Art is 80

“Soon it’s gonna rain, I can feel it. Soon it’s gonna rain, I can tell. Soon it’s gonna rain…….”

They say the rain will start tonight, maybe about 11, and continue without let up for about 36 hours until sometime Sunday afternoon. We need it, for sure, but our four tickets for tomorrow’s Nats-Braves game will certainly go to waste.

But it’s not raining now, so…..

Let’s jump right into it. The Reverend Henry Ward Beecher (the brother, not the father, of Harriet Beecher Stowe of Uncle Tom’s Cabin fame), was an extremely well known and well respected Congregationalist minister, who had prominent positions first in Indianapolis and then at Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, in the years leading up to and immediately following the Civil War. He was an unabashed abolitionist and social progressive. He was a religious reformer in that he replaced the old Calvinist notion of predestination with a new theology based on God’s love. He was a supporter of Charles Darwin and his theories of evolution, which Beecher proclaimed to be fully in accordance with Christianity. He was a supporter of any and all women’s movements. He was extraordinarily charismatic.

But guess what? His life was not perfect. He had married young and his marriage has been described as quite unhappy. He had eight children, four of whom died. And, perhaps because of this (perhaps not), he apparently became quite a womanizer, having affairs with members of his congregations and others, many professed by the women involved, others assumed through innuendo. This although he apparently preached often about the sanctity of family values.

One of his friends in abolitionist circles was a journalist named Theodore Tilton. At some point, Tilton’s wife Elizabeth told her husband that she had had an ongoing affair with Beecher, which of course outraged Tilton, but Tilton, his wife and Beecher vowed to keep it quiet, so as not to create an uncontrollable fire storm. Eventually, the storm broke, a committee at Plymouth Church was formed to investigate their beloved pastor, an article was published and widely distributed by suffragist Victoria Woodhull, a free love advocate who wanted to call out hypocrisy in the suffragette movement, and Elizabeth Tilton publicly left her husband.

Believing he had no choice, Tilton filed a civil suit against Beecher alleging alienation of affection and seeking $100,000 damages.

At the time, the ins and outs of this litigation was first page news in American newspapers. Beecher became known as the “most famous man in America” and at least one journalist lamented that the trial had wiped Reconstruction off the front page.

What became of this litigation? The jury was out for six days. They came back with a hung verdict. The truth is still open for discussion.

I want to end this with an anecdote: apparently, Tilton left the country and moved to France, where he lived the rest of his life. While in France, he made a good friend, a man with whom he played chess on a regular basis. This man was former Confederate Secretary of State Judah Benjamin, the highest ranking Jew in the government of the Confederacy, and the former U.S. Senator from Louisiana. Yes, you heard this right. The former abolitionist and the former Confederate cabinet officer, whiling away their final years together, in exile (voluntary and not) in Paris. Such is life.

Fascinating story. But why do I even mention it? Many of you know that Edie and have an on-line used book business (www.abebooks.com/bookseller/arichard). We have the books that are listed in pretty good order – if someone orders a book, I generally know exactly where it is. But as to the thousands of books that I have that are not listed for sale – their location is more hit and miss and I have decided to make them easier to find, as well. This will be a slow task, but winter is coming.

So yesterday, I started my long task. And this is where Beecher comes in. The first book I picked up, published in 1874, is a 600 page book entitled The History of the Brooklyn Scandal, published in a limited edition, available by subscription only, and not to be sold in book stores. The cover of the book is quite deteriorated, but the book itself is whole and clean and tight. It is not a book you can walk down to Politics and Prose or to Second Story and put in your shopping bag. Spending a little time on the internet, I can only locate three other copies of the book – one at the Library of Congress, one in the Wellesley College library, and one (whose cover looks to be as worn torn as mine) which sold in 2018 at auction in San Francisco for $100 (about half the anticipated sales price).

This book is indicative of my entire collection. It is old, it is not necessarily pristine, it is uncommon, and – most important to me – it holds a high degree of fascination, and I can learn something. I love having books like this around me – why I am not so sure.

So stick with me and we will look at more like this over the colder months.

Next? The original report of the House of Representatives covering hearings undertaken in 1856 of the investigation of the caning of Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner by Congressman Preston Brooks of South Carolina in the Senate chambers on May 22, 1856. 142 pages of hearing transcripts plus exhibits. Bound later (by whom, I do not know), in a nice, block hard cover, whose spine neatly says “Assault on Sen. Sumner, Wash. 1856.

The report includes the recommendation that the House expel Brooks, a dissent not arguing against Brooks’ guilt but concluding that Congress had not been granted authority by the constitution to expel or otherwise punish members, interviews with witnesses, physicians and Sumner himself, an analysis of previous instances where members of Congress had been published and, of course, Senator Sumner’s long speech (which involved the admission of Kansas as a free state) itself.

COVID status? Still coughing, still fatigued, but I am told not contagious. I need to be patient. But I also need some exercise. COVID and 80, not the best combination, I guess.

Yesterday, I left the house and drove my car for the first time since I tested positive for COVID. Not a big trip – to Zips, the dry cleaners, which is about a half mile from my house. A number of things surprised me. First, there were other cars on the road. That meant I had to be extra careful. Some of them were coming in the opposite direction, right at me. Then, as I turned into the Zips parking lot, a battered dark red car drove out, and the driver motioned for me to stop and roll (ha, ha, I mean push?) my window down. I did, looking at him and deciding that I hoped he was going home for a shower, and looking at his car which had seen better days a very long time ago, and he surprised me by saying “I used to work for Toyota and I have the white. Want me to fill in your scratches?” My car is white – but it is very low on the scratch count, and his car…….one big scratch, it seemed to me. At any rate, I did get home without any new scratches, but – recovering as I am – I really think my reaction time wasn’t what is normally is. I’ll give it another day or two. Weird. Why aren’t I all better?

I did watch the entire House Government Oversight Committee hearing with Atty Gen Garland. Basically from 10 to about 3:30. Pretty much a waste of my time. But let me give kudos to three: (1) NY’s Gerald Nadler – who summed it all up in a terrific opening statement; (2) CO’s Ken Buck – a Conservative Republican who actually asked substantive questions, and (3) MO’s Cori Bush, who – in spite of being a Democrat – set out a list of civil rights type issues where she felt the DOJ could be doing much better. Cori Bush takes a lot of flak, because of her sometime outrageous comments, but this time I thought she was right on. Both Buck and Bush were doing something unusual in an oversight hearing; they were focusing on oversight.

Garland did a good job, I thought, of saying nothing (and appropriately so). Most of the Republicans wanted to bash him for keeping David Weiss on the Hunter Biden case (can you imagine what they would have said if he had replaced Trump appointed Weiss with someone who would need time to catch up?), and for various aspects of how the case has been handled. Garland maintained that he had not intervened in the case at all – that this is what he promised when he was first nominated to be Atty General and that this is what the Republicans then wanted from him, afraid that he would put political weight on the outcome. Why did they fear him this way? Probably because it’s what they would have done.

And of course, they were equally critical of Jack Smith, but there were really few questions on the Trump situation. They wanted to concentrate on Hunter B. Why did Weiss work out a plea agreement that a judge found ludicrous? Why did Weiss let the statute of limitations go by for Hunter’s 2014 and 2015 taxes, the years when he made so much from Burisma? Why isn’t there an ongoing investigation as to who is buying Hunter’s art work? There was a lot of preening for the TV, of course, and a lot of false claims. Garland’s answer was universal: I didn’t intervene, ask Weiss. I was surprised, by the way, that there was not one mention (that I heard) of Hunter’s laptop.

While watching, I was also doing a quick read through David Suzuki’s book “The Sacred Balance”, written in 1997. It’s a book focused on humanity’s destruction of the earth and why that’s a bad idea – chapters about cosmology, water, air, soil, sociology, ancient practices and so on. I thought it was a great book – written so you can understand what he is saying, and all-inclusive with regard to the relationship between humanity and everything else. Most of it would probably be the same if it was written today – maybe a little more about extreme climate events, about technology (especially AI), and about the dangers of war. I suggest you read it – it is not heavy and you could get through it in just a few day.

Back to St. Louis. We watched an hour long video on You Tube that I think was produced by the public TV station in St. Louis on the Jewish history of St. Louis. Easy to find.

An interesting, if not perfect, documentary, it tells of a story that started in the early 1800s, when the first Jews came to a territory when it became U.S. territory and Jews were allowed to come. The film goes through the history of religious St. Louis Jewish history – the forming of United Hebrew Congregation, first west of the Mississippi, in the 1830s, and the various breakaway congregations, B’nai El and Temple Israel, with Shaare Emeth breaking from Temple Israel. The growth of St. Louis reform Judaism all the way to the movement of the congregations to western St. Louis County, and then the establishment of Central Reform, back in the city. It also covered the start of two of the large St. Louis department stores, Stix, Baer and Fuller (the Grand Leader), formed by two young men from Ft. Smith, Arkansas, who move to St. Louis and joined Charles Stix in this venture. Interestingly, the Tilles family, as will and the Baer and Fuller families all got their mercantile starts in Ft. Smith. And then there were the Mays, who started in Leadville CO, moved first to Denver and then to St. Louis where they bought two existing stores – The Famous Store, and Barr.

If you watch the video, you will see that it ends with a discussion of Jewish involvement in the early civil rights movements in St. Louis, and concentrates on a fascinating woman, Fannie Cook, who was an author, a literature instructor at Washington University, and the wife of my grandparents’ doctor, Jerome Cook. Fannie Cook died very young, in her 50s, in 1949 and I don’t remember her. I do remember her husband, who was at my grandfather’s bedside when he passed away in 1953.

Fannie Cook wrote several novels, apparently all based on Black-Jewish or Black-White relations in St. Louis. The one that I read (some time ago – I should look at it again) was Mrs. Palmer’s Honey, which I thought was an eye opening book when I read it. Mrs. Palmer was a middle class, or upper middle class, Jewish housewife living in suburban St. Louis, and Honey was her Black maid. They were very closes to each other, but there was a big difference. Honey knew everything about Mrs. Palmer’s life, and was there to be an advisor and confidant. Mrs. Palmer knew nothing about Honey. Nothing really at all. They both had sons about the same age (I don’t remember if Mrs. Palmer knew about Honey’s son or not – probably knew of his existence). Mrs. Palmer’s son graduated form high school, enrolled at the University of Missouri and joined a Jewish fraternity. Honey’s son worked in the dining room of the fraternity.

As usual, I remember the characters and remember nothing of the plot line. Did the two boys become friends, or enemies or what? How did this impact on either Honey or Mrs. Palmer? I gotta go back and see.

This wasn’t what I was planning on writing about, but I was looking at the Wikipedia biography of Canadian environmentalist David Suzuki this morning (the reason is not important) and saw that he was born in Vancouver BC, as were his parents. His grandparents had immigrated from Japan at the turn of the 20th century. He was born in 1936.

Why do I write this? Because, I learned something. I learned that the United States was not the only North American country to intern its Japanese Citizens during World War II, and that Suzuki’s parents were forced to sell the store in Vancouver and move to a camp in the British Columbian interior, where his father was put to work in some sort of a labor gang. I also read, and I don’t think this was the case in the United States, that after the war, when the camps were closed, all of the residents were required to move east of the Rockies, Suzuki’s family winding up in Ontario. Eventually, David Suzuki made his way back to the West Coast, teaching at the University of British Columbia for almost forty years, but this was only as an adult.

We often tend to think of Canada as a nicer, friendlier version of the United States, and perhaps this is so today, but 75 years ago, when the Canadians (of course they were a British dominion then) interned their Japanese citizens and, as we have been reading for a while now, took their native Indian children and moved them from their families into assimilationist boarding schools where they were often maltreated and sometimes died, this was clearly not the case.

Just sayin’. One more thing to think about.

By the way, those of you who were interested in the Tilles and Cella families and their extreme influence over both American horse racing and St. Louis philanthropy, let me add a couple of things.

As to Tilles, he was married for a short time and had no children. He had been born and raised in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, not St. Louis, and had moved to St. Louis as an adult with his Adler cousin. His father Louis had a store in Ft. Smith and Tilles himself created another Tilles Park, this one the Louis Tilles Park, located in Ft. Smith.

As to Cella, I said that the house across Delmar from my grandparents’ house was a large house which we called the Cella House, and that I had no idea about its residents. I don’t know who lives there today, but I did Google the house, 7100 Delmar Blvd., University City, MO, and you can see almost 70 photos of it on Zillow or one (or more) of those sites. I suggest you do it. It is one beautiful house – inside and out (warning: you have to like green).

The Cella family is still involved in racing, and they are involved in the museum and Hall of Fame in Saratoga Springs. The current Louis Cella owns and operates Oaklawn, the track in Hot Springs, Arkansas. My Hot Springs cousins probably know all of that – but they probably don’t know the St. Louis history. (And will they read this post and find out? That I don’t know, but it shows what could happen if you don’t.)

Of course, Hot Springs, back in the day, was one of those gambling meccas, just like Saratoga Springs, and it was also – like Saratoga Springs – a hangout for Italian and Jewish mafiosi. Do you know that Lucky Luciano was not so lucky in Hot Springs? It was there in 1936 (Okay, coincidence, David Suzuki was born in 1936, bring all of the segments of this extraordinary post together) that he was arrested by the authorities and extradited to New York (and eventually back to Italy, where he continued to prosper, but died). By the way, there is a picture of Lucky in the city museum in Saratoga Springs and a reference to his Hot Springs capture.

So, I know this is all a lot to absorb. You have 24 hours before there will be more.

That is information that you really have no need to know, and that is of absolutely no value to you. But there is other information that will be helpful to you – will help you put everything on context. Let’s get started (as Fareed would say).

First, COVID. The Washington Jewish Week puts out one polling question every week. I always look and virtually always answer, and sometimes find the question important. Today’s question was whether or not COVID had any effect on your celebration of Rosh Hashanah over the weekend. Now, you know what my answer was. But…..

40% of respondents said that COVID had an effect on their observances this year!! You think we are beyond the pandemic? Ha!

So, it’s now been 10 days since I had my first symptoms and (barring a reaction from the Paxlovid), the CDC and my physician tell me that I am almost certainly not contagious, and that I can go about my business, even without masking. I took them at their word, and decided to go out for a short walk yesterday. Really short – four blocks in one direction, four blocks back. Flat terrain. Certainly not a quick pace.

I felt fine on my walk. But when I got back, I soon felt exhausted, lay down and fell asleep for almost an hour, and felt the rest of the day like I had moved two steps backwards. So, I am going to go slow. Slow.

Second, St. Louis. If you don’t know anything about St. Louis, what I am about to say may be again be of no interest. But – I am not sure – maybe it will be. It’s about horses.

The general subject is horse racing. At the start of the 20th century, horse racing was the most popular sport in the United States. And in St. Louis itself, there were at least three tracks. One track was in South St. Louis (it was the first track ever to have electric lit night racing). Another, the St. Louis Fairgrounds track, was where the Forest Park Community College is now located and where the St. Louis Highlands Amusement Park was located while I was growing up. And the third, Delmar Garden, was located near the University City Loop.

Each of these race tracks went out of business during the first decade of the 20th century, when “progressives” took over the government of the State of Missouri (hard to believe, I know) and ended most forms of legal gambling. The owners of the track (the same group owned all three tracks, as I understand it) were not hurt because the land had become very valuable, and was ready for development.

In University City, the track had been located near the U. City Loop (close to the Washington University campus), north of Delmar. The track site was developed with red brick mid-rise apartments, which became the home to many Jewish families, among others. My mother, for example, was raised on Enright, and my father lived on Cates, both streets in this general area (although I don’t know the exact boundaries of the track and track-related buildings, and there was also a neighboring amusement park and outdoor theater and other facilities.). But you may be familiar with the streets Eastgate and Westgate. I never thought about these names as being reflective of what were the two largest entrances to a race track. But that is what they were.

And who owned these race tracks? It was an organization known as C.A.T. , which was owned by three men, Louis Cella (his family house was on Delmar across from my grandparents’ house in the 7100 block), Samuel Adler and Andrew “Cap” Tilles. You may know of Tilles, because of Tilles Park in Ladue on land he donated to the city of St. Louis, which the city later sold to St. Louis County, using the proceeds to build another Tilles Park in South St. Louis. Or of the Rosalie Tilles Non-Sectarian Foundation, which continues to provide university scholarships and educational support in St. Louis (its non-sectarian nature was assured by its requiring at least one rabbi and the Catholic archbishop to be members of its Board of Directors). Tilles himself was a member of the St. Louis Jewish community, as was his relative Adler; Cella was ethnically Italian.

But there’s more. At one point, Tilles monopolized horse racing everywhere in the country except on the two coasts. Only Churchill Downs in Louisville and a track in Chicago were outside of the Tilles empire in non-coastal America. And, of course, in addition to the tracks, there was the gambling.

Earlier this month, when we were in Saratoga Springs, we went to the National Horse Racing Museum and Hall of Fame. Maybe I missed it, but I don’t remember any reference to Tilles. If he is not mentioned, I wonder why.

I am going to do a little research on this. Maybe I will tell you what I discover.

As we start a new year, 5784, I thought it important to look back at those who used to be a part of our lives, but have passed away and remain only in our memories. It seems to me important for them to know that they have not been forgotten (and yes, I know, that this makes no rational sense).

So I list my Facebook friends who are no longer able to post, to read posts, or even to consciously ignore Facebook altogether. Some of these people were very close to me, some I had little contact with. They played their roles in various periods of my life, from my childhood to the year 2023.

I post this list with gratitude and respect.

Alexander Goren

Aliza Ben-Tal

Arnold Hammer

Arthur Isack

Avi West

Billy Reed

Bob Dubinsky

Bob Hausman

Eva Rodriquez-Brana

Gary Gise

George Spreitzer

Irwin Lebow

Jim Crause

John Topping

Judith Heumann

Kim Fischer

Margaret Brill

Margit Meissner

Michael Greenberg

Murray Fromson

Nancy Lurie

Razi Yitzchak

Rhoda Baruch

Robert Keimowitz

Robert Rovinsky

Sandra Carlson

Sherry Sherman

Steve Protulis

Steven Lopata

Susan Hessel

Susan Sanford

Victor Cohn

I guess it is true that, in some respects, as you age, your circle grows smaller. It makes it that much more important that you continue to remember and enjoy those who remain. And, yes, this list – sadly long as it is – represents only 6% of my Facebook friends. Of course, with a little more work, I could make another list of those departed friends who never joined Facebook. Perhaps I will do this in 5785. We shall see.

One of the sections of the Rosh Hashanah service is dedicated to memory. In fact, at one time, Rosh Hashanah was referred to as Yom Hazikaron – the Day of Memory. Exactly what was to be remembered? Or who was to be doing the remembering? On that, there are many opinions. Is it God who is to remember (frankly, I have no idea as to what that even means)? Or is it us, and if us, what are we to be remembering?

Whatever. But bear with me a bit. Because I woke up this morning, remembering.

I remembered that today, September 17, was my Aunt Loraine and Uncle Sam’s wedding anniversary. Distinctly. I told this to their daughter Donna, who told me that I was off by about six months, that their anniversary was March 23. So, okay, we have now received our first lesson about memory. It is not infallible.

One of the reasons I focused on this wedding is that I was there. I was born in November 1942. The wedding was in March (not September) 1945. So I was 2 1/2. But I remember being there. It’s my first distinct memory, I think, and I was obviously younger than I thought I had been.

It was in my grandparents’ living room. Loraine was my mother’s only and younger sister. The living room was not enormous and there were a lot of people there. The ceremony was to take place in front of the fireplace. How could I see it with so many people in the way? I remember scooting through the crowd and finding a place near the front, under the grand piano, a place where only I could fit. What else do I remember? I remember people walking down the aisle. And I remember someone singing a song. I can tell you that the someone was relative named Manny Fisher (he’s on the family chart, but I’d have to go back and see exactly how he fit in – and you don’t care), and that the song was O, Promise Me. Now, I don’t know anything about that song, and I don’t remember really hearing it, do I? I am not sure. But for years I heard people say “remember when Manny Fisher sang O, Promise Me at Loraine’s wedding?”

I also don’t remember exactly who was at the wedding, but I could probably guess. And, not surprisingly, I am now the only survivor.

What else do I remember at such a young age? Franklin Delano Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. I remember being in the room at my grandparents’ house we called the library (because it had a full wall of bookcases and books), when the radio reported Roosevelt’s death. I remember a flurry of conversation and activity. Did I know who Roosevelt was? I was 2 and 1/2. I assume not. But I knew he was someone important. Did I know what death meant? I can’t even answer that. Do I really remember this correctly at all? I think I do. I have always thought I do. But I guess it could be a false memory, right? Can’t prove it one way or the other.

Finally, my dog Beadie. I don’t know how old I was when Beadie came to live with us. I know he was with us two or three years, and he was “sent to a farm where he’ll be happier” when my sister was born in October 1947. So I assume that Beadie arrived when I was 2, or maybe when I just turned 3. Maybe before FDR died; maybe after. No way to know.

Before Beadie arrived, I had an imaginary friend. Now I think a lot of 2 and 3 year olds have an imaginary friend. But my imaginary friend – with whom I must have spent a lot of time, and whose name was Beadie – was a soldier, and he was away in the war and I talked to him from afar. (Many in my extended family were in the military, so Beadie’s profession was understandable.)

But something about it worried my parents, so they got me a sprightly black cocker spaniel puppy, whose name – talked about coincidences – was Beadie. And, lo and behold, as soon as canine Beadie arrived, soldier Beadie disappeared.

Canine Beadie and I were best buddies. But Beadie was a problem. He liked to bark, or better he liked to yip. And he liked to run away overnight – he did this again and again (how was this even possible?) and then return in the morning. The morning being about 5 a.m. with scratching on the back door. Every time he disappeared, we did not know if he would ever return – but yes, every time he did, and it was always before the sun came up.

Except once. Once, he ran away during a cold winter spell and didn’t return. Or at least he didn’t return on his own. He was brought back by a couple of University City MO police officers who saw him struggling under an ice sheet on the pond at Lewis Park. He apparently went swimming, got frozen over, and was able to breath because there was some air between the ice and the water. He was in quite precarious condition as you might imagine, but he pulled through. (I understand you can question my memory here. This sounds impossible. I remember the police thought it was a miracle. As did my family. But no memory loss on this one.)

And then there was another time that he ran out of the house, across Delmar Boulevard and was hit by a car. Again, he was really hurt – I remember blood seeping out of his eyes when they brought him home. But, again, he lived.

But, my father told me, after my sister was born: “We think Beadie would be happier on a farm where he could run to his heart’s content, so that is where he sent him.” (Not a direct quote) Of course, this was told to me after the fact, but I believed it, and I remember accepting it. I wanted Beadie to be happy. But where did Beadie really go? I have no idea. I prefer not to think about it.

That’s it.

Rosh Hashanah. Day of memory. Yom Ha Zikaron.

Of course, because of Covid, we could not get to Rosh Hashanah services today, but instead streamed them on our TV. You obviously miss something by not being present in the sanctuary, and you miss something not seeing so many old friends, and the clergy doesn’t know why you aren’t there (of course, they have other things to think about – and they don’t think about us individually – but they know that there could be more people there than there are and they wonder if it’s their fault, don’t you think?) But the TV streaming, if done well, is one great substitute. Especially when the services are so welcoming and telegenic, as those at Adas Israel here in Washington are.

But I feel bad that we weren’t there, and hope we will be able to be present on Yom Kippur.

I did think there were some special things about today’s service. I thought Cantor Brown’s voice and her management of the musical accompaniment, her supporting quartet and the youth choir, were just right. I thought all the Torah readers did a flawless job (and the Haftorah reader as well).

I thought Rabbi Alexander’s sermon about the significance and the contemporary relevance of the Book of Deuteronomy (based in part on the writing of Micah Goodman) was first class – speculation about whether the Book of Deuteronomy was “found” during the reign of King Josiah, or whether it was in fact “written” (as I have assumed) during Josiah’s reign, but also speculation as to whether it was a purposeful rewriting of the story of the Israelites/Jews in the other four books of the Torah to reflect then contemporary concerns and problems (thoughts new to me, and well worth thinking about).

And finally Rabbi Krinsky’s introductions to various portions of the service, as insightful and fresh as ever: first, her description of the Hineni service, where the Cantor proclaims his/her unworthiness for the task, as telling us that we are all unworthy for the tasks, that we do our best and that is okay, nothing more is required, and recognizing the truth of that is liberating; and second, her belief that the Unetaneh Tokef prayer (the prayer you all have heard, even if only via Leonard Cohen, that reflects that, over the coming year, God will decide who will live and who will die, etc., but which says that repentance, good deeds, etc. will avert the decree just is not realistic, and that we know that from experienc. But if you look at the roots of the Hebrew words, and you see that it really isn’t a question of averting a decree, but rather a question of getting help and support through problems that may lay ahead, it makes perfect sense. The problem is not in the prayer, but – she says – in the way it is traditionally interpreted.

This would have been my first Rosh Hashanah service after reaching the age of 80. For some I am reminded of my grandmother, my father’s mother, when she was probably 85 or so. Each year we would buy high holiday tickets for her at United Hebrew in St. Louis where we belonged (she herself was not then a member), but one year she told my mother not to get her a ticket. She was not going to go to High Holiday services this year. We couldn’t think of any reason why that would be, she wouldn’t give any, but she was adamant. So we didn’t buy her a ticket.

But on Rosh Hashanah morning, when we arrived at UH, there she was, sitting in her usual place. We were very surprised, and asked how she got a ticket, since you needed to be a member. She said (and I paraphrase): “Why should you pay for a ticket? I knew they wouldn’t refuse a woman in her 80s who wanted to get to Rosh Hashanah services.”

That year was a one-off. Future years, she let my parents get her a ticket.

L’shana tovah to all.

Enough about my COVID for now. Everything is progressing satisfactorily, although we will obviously miss in person Rosh Hashanah services. Which is too bad, because it’s such a good opportunity to see all of those we see less often than we would like see more. But it is this socializing that spreads COVID of course, so we will sit at home and live stream services.

But COVID, like crime, seems to be spreading rapidly. When we arrived back in DC, because we were exposed even though I had not yet tested positive, we did not attend a function that I was involved with. This morning, I learned that someone else who attended tested positive the morning after the event.

In addition, a friend told me her sister flew to the United States from England to meet up with some high school friends, and tested positive when she got here, isolating herself from her friends. And a cousin of mine told me of a friend of hers who flew, with his parents, to Hawaii for a family wedding, only to have his father test positive when they got there, so they all missed the wedding.

It seems obvious that this is going to get worse, at least until the next vaccine becomes taken widespread and takes effect.

And it’s not the only thing that seems to be falling apart. How about the United States of America? I’m exaggerating? Maybe. But maybe not.

Crime, especially violent gun crime, is increasing exponentially across the country. The new abortion restrictions are having secondary consequences – a shortage of ob-gyns, and women avoiding pregnancy for fear that, in case of medical emergency, necessary treatment will be unavailable. Problems handling asylum seekers are spreading to cities in the north and midwest. Hurricanes, floods, fires. All of the attention on Donald Trump’s four active major cases, and now one against Hunter Biden. And, of course, the opening of the Biden impeachment investigation.

But the most pressing matter right now is what is going to happen after September 30, when it is most likely we will have a federal government shut-down.

Months ago this seemed inevitable. But I hoped it could be avoided. There are 12 appropriations bills that must be approved. They are all based on the budget agreement made several weeks ago. The Senate has, I think, passed all of them. I heard the vote was something like 91-7. The House has passed only one. And the right wing Republican crazies say that they won’t vote for any, that a government shut down is no big thing, and that if Kevin McCarthy goes ahead and brings any of them to a vote, they will move for his removal as Speaker of the House. No great loss there, but there is no one to replace him.

And what do the right wins GOP reps want? They want to ignore the budget agreement and drastically cut spending, they want to build a wall on the border, they want to cut funding for Ukraine, and more.

Maybe there will be a 30 day extension, so the government will stay operating another month. Maybe not. Whichever – it sure doesn’t solve a problem. Fourteen months until the next election ? Fourteen months of chaos.

This will be another short one. Nothing to say about yesterday. As COVID cases go, I think I am still mild. The main symptoms are the very unpleasant coughing, the sore throat that maybe easing a bit, and general malaise. I discovered I am more comfortable being horizontal, and probably slept or napped most of yesterday afternoon as well as last night.

The saga of the 11 friends who spent last week together is, as one of them wrote me, hard to make sense of it all. One of tested positive Friday evening and we all scattered Saturday morning (one couple had left on Friday). Two of us have since tested positive. At least five others of us have come down with symptoms that seemed like it could/should be COVID, but continue to test negatively. Just seems odd, that’s all.

I lost my interest in things yesterday. I could not concentrate on TV or computer, could not read a book or a newspaper, didn’t really want to do anything. I hardly ate at all. And I slept (low fever, not serious).

Until later.

Finally, after a second night of little sleep, I tested positive for COVID. I assume this means that I have been positive (but not diagnosed) since I first tested Sunday morning. So, it’s no surprise. And I thought I would feel relieved that I knew what it was and it was treatable, and I would get better. But I don’t really feel relieved; I feel sick. And a bit frustrated. I started Paxlovid this morning. Waiting for my doctor to return my 6 a.m. call (he is a 24/7 concierge doctor – shouldn’t he sleep with his phone under his pillow?).

Anyway, here we are. Coughing. Sore throat. Still no fever. But unpleasant.

Nothing more to say right now. Maybe later today.

Here’s the status (you may have forgotten): we shared a vacation house last week with a friend who tested positive for COVID (she is feeling much better today) and the next day, on the 400 mile drive home, Edie and I both felt under the weather. Sunday and Monday, we both felt wiped out and assumed we had, or were on our way to getting, COVID. But our tests were all negative. Last night, I slept very little because I added a sore throat to my symptoms. This morning, I was certain that I would be positive, but again the test was negative. I have written by 24/7 concierge doctor for advice (Paxlovid or no Paxlovid, among other things), but have not yet heard back.

But because I was feeling less than perfect, my evening last night was spent atypically – while I was watching a baseball game, a show about coming cultural events in DC, and the first part of a very well done documentary on school busing in Boston (on PBS), which we will finish sometime later, I read through the latest copy of Smithsonian Magazine. When is the last time I did that? Guess what? Pretty interesting.

On the theory that you did not spend last night reading the Smithsonian, and keeping to my goal of making sure my readers are up to date, I offer the following tidbits I picked up last night. Things I did not know. Here goes:

1. Did you know that before the Statue of Liberty arrived in 1886, the symbol of the United States was a classical looking lady called Lady Columbia, or just Columbia? And that the “national anthem” before the Star Spangled Banner was adopted by Congress in 1931 was a song called “Hail, Columbia”, written in 1798? I don’t know “Hail, Columbia”, and never thought that songs which are dedicated to Columbia (such as “Columbia, Gem of the Ocean”) may have been written with a female “mascot” in mind.
2. Apparently, Uncle Sam was named for a New York businessman (not identified in the magazine) and that he didn’t really become an American emblem until after the Civil War and the Thomas Nast cartoons. Before that, we had a different emblem – a much younger and spirited fellow named Brother Jonathan who first appeared in 1813.
3. The book “The History of Little Goody Two Shoes”, first published in 1765 in England and republished again and again in England and America was the story of a young orphan who overcame poverty and loneliness to accomplish all sorts of things that women in literature, must less in child literature, rarely accomplished. No one knows for sure that who wrote the book, but many think it might have been Oliver Goldsmith of all people. “Goody” does not mean a “too good” girl, but was a normal preface, like Ms. in the 18th century, and that the book was one of the first children’s books to deal with real life, and not fantasy or magic. Interesting.
4. Graffiti is not a new phenomenon, and apparently ancient monuments (Greece, Rome, Egypt, elsewhere) are covered with graffiti that could not be read (much less translated). But now things are changing, as new forms of digital photogrammetry and laser technology allows detailed photos to be made from many angles, and models to be constructed that can be read in a way that things cannot be read with the naked eye, and can be read on a screen and not at the site. This project is underway in many places, particularly at Washington and Lee.
5. God did not create the QWERTY keyboard, but Carlos Glidden and S.W. Soule did, and it was adopted by E. Remington & Sons in 1874, and remained unchanged ever since.
6. In 1907, Glenn Curtiss (remember Curtiss-Wright Corporation) rode a motorcycle he engineered 136 miles an hour, a record that remained for land transportation until 1931. Now, however, the record belongs to Rocky Robinson, who has cycled 376 miles per hour. Yes, you read that right (his cycle has 1000 horsepower.
7. How a Scottish forensic artist, based in Thailand, can take a old skull and figure out what the person looked like (he admits to having trouble with hair and eye color). But who can tell him he’s wrong?
8. A large article on how you can find evidence of Moorish Spain in Granada and Almeria and environs beyond the Alhambra (beautiful photos). Did you know that many western movies, as well as Lawrence of Arabia, Cleopatra and Indiana Jones, were all filmed in southern Spain. I also did not know that in 1609, about 115 years after Granada was captured by Ferdinand and Isabella, the remaining Moors, who had earlier converted to Christianity, were forced out of the country, going to north Africa. The number? About 300,000 – more than the number of Jews who left Spain in 1492.
9. During the 19th century, it was agreed that some of the best coffee in the world came from a particular type of tree found in Ecuador. Those forests have been destroyed and that type of coffee no longer available. Now ways have apparently been found to recreate these trees, and bring the best coffee of the 19th century into the 21st.

There was more. Relations between Choctaw Indians and the Irish – supporting each other as a result of the Trail of Tears and the Irish famine, and continuing today. How mead is again becoming a popular drink, 9000 years after it was first used (or after we know it was used). Preservation efforts to stabilize Caribbean reef sharks. An article about the newly opened and rebuilt bird house at the National Zoo, again with photographs by well known avian photographers. And finally, an article about music written at Terezin concentration camp by inmates, much of which has been lost and is now being recovered by a musician who has devoted decades to this task.

OK, I think that is it.

Yes, I read this magazine so you did not have to. But you can subscribe if you want to. It’s a bargain.

It’s now been 22 years since four airplanes were hijacked and sent to destroy American buildings, and I am surprised to say that there seems to be less attention this year on what happened on September 11, 2001 than in past years. Maybe I am just imagining that, but that’s the way it seems to me.

Had we ever been attacked before? The British invaded the new United States of America in 1812 – quite some time ago. Of course, there was the devastating Civil War, but that didn’t involve an external attack, that was more of a family implosion. And then there was the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Oahu Island in Hawaii, but in 1941, Hawaii was not a state, just an outlying territory of the country.

Of course, for reasons sometimes clear to me and sometimes not, the United States is quite a bellicose nation. We have been involved in war after war, but they were always somewhere else. No other country has fought so many wars in so many far off places when its own territorial integrity or security was not directly under threat. And I guess that’s the way we thought it should be. We were different, exceptional, protected by two oceans, and by neighbors north and south that couldn’t stand a chance, even if they did want to attack us. And we were economically powerful and wanted to stay that way, with an arms industry more than happy to weaponize the rest of the world and send our own military into action. But it was always somewhere else.

Then came the end of World War II, and the 1946 announcement that the Soviets had “the bomb”. Along with slogans like “We will bury you”, and Communist insurrections being fomented in all sorts of places, for the first time in over a century, a war fought on our own continental territory, perhaps through a nuclear attack, became a possibility. And we who were growing up in St. Louis were told that we would be the third most likely target for the Russians, after New York and Washington, because of the presence of McDonnell Aircraft’s jet plane assembly facilities and the other arms contractors who populated our area. Not that we, as kids, took this too seriously, but serious it was.

The fear of Russian attack generally faded, as did the Soviet Union itself, but by this time there had been a spread of nuclear weapons – bombs could come from Britain, France, China, India, Pakistan, Israel, South Africa and eventually North Korea. But they didn’t. All was quiet, as they say, on the western front.

But, at the same time, as a result of all sorts of things, including the continuing (and still continuing) problems between Jews and Muslims in what I will term greater Israel, and other intercessions by the West into Arab and other Islamic states throughout out the 20th century, there developed a highly anti-American version of Islamic fundamentalism. The rhetoric was chilling.

But, so what? What could they do?

Then came September 11, 2001.

It was a beautiful day – the sky was sky blue, the temperature probably in the 70s, the humidity non-existent. A perfect pre-autumn day in Washington, DC. I had a scheduled breakfast meeting with a client, who had flown in the night before from Los Angeles, at the Capitol Hilton on 16th Street at 8 a.m. We had a meeting later in the day at the Department of Housing and Urban Development and our breakfast meeting was to make sure we were ready for that meeting. But I knew the client well, and last minute preparation wasn’t really necessary, so our breakfast was more social than anything else. We saw on the TV in the Hilton coffee shop that an airplane had flown into one of the two World Trade Towers in New York.

We thought that was interesting, we joked about the plane that flew into the Empire State Building in “King Kong”, we hoped no one was seriously hurt (although we assumed the pilot of what we knew must have been an errant small plane had met his end), and we left the hotel and grabbed a cab to HUD’s DC Area office, then (now, maybe as well) located in the same building as CNN on First Street NE, near the U.S. Capitol.

Things seemed a bit more ominous as we drove to the HUD office listening to the radio in the taxi. When we got to the CNN/HUD building, we were told at the concierge desk that people were leaving, and that the government offices were closing.

We thought we should check for ourselves. We still didn’t know exactly what was happening, and my client had flown 3000 miles just for the meeting that had been scheduled for some time. Maybe the people we were meeting with stayed, knowing we were coming.

We got in the elevator. There were two or three or four others in the elevator; they all worked at CNN. They told us that they were sure that the HUD office would be closed, but that we should come up to CNN with them, that there were multiple televisions in the lobby and we were welcome to watch and see what was happening.

This is what we did. No, I can’t tell you that we met either the TV anchors or the weather girls, but we did stand around amazed at what was happening for an hour or so. And then we left.

I really don’t remember much about the rest of the day. I don’t remember what my client did; I think we split up and he was going to go to the airport to get a flight back to California. Of course, this did not happen. I don’t remember seeing him again that day, so maybe he was one of those who grabbed a rental car and headed cross-country. I just don’t remember.

I do remember walking on 17th Street near Farragut Square later that morning (I think, morning), the weather still perfect, and hearing about the attack on the Pentagon (we didn’t then know whether any of the building remained, or what the casualties would be), and seeing ambulances and other emergency vehicles on the street, sirens blaring from all directions. The sidewalks were jammed with people who had left their offices and were presumably heading home, or somewhere else to figure out what was really going on. I don’t remember exactly when I heard about the fourth plane that crashed in rural Pennsylvania.

After I got home, I presume we spent the night glued to the television, but I don’t remember that, either.

So, there had finally been an attack on American soil, killing 3000 or so people. It wasn’t carried out by an enemy country. And it took a while to figure out that the planes were taken over by men who were ready to die (or, as they would say, be martyred) for their cause. And that they all had a loyalty to an outfit called Al-qaeda, led by a Saudi named Osama bin Laden, about whom we knew absolutely nothing. That virtually all of the participants were Saudi. That most of the participants were educated (in the west, some in the U.S.) and middle class or above. And that the FBI and other agencies had, in fact, over time many clues that something was brewing, but either failed to connect the dots or didn’t take things seriously enough.

So here we are 22 years later. There have been no more (at least successful) terrorist attacks. Our initial attempts to find bin Laden in the Torabora mountains were completely unsuccessful. We went into an irrelevant and highly destructive war in Iraq based on false pretenses and disinformation, with enormous American and especially Iraqi casualties and blows to our reputation. Years later, we finally caught and killed Osama bin Laden who had been hiding out in plain sight in Pakistan, where we were also engaged in military operations, not against Al-qaeda, but against the Taliban. And that we had little to gain from either of these tragic operations, and if fact we seem to have gained nothing.

Have we learned anything at all from this experience? I don’t know. Time will tell. My guess is we haven’t. We never seem to. Why should this time be different?

How should we remember 9/11? Or is it better to forget about it altogether?

First, I will tell you a joke about climate change. I heard this a few days ago, and have told it several times. Everyone who has heard it seems to have had the same reaction. First, they think it’s a dumb joke. Second, they laugh. Here goes:

Did you hear the latest about what the insurance companies are doing because of all these climate changes? No? They are telling campers that if their tents blow away in the middle of the night in a storm, they won’t be covered.

[Take time to laugh. It’s okay]

We drove home yesterday, leaving Saratoga Springs at 8:30 and getting home at about 4:30. We stopped twice, but because of our COVID exposure, ate in the car, not in a restaurant. And I must say that Mrs. London in Saratoga Springs makes much better chicken salad than Pret a Manger at the Vince Lombardi rest stop. The traffic moved all along our route, we only got lost once by taking the wrong tine of a fork (I am assuming a fork in the road is composed of tines – is that right?), and there was an accident on the NJ Turnpike that slowed us up a bit. It was a nice ride, but we came back very tired (I still am), tested for COVID and luckily and happily all is negative so far.

Off and on rain, heavy rain, yesterday. It meant that the Nats game, scheduled for 4 p.m., did not start until 8 p.m., and looked like it would never be played at all. But it was – the last place Nats against the first place Dodgers. The Nats beat the Dodgers 7-6 in the 11th inning following, of all things, a wild pitch allowing the Nats Michael Chavis to run home from third base.

But it was a terrifically entertaining game, with three Nationals outfielders each making spectacular catches – Jacob Young in center field leaping as he ran into the wall (Nats color announcer Kevin Frandsen said that he wished “it was a Velcro wall”.), Jake Alou against the wall in left field, and Alex Call in right field stretching out horizontally to catch a ball (that was impossible to catch) before belly-flopping on the ground. And then Luis Garcia (whom 8 year old grand daughter Joan calls Cherry Garcia), did what almost looked like a figure eight catching a grounder and throwing to first.

Today is a pretty good day to be too tired to go anywhere, or to be keeping low because of COVID exposure – that final Nats/Dodgers game is at 1:30, the NFL season opener for the Commanders (nee Redskins) against the peripatetic Cardinals, now in Arizona, at 1 (with Fedex Field being sold out – that sure hasn’t happened in years), and of course the U.S. Open men’s finals at 4. By the way, congrats to Coco Gauff for her woman’s win at age 19 (who knows, maybe she reads this blog religiously), and a suggestion. Coco is a fine nickname; I have no problem with it. But I just looked and your given name is Cori (you probably know that). I happen to like that even more (if I count).

Now, I just watched President Biden give his press conference after the G-20. First, I think he is being too cavalier with the CDC COVID recommendations for someone exposed to the disease (his wife is recovering/maybe recovered from COVID as I write this), and he has (without much explanation) not only avoided the use of masks, but traveled across the world to meet with other world leaders. Second, these are tough trips and it is not unexpected that he is worn out, 80 year old that he is, but he looked like a bumbling older man through much of this short(ish) press conference, and to end by saying that he is going to bed (OK, COVID exposure, ridiculously long trip, continual stress, and it was 10 p.m.) does not send a great message.

If only the Democrats, and the Republicans, could nominate younger and more responsible candidates for the 2024 election. Let’s keep the pressure on.

So now we take a turn to the unexpected. One of our 9 friends just tested positive for COVID. We all had post-vacation plans. An extended vacation on Cape Cod with friends, a visit with relatives in Syracuse, a trip to Paris for a week, a drive back to northern Michigan and a flight to South Carolina. We are driving 400 miles to DC today and had a busy week coming up. We had an important Haberman Institute event tomorrow, meetings scattered throughout the week, and Friday night is Rosh Hashonah. Not only were we planning for services, but were scheduled to go to our daughter’s house Friday night and have guests to our house Saturday and Sunday. None of that will happen.

CDC guidelines say that, if you are exposed (and boy have we been), you should mask and lay low for 10 days. Ten days from today is a week from Tuesday. We hope we don’t get sick, of course, but certainly don’t want to expose family and friends.

On a better note, the last day in Saratoga Springs was good. We went to Skidmore College, now co-ed, it appears, and to its art museum, where there was an exhibition of mixed media work by a New Mexico artist, Paula Wilson. Some enormous pieces that scared me, made me very uncomfortable. One of my friends said that they were supposed to do that. Then there was an exhibit of hand made snow globes, which you were encouraged to shake, and a large exhibit of Tibetan art, which would I am sure have been terrific if I only understood it.

We also went to the local historical museum, in an 1870 building in the middle of a city park. A terrific collection of Saratoga Springs stuff, with only a little about horses. More about people, from Iroquois to Black to Irish and onward.

But most interesting , perhaps, was the history of the city as an illegal gambling mecca, patronized by the most well known New York financiers, as well as the biggest Italian and Jewish gangsters. The museum’s building is the former Men’s Club (and casino). And, in the “who knew?” department, it was the place that its namesake sandwich was first served, the club sandwich. Potato chips were also first made here And Saratoga water is still bottled here.

We also saw the racetrack and the harness track, and a great many beautiful homes. I may tell you about the Riggi house later. Let’s now just say it’s probably the most luxurious house in Saratoga Springs and it was sold off yesterday at a no-reserve auction.

Lunch at a bakery/sandwich shop, Mrs. London’s, sitting right to her husband’s place, Max London’s. Called London, I guess, because it is so very Parisian.

Finally, we went to Brandtville, an old Black neighborhood that existed prior to the Civil War, and saw the only original house still standing.

Our final, COVID exposed meal tonight was at Old Bryan’s Inn. Unexciting fried chicken for me. And no, we didn’t know about COVID yet. That surprise came when all we have to do is wake up, load the car, throw out the trash, and go.

Today, we hit the road.

Remember, there are 11 of us in Saratoga Springs. This makes restaurants difficult and no one came here to cook for 11. But one individual took upon himself the responsibility of deciding which four restaurants would get our business (both quality and dietary restrictions to be taken into account) and to make reservations. Our first two nights, at Osteria Denny and The District, were highly successful. And we went to 15 Church Street (located just where you think) last night with high expectations.

But, no. It’s a restaurant that is located in two neighboring buildings. We were sent to their enclosed “patio”, where 11 could easily be seated because it is large and a very open space. It was crowded and loud. And could seat millions.

We were given our table, right next to a table for 12. The 12 were men in their 40s, I would guess, who must have selected themselves to be part of their group because they each had a voice loud enough to be heard from one end of the table to the other, each were able to laugh louder than they could speak, and none liked to do anything more than interrupt each other. This would not do.

And the menu. There were only two fish dishes, sea bass and John Dory, and each was $52. When I asked if the fish dishes were large enough to share, I was answered with a dismissive “no”.

To make a long story shorter, we left. We 11 standing on a street in Saratoga Springs, wondering what to do. The District to the rescue. A deja vu experience, as good as the night before.

We spent the day not in Saratoga Springs, but in Williamstown Mass, a little over an hour away. And a beautiful drive, New York to Vermont to Massachusetts.

Our goal was the Clark Museum and here our expectations were met. A beautiful building (really two) set amongst 100+ acres beautifully landscaped. There was a special and quite large exhibit of paintings and woodcuts by Edvard Munch. So good, it makes you want to Scream. And the museum collection is excellent, with a lot of 19th century work by Renoir, Monet, Pissaro and others. Affiliated with Williams College (not sure exactly how), it is also a teaching, research and conservation center.

It’s probably about a mile from the campus, which we explored by car before reversing course and coming back.

The museum, by the way, owes its existence to Singer sewing machines. The founder was Sterling Clark. His father was a lawyer who helped Isaac Singer get his sewing machines patented in return for half the company. The history of the Clark family is very interested and is posted on a lower level wall next to the bathrooms. As Rodney Dangerfield would say: I get no respect.

Two of the Saratoga Springs 11 leave today, heading for a birthday party on Cape Cod. The rest will hang around town, go to a park or two, and another museum or so, have another big dinner, and tomorrow split for Washington, Traverse City, Charleston SC, and Paris (not Texas).

I hit the publish button too soon last night and you got a draft, rather than a finished product. If you are also on Facebook, the version there has been updated, or you can go to artis80.blog and see the finished product. Sorry about that.

Saratoga Springs NY.

I do like to find a souvenir from each trip. And I know it when I see it. I know that it’s just right when everyone I am with looks at me like I am crazy. Yesterday, I went in to a tobacconist (how often does that happen?), and gave the man five dollars. I walked out with three beautiful, but empty, cigar boxes. How neat is that?

The biggest event of the day was our visit to the National Horse Racing and Hall of Fame Museum. None of us were particularly excited about going, which is probably why we only spent about three hours there. Another way to put it of course would be to say we were there for almost an Oppenheimer.

Tickets are $20, or $15 for seniors 55 and older. That was us. But one of us asked if we could get a group rate. The answer, after much conversation was a very polite “no”. On the other hand, three of us qualified as veterans (including me), which meant we only need 9 15 dollar tickets, or $12.27 per person. But then it turned out that another three of us had North American museum reciprocal cards (something like that), and that each card allowed four to get in free, so our group price was reduced to $Zero. Pretty good deal, I’d say.

What makes such a good museum? First, the building and the flow work well, sending you a long a nice circular route, which ends where it started. Second, it has just the right amount of material, not overwhelming you (like the railroad museum in Scranton), and not too little, but just enough.

You start out with a collection of Saul Steinberg race track drawings, each one more clever than the last. Steinberg, the famous New Yorker cartoonist – did you know he followed the horses? The Steinberg exhibit, according to a sign posted in the room, is being sponsored by the Oak Tree Racing Association. Wow! Did you know that oak trees were so competitive? I also didn’t know they could do more but stand there and spit out acorns. But I guess they have branched out.

Next come the sculptures of horses and jockeys, then you go through a real track starting gate, and YOUR’E OFF!!

You see a large collection of track pictures by a track photographer, which are really well done. And then you are taken through rooms depicting the history of racing in America.

So much I learned. How the first horses were brought from England in the 17th century and racing was going on in, I think, the 1660s, with the horses below deck for over a month strapped so they would not fall as the ship lunged. Who said exercise is important?

I learned how and where the sport grew in America, how it was concentrated at first in a few areas (Maryland, Kentucky) and spread, how racing took off before the 1860s, until the Civil War intervened. And then it pretty well stopped and then later started again from scratch. Then how gambling excesses closed it down again until it became apparent that states could make money themselves by running and controlling betting on the horses.

You learn about race tracks, and health and safety practices and more. And you learn about the horses, the trainers and the owners. You see a special exhibit on Secretariat, one of the 13 horses which have won the Triple Crown and see each of those races on video.

And through interactive displays you can learn about horses, jockeys and trainers who are in the Hall of Fame, and there are many of them. And you get to see a 16 minute film.

Following the museum, another good dinner at The District. Edie and I split salmon (with hummus and spinach) and a mushroom risotto. A delicious lemon cake/custard combo after.

Back home and to bed early. Big doings tomorrow.

Saratoga Springs, New York. We were the first to arrive, we were the last to arrive. Yes, we start with a riddle. The answer? Read on.

We started in Scranton. 75,000 people. But metro Scranton is more like 550,000, so it is both relatively small and relatively big. Another riddle. This time presented as fact.

The server at the hotel restaurant was all in black. Looked like a priest. I made some remark about today being a black day, expecting a blank look in response, but instead got a mini-lecture on trends in server outfits, the relative merits of white and black shirts and more. I should have taken notes.

We checked out, quickly lost our sense of direction and passed by a sign that said something like Scranton Iron Works Historic Site, so we pulled in. There is a lot of signage, most of which I skipped, and you can look down (and I mean down) into four large circular, tube- shaped, bricked, holes in the ground, originally built in the 1840s when iron and steel and coal were making their presence known in what was becoming Scranton. They are next to Roaring Brook, still roaring and up a steep hill, and all of that had something to do with what went on there. I will admit to knowing nothing about blast furnaces before this visit and to knowing nothing about them now. But it was interesting, I am sure.

Onward through the bigger than it looked the night before downtown area to the Steamtown National Historic Site. The best name for this fascinating railroad museum? Maybe not. But fascinating it is. A railroad yard still in use, they say, a roundhouse, many engines and cars, some of which you can tour. Apparently train rides, but we did not see that. A large building with a jam packed exhibits on the technical aspects of railroads and railroading, another on the history of trains in this country, a third where trains are being repaired and restored. Too much for a short visit, but it meant we didn’t leave Scranton until about 11:30.

One thing I learned is that the engineer didn’t have a panoramic view of the track and that you always had two men in the engine room to be able to see the track curves on both sides. And at night, the only spotlight looked straight ahead.

When you leave Scranton vowed to avoid Interstates, you learn two things. Most importantly, the countryside is exquisite. And, yes, there are Trump signs scattered about. Is rural Pennsylvania really Alabama, or is Alabama really rural Pennsylvania? Hard to know.

Through this drive, we really had no idea where we were, blindly following our GPS. But we didn’t realize that our GPS was a trickster, waiting to play its little jokes on an unsuspecting couple.

“Turn left at the fork.”

“Really, shouldn’t we go right? Okay, GPS knows best”

That was the conversation before we went left, lost our Internet connection and came to a T, not having any idea where to turn, and later learning that we shouldn’t have gone left at that first fork and having to go on a gravel road for two miles to get back.

Or….when GPS set us on NY Route 10, which was to take us to Richhmondville (even after we got there, we weren’t sure it existed), where we were going to get on I-88 because time was getting short, we feared. But along the way, GPS changed its mind and told us to take Betty Brook Road for 6 miles. Really? Well, okay.

i have nothing against Betty Brook, but I think she cost us over 30 minutes as we followed her and then followed a series of left, right, left instructions until we found ourselves back on Route 10, not far from it’s intersection with Betty Brook Road.

Our nine friends whom we are meeting here (all readers of this blog) will be disappointed that they weren’t the stars of today’s show. But c’est la vie. (Ha, WordPress is not great on languages. They thought I should say c’est la vida.)

Now for the riddle. By the time we arrived in Saratoga Springs, everyone else was here. We were last. But the last shall be first, as they (might sometimes say. Because we were late, we went right to our first night restaurant, where we were first to arrive.

Food was delicious at Osteria Danny. Everyone seems well. We will see what today brings.

More than the usual number of typos? Maybe. No time to proof. C’est la vida.

We each have a small suitcase and another even small, just like we were going to the airport. But we also have a cooler, a bag filled with bags of home made granola (enough to feed 9 people four breakfasts) and some packages we will mail from somewhere Tuesday morning. I set up the phone via Bluetooth to listen to 45 minutes of Tammy Wynette to honor our getting halfway through Tammy and George last night. We discovered that we like Jessica Chastain’s Tammy better than Tammy herself.

Surprise, surprise. We saw no traffic on Labor Day. We left home at about ten yesterday morning. There is always traffic on I-270, especially when the lanes narrow to two after Clarksburg. You expect everything to move forward in short spurts and lengthy halts all the way to Frederick and where I-270 feeds into I-70 heading west you certainly expect it on Labor Day. But, no. There was no traffic and we zipped right into the Catoctin Mountains in no time at all.

So we zipped past Thurmont and Emmitsburg and even Gettysburg without slowing down, staying in Route 15. And then we found ourselves in Dillsburg (where?) and at Baker’s “newly renovated” diner. While wondering what to order, we decided to learn a little bit about where we were. Dillsburg was named after its founding citizen over 200 years ago. A man named Dill. And even today, he is remembered every year when Dillsburg (I kid you not) holds it’s annual Pickle Festival, where you can get old-fashioned pickle soup. Yes, old-fashioned. Old-fashioned if you happen to be in Poland.

We then assumed that the Dillsburg high school teams would be the Pickles, but lo!, they are the Polar Bears. Go figure.

Just by the way, Baker’s Diner should be avoided. A large pleasant place it is. But the food we ordered was below par. Edie got a Greek salad, where each ingredient was separated so that none touched each other. And, oh yes, she had to ask for the dressing.

And my chicken croquette? Well, you’ll have ask Edie about that. (By the way, the price was okay. On the Senior menu, I got chicken croquettes, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, a large salad and chocolate pudding, all for $12.99.

We then made a radical decision . We would go the rest of the way to our first destination – Scranton by avoiding major highways. Yes, we learned how change a four hour trip into one that lasted over six.

Part of the next 3 hours we’re passed in nice, hilly country, and the other part in areas where all they did was fix cars and sell pizza. We went through a number of old towns, most of which were new to us. Of course, we did know we were in Pennsylvania, because no one had a front lawn. As we drove by some, we could have reached out the window and knocked on the door.

A couple of surprises . Had we ever heard of Tamaqua PA? It’s fairly sizable and has its founder’s 1800 log cabin still in place. And we drove through Hazelton which looked like it was doing okay.

Then we skirted Wilkes Barre, where my Aunt Lee was born and got to Scranton. A large-ish city, birthplace of Joe Biden, its downtown is fairly compact, built around a square with some impressive public buildings, with the old equally impressive Lackawanna railway station a block or so away. This is now a Radisson Hotel and very impressive and well maintained. But how many people come to stay in downtown Scranton? And there is a large Hilton ,(not as impressive) just down the street.

What we did not know is that we were coming the last night of the Italian food festival which ringed the downtown square with maybe 40 or so places selling pizza, pasta, and Italian desserts. A bit overwhelming, we walked through it, as the festival which began Friday was ending at 8 on Monday and the vendors were beginning their cleanup. But we didn’t really feel like eating pizza or pasta and sitting on the grass, so we grabbed something to eat at the hotel bar.

That was Day 1. Tomorrow we continue to Saratoga Springs to meet our 7 old friends.

Short, quick and important .

Last night, I spoke for over an hour with someone who looks at things differently than I do. He has, I am pretty sure, voted Democratic most of his life, but he lives in a blood red state, and he voted for Trump twice. He is now very disillusioned with Trump, would like to see the Republicans nominate someone else, but if they renominate Trump and if the choice is Trump versus Biden, he will vote again for Trump even though he thinks that Trump’s egotism has fueled this country’s divisions.

I can’t pretend to express his opinions exactly as he did, but will do my best. His identity I know, but I will not disclose it even under torture.

I should add that he is not an election denier. But he does think that it is not a coincidence that all of these indictments have been brought so that a Trump campaign will be affected, but that the Democrats in choosing this timing have outsmarted themselves and this litigation will continue to bolster Trump and make the Dems, not Trump, look small.

I should also add that he favors gun controls. He is not a Second Amendment over all type.

He believes that Trump left the country on good shape – the stock market was high, jobs were coming back, NATO countries had upped their contributions. He believes that 2 1/2 years into the Biden administration, the country is worse off.

He was speaking for himself, but thinks that most Republicans believe that under Biden:

1. Inflation is out of control.
2. The Federal Reserve has raised interest rates too much.
3. Gas prices are way too high
4. The country is no longer “energy independent.
5. Democrats control cities, and cities are falling apart and riddled with crime and further Democratic rule will (I know this is hyperbole) turn the entire country into his image of San Francisco.
6. He believes that Biden’s age impacts his abilities.
7. With regard to Hunter Biden and his relationship with his father, he believes (my words) that where there is smoke, there is fire often enough that further investigation is important.

I gave him responses to each of these points. His particular reactions to my responses are not important.

What is important is that he is probably right that this is the way much of this country feels. And because he is neither a dyed in the wool Republican, nor a right wing crazy, he should be taken seriously by the Democrats.

I think all of his positions can be refuted (perhaps all not 100%, but close to it) and the Democrats have no idea how to accomplish this.

We talked about the importance of influencing Independents, and increasing turnout. We assume that most minds have been made up. And we recognize that today, polls show a very tight race.

(By the way, there are things we did not talk about, like the southern border and Ukraine.)

Important food for necessary thought.

For those who followed our trip to Portugal last month, here is some breaking news: we are leaving on another trip tomorrow. Not as exotic (to the extent that Portugal is exotic), and not as long. But we are going to Saratoga Springs NY to meet several regular readers of this blog, returning to DC on Saturday. So five nights and six days on the road. We will, of course, keep you posted.

And, yes, we decided to start our trip on Labor Day, when no one else is on the highway. We have always been intelligent that way. Well, here is our plan: we are not going to drive up to Saratoga Springs the way we would almost any other day of the year. That route would take us up I-95 to the Jersey Turnpike, then onto the Garden State to the New York State line and then on to Saratoga Springs, north of Albany, about 400 miles from Washington. It would also cost us about $35 in tolls. But the idea of driving from here to Baltimore to Philadelphia to New York City and onward on Labor was not very appealing. So we are going to change routes.

We are going to drive up through Pennsylvania, west of Philly, up I-81, spend tomorrow night in the birthplace of our President, Scranton PA at the Radisson, which is (it appears) the renovated Scranton railroad station, and turn east when we get to Binghamton to drive to Albany and then to Saratoga. That will save us the $35 in tolls. It would normally add an hour to the trip, but my guess is on Labor Day, the time on the two routes will be closer to the same, but the western route just more pleasant. We will see.

Other than that? We did survive our week as babysitters. We did go to the baseball game yesterday, but were not very happen when the Nats were behind 9-1 in only the third inning. And we did watch the first episode (of seven) of Tammy and George last night (it’s about a year old, on Showtime and Paramount), and enjoyed the music (is Wabash Cannonball the best song ever written other than Beethoven’s Ode to Joy?) and Jessica Chastain. Speaking of best, is Jessica Chastain the best actress of our time? I am thinking she is – I’d give her two Tammies – for her portrayal of Tammy Wynette in Tammy and George, and for her portrayal of Tammy Faye Baker in “The Eyes of Tammy Faye”. She won a Critics Choice award for the first, and an Oscar for the second. We also saw her in the remake of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (did I get that right?) on TV a couple of years ago – she was excellent there too, although the show itself was nothing to write a blog about.

Finally, one more thought. September is going to be the month of the biggest political mess in this country in our lifetimes (and, yes I know, that is saying something). In addition to all of the hullabaloo (I spelled that right the first time) about Trump and his six trials and probably another hurricane or two, we are going to have a really serious attempt by the lunatic right wing Republicans to shut down the government. Yes, I know we just went through this a few months ago, but it’s that time again – the end of the fiscal year on September 30.

The report is that Kevin McCarthy is trying to avoid a shutdown by coming up with something that will satisfy his lunatic right wing (his entire party is crazy right wing – so I will refer to the really crazy ones as the lunatic right wing), and that the something he has decided on was to open up, or to promise to open up, impeachment hearings on Biden. The first part of those hearings, I assume, would be devoted to trying to find some grounds on which Biden could be impeached and by then, the fiscal year problem would be way past.

But the lunatic right wing probably won’t fall for this lame promise. They will set up their own standard for continuing the “unessential” tasks of the government. Like: we will pass a short term continuing resolution if all charges (state and federal) against Trump the neo-Christ are dismissed with prejudice. They could do that, you know. They don’t like the government anyway, so there’d be no loss there in their minds (to the extent they have minds). So, they think, what’s to lose?

If they don’t want to go that far, think of all the other things they could demand as leverage, since that appears to the name of the game right now.

Don’t think I am exaggerating. Or if you do, just wait and see – you may change your mind.

Remember Bette Davis’ “Buckle your seat belt. We’re in for a bumpy ride”? (If it was Bette Davis, if that’s how she spells her first name, and if the quote is at all accurate) For this month, that quote is insufficient. As I said (only one paragraph ago), “just wait and see.”

Until tomorrow.

From my own point of view, Presidents should have more important things to do than travel to disaster zones. Their presence either on the ground or in a helicopter appears to me to be wholly unnecessary. But in this world where appearances matter more than anything else, these visits seem to be important.

Do they ever really accomplish anything, though? Wouldn’t Puerto Ricans have received paper towels even if Trump had not been there to throw them to them? (Really, he was throwing them at them, I guess). And what did Biden accomplish by taking the long trip to Maui?

Well, just two weeks after Maui, Biden will be off to Florida. What is he expected to do there? Shake some hands, express his sorrow and say Americans are resilient? Anything else?

He apparently thought he was going to have a meet and greet with Governor DeSantis. After all, that is what protocol would demand, and it’s what should always happen when a President visits a state on a nonpartisan mission of joint concern.

But no. There will be no meet and greet. Why should DeSantis stoop so low to meet such an inferior human being (if indeed he is human and not a form of CGI created by George Soros), even if he is (in the opinion of some misguided anti-American radical leftists) the president of the United States?

But, says the governor , “Art, you have it all wrong. I respect the office of the presidency. In fact, Id like to fill it one day. But, Art, do you really think Joe Biden is the president? And – whether he is or just acts like he is – don’t you think that the security needed for such a meeting would be so expensive and would probably add a year or two to the recovery time?” (I paraphrase)

Oh, yes, the security. Why didn’t they think about that when Biden went to Hawaii or Trump to Puerto Rico?

So let’s think about it. Whenever the president travels, there is extensive security. Maybe even more is needed when he travels to deep red NW Florida, which has more than its share of loonies. But you see, Ron, Joe is coming and presidential security will be in place.

So it’s not about the cost and disruption of presidential security. It must therefore be the cost of extra security when the precious Ron DeSantis meets with the President. For me to guess, the cost of extra security at such a meeting would be approximately $000,000. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Am I wrong?

So let’s say it like it is, Mr. Governor. “I Ron DeSantis, Great Governor of the Red State of Florida, hereby declare that Joey Biden, so-called (by some) President of the United States, is unwelcome in this State, will receive no appreciation for his coming here, will be left to fend for himself, and will be encouraged to leave as quickly as possible. Oh, yes. One other thing. When he gets back to that swampy cesspool called our nation’s capital, he should make sure FEMA sends us more money. We really need it. And we need it now.”

From me to President Biden: I feel your pain. And, if you change your mind about going to Florida, come on up the street for breakfast. You ever taste Edie’s granola?

Next year (2024) will be the year of my 60th reunion from Harvard College (whew!); that’s what happens when you are 80.

The other day I received the invitation to put together a few paragraphs for the 60th Reunion directory. Harvard sends out a reunion directory each five years – you can imagine that I have quite a collection.

So, yesterday, I wrote and submitted the material to be published in the directory. They ask you specific questions, and then give you the ability to add anything you want. One of the questions that they ask, not surprisingly, is about any graduate degrees. I told them that I had an LL.B. from Yale that I received in 1967.

After I submitted my response, I got a thank you and a note from “Nicholas”, who identified himself as the directory’s editor. Here is our correspondence.

Nicholas: Hi, Arthur. “I see that you said that you received an LL.B. from Yale Law School. I checked their website and they give a J.D., not an LL.B. Did you get a J.D.?”

Me: “Hi, Nicholas. No. When I went to Yale, they gave out LL.B.’s. Later they started to give out J.D.’s instead of LL.B.’s. But I have an LL.B. I never asked to have it converted.”

Nicholas: “Art, can I change it to J.D. to be consistent with what Yale gives now?”

Me: “Nicholas, it wouldn’t be true. I don’t have a J.D. But, since one day the entire solar system will die and be eaten up by a black hole, maybe it doesn’t really matter. So do whichever you want.”

Nicholas: “Understood. I will leave it as it is.”

+++++++++++++++++

One more thing for today.

We had dinner last night at a new Italian restaurant that recently opened on Upshur Street NW in Petworth. When I say recently, I mean during August, I think, although the restaurant marquis had been up for quite a while.

(A digression: San Matteo. I hadn’t put two and two together until yesterday. San Matteo is Italian for Saint Matthew. Duh. Everyone else must already have known this since they about 13, but sometimes I am slow. Also, there is no town called San Matteo in Italy – so the name doesn’t lead you to any particular form of Italian cuisine. And, the city of San Mateo in California only has one “t” – why would that be? End of digression.)

From the outside, it’s a small restaurant, with three or four sidewalk tables. You walk in and the narrow restaurant as a very modern bar with stools on your right and about four high tables for two on your left; there are two tables between the end of the bar and the front windows. Nicely laid out, very sleek in shades of brown, but – not much room, you say.

THEN, they lead you through that room, past a window to the kitchen, into a back room (a recent addition, to be sure) which is very large and airy, with windows on three sides, which can open. I didn’t count the separate tables, but I would guess there may be twenty, nicely but informally set. Very light. Very welcoming. From the street, you would have no idea.

And, on a Thursday evening at about 7:30, it was all quite crowded. Now, here is the dilemma – they made some serious mistakes, but I would go back again.

The menu is fairly small – maybe 8 pasta dishes and 4 non-pasta entrees, plus a bunch of salads and starters. I ordered a pasta amatriciana. The homemade pasta, bucatini, was perfect. There was a rich tomato sauce. Everything seemed just right. But….there was no spice. And an amatriciana is supposed to have a tang to it. What happened?

I called the waiter and asked if he had any flaked red pepper. He said, “pepper, sure”, and went away, returning with a normal black pepper mill, which he put on the table. I was surprised, but I used a little pepper, just to give it a little spirit, and it worked, but it wasn’t right.

After the meal, and after checking the menu and seeing that one of the ingredients was said to be Calabrian chilis, I asked him about it. His response: “Some of our guests don’t like things spicy, so we can make it both ways. You could have asked for the peppers.” “I did ask and you brought me a black pepper mill”, I responded. “Oh”, he said, “I thought that’s what you wanted. My fault.”

I left it at that – but what happened? Had he said to the chef: “the guy that ordered this looks like he must be 80 years old – he probably doesn’t want it spicy.”? Why would they make and serve a spicy dish without spices as their default? How is a customer supposed to know they even have a choice?

I put this to the restaurant being a month or less old. As I said, I think the food (including Edie’s large salad and my non-spicy pasta) was really well put together. It just isn’t what I ordered.

Anyway, we are now on day five this week taking care of our 2 1/2 year old grandson. Will we ever recover?

The New York Times yesterday morning had an article about a new form of drone, the Valkyrie XQ-58A, to be deployed in battle by the United States military. It is large enough to carry missiles, sleek enough to make it hard to detect, and has a range as broad as China is wide. It will be pilotless. But more than this, the XQ-58A will be guided not by someone sitting in a nearby aircraft or in a computer lab, but by its own artificial intelligence. It will be able to identify targets on its own, and know how to approach them with the smallest amount of risk. It looks like it can operate on its own (and if it can’t, surely the next generation Valkyrie will be able to).

There have been, says the Times, numerous instances where human error has led to improper attacks, missing targets or causing unanticipated collateral damages, including killing and injuring civilians. One of the goals of this new missile will be to take human decision making out of the equation and leave the attack determinations up to the non-human brains of the drones.

Of course a battle takes two sides, and perhaps the other sides will also have these non-manned, artificial intelligence controlled weapons. War could be, at least to a large extent, conducted without direct human participation. The only thing you need is someone to power up the Valkyrie – and who says that that someone must be a human being?

You can think of many ways in which these drones could be used, and you may be interested to know that up to 2000 are apparently on order. There have been voices raised warning against leaving this type of decision making to machines governed by artificial intelligence. What if they have been programmed incorrectly, what if they are able to be corrupted (or taken over) or if they can learn to corrupt themselves? These and more questions arise.

As is the case so often, I point to a coincidence. I just finished watching another “Black Mirror” episode, this one from Season 4, titled “Metalhead”. I can’t give you the full story of Metalhead, because much is not explained in the show itself. But basically……the setting is somewhere in the British Isles, after the apocalypse. What sort of apocalypse, we don’t know, but there are fewer people, those cars which are still running look like they have been through the war, and those cars which are not running have been abandoned here are there. Things are so bad and so sad, that the film itself is in black and white.

Three people, two men and a woman, are driving in a battered car to an abandoned warehouse, where they are going to collect something with a mysterious serial number (this number identifies the item for the three), and bring it back to a friend to give to her ailing brother. We learn that this is a dangerous task, and that they need to be in to and out of the warehouse in less than 5 minutes What will happen if they fall behind their five minute schedule, we don’t know. Why the entire task is so dangerous, we never learn.

A box with the target serial number is located, and one of the men climbs a ladder to retrieve it. He pulls the large cardboard box off the shelf, and immediately sees a metal “dog” on the shelf in back of the box. He knows what this is, and he knows it means more than trouble. The “dog” comes to life, makes a rumbling noise. Its two front paws also serve as knife-like weapons, it can sprout shrapnel from its head, and more. It attacks the man – he is dead..

The “dog” can also sense where the others are. It knows that the other man is outside, sitting in a presumed getaway truck. It runs out of the warehouse and down to the truck at superhuman speed, it smashes the window of the truck and jumps through it. It gets its second victim.

It has more trouble with the woman who, while the “dog” is going after the man in the truck, escapes in her car, but the “dog” can run faster than the car can drive, and it catches up with her, although she jumps out of the car, which then careens over a cliff, “dog” inside. The car is totaled, but the “dog” is fine, and the chase is on.

What we learn is that, for the humans, there is apparently no escape. What we don’t learn (in addition to what in hell happened to Mother Earth) is who created the “dogs”, who programmed them, what their purpose is. We know they can think for themselves to a great extent. They know who their prey is; they know how to track them. When injured, they know how to repair themselves. When faced with a dilemma, they can think themselves out of it with a degree of creativity. And one more thing – we learn that the guard “dog” we have been watching is not alone – there are many, many others, and they seem to know how to work together and cooperate.

Okay, back to real life and the military drones, which can also think for themselves and wreak havoc. They are sleeker, for sure, than the “dogs”, but they share some of the same characteristics. And, however sophisticated and able the XQ-58As are, the next generation and the generation after that will be ever more sophisticated and able.

And then comes the apocalypse?

And then?