Capone became aware of the quality of the product from Templeton, which he not only distributed to cities all over the Midwest but called "the good stuff," by which slogan it has been known ever since.  The bad stuff -- hooch, bathtub gin, rotgut -- was made even more lethal in 1926 when the government required a larger quantity of poisonous methanol be added to industrial alcohol (which bootleggers used as a base from which they made their chancy fake liquor) to discourage illegal drinking, which Prohibition was failing to do.  They also promoted adding chemicals such as benzine and mercury; it is estimated that 10,000 people died taking the risk of possibly purchasing deadly tainted alcohol.

From 1920 to 1933, the bootleggers of this enterprising little town brought in three railroad car loads of sugar a month while sending out cattle cars to Chicago filled with barrels, not bovines.  Alphons' grandson Meryl  resurrected the legendary brand, respectably legal now, in 2006.  His birthday is coincidentally January 17, which has been declared Bootleggers Day.  You can't keep a good Iowan down.

(2021 update:  Today's revived Templeton Rye had actually been made in the giant MGP distellery in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, but a class action lawsuit forced the deletion of claims on the label of "small batch" and "Prohibition Era Recipe."  Flavor had been added to approximate the original.  Now a new $35 million distillery, visitor center and museum has opened back in Templeton Carroll County, Iowa which will produce 2.4 million bottles annually.  The founder's grandson, one of the principals, says "Grandfather would say this is great, but where's my cut?")

                                                                            ***

Prohibition did not interrupt the 121-year operation of Nelsen's Hall and Bitters Club on remote Washington  Island, Wisconsin or even break its stride.  Originally opened as a dance club but thriving as a bar and social center, owner Tom Nelsen wasn't about to close its doors after January 1920, Constitutional amendment or no.  The law allowed medicinal alcohol or sacramental wine to still be served, and Tom had noticed pharmacies selling Angostura Bitters (which happens to be 90 proof, or 45% alcohol) for stomach disorders.  So, with nothing else to sell except for (bleh) near-bear, he offered shots of this "medicine" after he cleverly procured a pharmacist's license.  A visiting Federal agent thought this sure looked and operated as a speakeasy, and charged Nelsen with a Volstead Act violation.  In court, this creative barkeeper demonstrated that it tasted pretty awful and could only be considered a medicine.  The judge agreed that no one would purchase it as an enjoyable drink, so the G-men had to take the loss while Wisconsinites kept on taking the ferry to the Club.

Today you can become a card-carrying member of the Bitters Club (if you can down a shot) and be entitled to "mingle, dance, etc., with all the other members."   

October 8, 1963

The original "Jazz Corner of the World" at 1678 Broadway, NYC

The first LP I ever bought was Dave Brubeck's "Time Out."  Still have it, and it has aged like a fine French wine -- even better now than then.  Most things (think 70s fashion) are quickly dated and lose their appeal.  So we know what a classic is: that rare other that defies the damage of time and tide.

Someone decided to record the John Coltrane Quartet at the original Birdland club (1949 - 1965) on a particular night.  The album issued a few months later only included three selections (just 27 minutes +), with two added from a studio session from following month.  These five cuts on "Coltrane Live at Birdland" are all you really need to know, so be sure to take this disc when you depart for that desert island.

Another thing lost today, in our era of mindless "beats" and tattooed morons, is the extensive, thoughtful liner notes that used to be commissioned for LPs.  Poet LeRoi Jones wrote the essay for this recording, and I'm glad he did.  He says "the few people who were at Birdland that night of October 8 who really heard what Coltrane, Jones, Tyner and Garrison were doing..."  Emphasis on heard, because the club could seat 500 and surely it was pretty full for this appearance of giants, but people are also out to socialize, too. Ah, if one could go back in time...

I'm in full agreement with Mr. Jones on the role that drummer Elvin Jones played:  "...rising in the background like something out of nature...a fattening thunder, storm clouds or jungle war clouds."  His work alone bears several listening-throughs, it's that surprising and bold.  And Mr.Coltrane plays soprano sax in addition to tenor, a delicious treat.  On top of all that, legendary Rudy Van Gelder was the recording engineer -- a rare alignment of the stars!

Stars, indeed: the club was named after already popular Charlie "Yardbird" Parker, who was on hand the opening night.  Jack Kerouac lyrically described hearing Lester Young there in "On The Road."  There was a dark side, too.  In 1959, Miles Davis was beaten by a city policeman while outside on the sidewalk.  The same year co-owner Irving Levy was stabbed to death after a January midnight and nobody noticed for hours. 

All these people have gone on now, but the magic of that one night is ours still, to be grateful for.

Thirty Two Years Gone

Cold currents run slow and deep in the oceans, one I've heard of taking thousands of years to flow from Greenland's glaciers past Hawaii.  So do the things that pass into our hands and back out again.  Some keep their stories, most are lost to the landfill, and others float through the lower levels of the economy anonymously.  A cut glass punch bowl set for sale at the Goodwill store is surely a legacy of Christmas and Thanksgiving holidays, maybe a retirement party, of some family whose name you will never know.

The other day we dropped in on one of the regular half-price sales at said local Goodwill store, immediately finding one thing we'd been looking for (new, for only $5).  Then we threaded our way to the back corner where the artwork, frames and books are to be found, our favorite spot.  One old painting was on the floor, propped against the end of the metal shelving, which made me do a double-take.  It looked familiar, the way something would if you had donated it yourself and saw it again, surprised.  It looked like the reproduction oil painting (in the exact frame, too) that was on my grandparents' living room wall above the long grey sofa for the entire time they lived there -- 38 years -- and had probably been in two previous homes they had in the area.  My father had given it to them at the end of the Thirties, when he was working downtown and living at home.

I had always liked it, and was sorry to see it disappear when the auctioneer cleared out their house after my grandfather's death in 1988.  I was at work all week and missed my chance.  Not knowing the artist or its title, I couldn't look for another.  What were the chances it stayed in the community for thirty two years -- who knows where -- and just we happened upon it?  So, for $3.50 and quite a long wait, it came back with us.

The label on the back with the title and artist noted, along the yellowed, torn backing paper, looked right for being from either side of 1940.  Online, I found there were several other very similar pictures by Anthony Thieme of the same scene from different viewpoints, one copyrighted 1939.  The title, "Sunny  Afternoon," was also shared, with slight variations, with some of them. He was quite a prolific landscape painter, whose work is still in museums, galleries and at auctions today.

I had always guessed this Impressionist work was by a 19th century artist who depicted a familiar French village, due to the sycamore tree and the look of the houses with red roofs, shutters and white stucco exteriors, as well as its feeling of serene timelessness.  Good thing I'm not pretending to be an art appraiser.  It is actually a 20th century rendering of a street in Rockport, Massachusetts.   Despite the facts, I'm going to keep on thinking quiet French village anyway.

Anthony Thieme, 1888 - 1954

  

What Were They Thinking?

A scene from a movie ten years ago just sticks in my head, so I've got to pry it out and leave it here for you.

In "The Social Network," the film about the beginning of Facebook, this scene take place in the office of Harvard President Larry Summers.  The Winklevoss twins have an appointment to protest Mark Zuckerberg's takeover/theft of their idea, presenting it as an honor code violation.  The president has a visceral dislike of the twins, calling them "A-holes" later, and is instantly put off by their appearing dressed up in blazers and ties.  He accordingly dismisses their complaint, thus setting in motion legal battles and a lot of bad publicity. What has bothered me about this is that the president's decision not to look into the situation and deal with it seems to have been based on emotion and irritation, which is less than what we expect of someone in his position.  There are so many other examples of experienced, educated professionals in positions of power and authority who similarly disappoint, and I'm sure you have seen them personally. 

Rational thinking is derailed by ignorance, prejudices, borderline personality traits, beliefs and fear.  Damage is done which could have been avoided.  Recently I saw another story about an unthought-out decision:  a woman had graduated at the top of her law school class in Chicago in the mid 1920s, and had high hopes when applying for a position at law firms.  She was told coldly that they "did not hire women," and sent packing.  A conservative knee-jerk reaction instead of a little thought -- society was changing after World War I and the adoption of the 19th and 20th amendments, and there are opportunities in such times which are lost when ignored.  A top female lawyer in the firm could have brought in significant new business from female clients in need of estate planning, in business matters or those having marital problems.

Boxed-in thinking can have a much wider impact.  It seems CIA Director J.J. Angleton was obsessed with the idea of false Soviet defectors misleading his agency, acting as double agents.  Valuable information from these defectors was ignored, and one individual was even mistreated badly due to such suspicion (he was, it turns out, genuine). The ongoing hunt for a mole inside the intelligence community also caused much pointless damage.  Ordinary police work would have revealed that the mole was their own Aldrich Ames, who, along with his wife, clearly lived too lavish a lifestyle (home, cars, etc.) for his income and visited parks at night far too often (to make coded information dead drops, of course, not to feed the squirrels).  Pervasive fear and unfounded beliefs usually drive out common sense.

Clinging to an orthodoxy of belief usually precludes clear thinking.  Herbert Hoover, intelligent, capable and educated as he was, kept to his conservative principles and declined to intervene to the extent the emergency required when the stock market crash of 1929 could have been mitigated by bolder action.  The Irish starved and died during the Potato Famine of the 1840s while effective aid was denied by those in ruling England who believed it would upset the market.  A century and a half later, economists like Laffer and others blindly perpetrate the same misunderstandings of Adam Smith. to the applause of conservatives and the misfortune of millions.  In stark contrast to Hoover, Thomas Jefferson completely and brilliantly violated his small government principles to make the Louisiana Purchase.  He might have agreed with Emerson that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. 

      

An Ancient Student's Lament

Cuneiform, cuneiform
How'd that get to be the norm?
You Akkadians, Sumerians and Elamites, 
That's no way to write!

I say it's just a batch
Of silly chickenscratch!
Incising marks in clay is bad --
Have you never heard of a legal pad?

The Israelites across the sand
Put things down in a handsome hand.
But I can't help it, I'm just averse
To reading and writing in reverse!

I'll take a ship with sails unfurled
To Western lands, a whole new world!
Yes, I can only dream of it:
To finally write in Palmer script!

Here's To You

We went only to find an inexpensive bookcase for the basement, to give the homeless books in stacks and bags a more dignified place to be.  And we did find one, just the right size, and on half-price sale.  Then things aligned even better when there was a break in the awful weather to load it up and drive all of an entire block home.  This estate sale was right behind us!

I don't recall another estate sale previously in our neighborhood despite the fact that people are often moving in and out, more than half the time due to age.  Even without exterior maintenance to worry about, keeping up with a home and your other needs gets to be too much at some point.  We hear some have passed away after a stay in a retirement home; others we wonder about.  But in this case, we had never even seen the lady who lived there behind us or knew who she was -- for twenty years.  And in that block of four townhomes, we have never seen two of the others either.  It is somewhat eerie.

We asked the sale managers about whose bookcase we were hauling away, and they told us she was widowed in 2000, her husband was a pretty prominent local attorney, and she had children and grandchildren who apparently did not want much of the possessions of a long lifetime.  I surmised they had lived in a bigger home at one time and entertained regularly, based on the large amount of quality glassware and several complete sets of fine china.  You can't take much with you to the retirement home, but it must have been stressful to leave most everything behind.

It was sad to see the late husband's personalized Penn State mug, dated 1954, among the ceramic items. You would think one of the family would have taken it, at least, as a remembrance.  After seeing that, I paused, looked around further, and saw a set of four coupe glasses with green stems, in new condition.  I don't know what the sale managers do with everything that wouldn't sell, but I knew what would be done with them.  They were going to come home with us, to remember the elegant life of people we'd never met and never would.  Lives should not disappear and be forgotten so quickly.
           

Take It To The Limit?

"...the worst are full of passionate intensity"

--T. S. Eliot

Coincidental to this weekend's gun-nut riot in Virginia, I've been reading about, and the writings and sermons of, the 17th-century Puritans.  While trying to parse their reasoning so colorfully expressed with great unreasoning abandon, they still seem to me to be truly frightening.  And as we can today see, they may have exchanged their tall hats and wide white collars for baseball caps and t-shirts scrawled with crazy stuff, they're still with us.

Those Puritans were rightly outraged by their contemporary kings (James I & II, Charles I, and Louis XIV) claiming divine right to do whatever they wished to anyone.  But their furious reaction was about as useful to mankind as the Nazis' later face-off with the Reds.  For all the self-righteous noise and bloodshed, extremism is the wrecking ball of history.  But like an eternal pendulum, it swings from one extreme to another over the centuries, spending only a brief time in the calm middle.  

And extremist doctrines, which inspire such fanatical crowds and movements, are usually based on pretty much nothing.  Think of Ayn Rand's system of "Objectivism," which is nothing at all but a mirror image of the "collectivist," or communist, dogma it opposes.  Each far end of that pendulum's swing is just so, a false opposition, a big con, just a mirror image.  This is the foolishness of believing in ALL OR NOTHING.  So why is such a dangerous approach so attractive to so many?

I recently read a twelve-page summary of a paper presented at an academic conference.  It tried to explain people's responses to public stimuli in media and their behaviors.  But it was all statistics and groupings; I came away wondering why personality types were not considered.  Nature or nurture predominate in some people, but for most it's a mixture,  And we've found how much brain chemistry controls that nature.  So you inherit that and usually will believe and act like your family, group and community.  Even in cases where outwardly it looks like you do not.  That explains Reagan Democrats, for one example: a basically conservative nature from rural roots despite the urban work setting and union card.

So one thing is pretty constant in human nature, and that is: people go too far.  Some would say that's the spirit that leads people to explore and discover, but think about the bodies and trash on Mt. Everest and the destruction of the New World's population and forests.  Not that we all should stay home in our huts and do nothing, but don't do 85 in a pickup truck on an icy road, either.