The Transportation Building (Chicago, Illinois)
Like a keypunch card it was, in a way. Long. And slim. And punctured.
I lived in it for a couple of years. Strange to say (perhaps), I might have lived there happily for many another year.
But that is a very long story. And it moves both backwards and forwards.
Remembrance Sunday
From Derek Jarman’s film of Britten’s “War Requiem”.
Maybe it’s because my maternal grandmother died in the autumn of 1918. Or maybe it’s the set of cast-metal doughboys (my Uncle Mont’s toys?) I played with as a child. But the Great War has always felt closer to me than that other world war that ended a decade before I was born.
I posted this, inspired by the “War Requiem,” my first year as a flocker.
And I began to post remembrances each year thereafter.
Cherchez La Femme — Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band [circa 1976]
on the “Tony Orlando & Dawn” show.
DISCLAIMER:
The intent of this post is anthropological and not to make profit. It is strictly to share with fans and the periodic visitors to this planet from other galaxies a part of the musical history of the aforementioned musical group.
Also:
During these times all the TV shows wanted us to mime the entire performance which we were reluctant to do. A compromise was reached with the shows we finally performed on.
All Hallows (I Saw Nick Drake)
Robyn Hitchcock. “I Saw Nick Drake.”
I saw him pass right through this place.
And we’re in bloom.
days of yore
Peely
From the old blog of clusterflock friend Pete Ashton, his post in the aftermath of John Peel’s death seven years ago today:
In fact I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s not really about the music. The music is a conduit for something else, something quite intangible which I think comes down to that fucked up sense of juxtaposition he imposed on us. He made having an open mind cool, which is saying something when you think about it. Once you’d accepted that you could listen to every form of every form of music and appreciate it on its own merits then you could apply this to everything else in life. Any form of creative endeavour is worthwhile. The fact that someone, anyone, is doing something different and interesting becomes vital.
from the comments
Our lead bird dog Tuffy would bring Miss Nell gifts of terrapins and turtles, try to drop them in her lap as she shooed him away. We always wondered why that? But now I’m remembering the people who walked by his pen after fishing the woods ponds and swamps. We’d stop them and examine their catches. They were big on turtle soup and often had a big one on a hook or rope. Did Tuffy “get” that? That the big terrapins he captured and ran with in his mouth back to the one person who resisted his love were considered great prizes by some? I mean, dogs, cats, owls, they just want to be friends.
first
The gate was open. Down the hill a canal. The soft edges of the end of the day. By the time I returned, I knew they were looking for me. She took her turn. He was still out. When he saw me, he beat me in front of her. We had an agreement. If you let this happen again, I’ll finish it. Then he held me and said it was love.
Jeff Altman: Las Vegas 1962
via Devour
Sheila’s Oak Park Walking Tour
Called to mind by the Where we are today thread.
Friend #1: I can’t believe these are all single-family houses.
Friend #2 (sotto voce): Ah, the voice of the eternal proletariat. “Why, five families could live in that house!”
headline of the day, II
Mind-Blowing Sex Causes Amnesia in 54-Year-Old Woman
from the comments
Last night my long-time friend Allen shared his recollections of a Dallas children’s TV figure known as Uncle Tiny, whom he dubbed Uncle Tiny the Obscure, as none of the rest of our gang remembered the man. Allen recalled having seen Uncle Tiny in person at Kiest Park in Oak Cliff, where Uncle had “a small trick pitcher from which he poured a seemingly endless supply of 7-UP.” Allen was impressed. “Uncle Tiny was cool.”
“Mr Peppermint died!”
read the email message I just received.
Mr. Peppermint (Jerry Haynes) hosted a long-running North Texas children’s TV program. He was a kinder, gentler Icky Twerp. He was also the father of Gibby Haynes.
what I said
Or, what I planned to say when I officiated my little sister’s wedding on Saturday. There was a technical issue (broken Kindle which contained these words) and the inevitable mispoken phrase, but more or less, here it is:
Marwage…
Now, with my obligatory Princess Bride reference out of the way…
Welcome to the Tour de Wilson.
Cait and Brad have invited you all here today to witness their official union as a married couple and, because I’m an expert in both marriage and cycling, I’ve been asked, and granted the power to officiate the ceremony. On their behalf, I apologize.
One day, about 10 years ago, I needed someone’s help moving furniture for my mom. I don’t really remember much of the story, but I vaguely remember driving to Alameda from Sacramento with a lifeguard I worked with at Sac State.
from the comments
Speaking of cons, as a college freshman I decided I was a talented hair stylist. I announced that I could cut anybody’s hair. I had never done such a thing, except to cut some bubble gum out of my bangs as a 5-year-old. So, three friends with beautiful, long straight hair sat down, one by one, in front of the dorm mirror. I draped their shoulders with towels. And I cut their hair into long shags. They looked fabulous and were very pleased. I continued to give them trims for a while, but eventually got bored with it.
I wish, at the time, I had announced that I was an entrepreneur amassing my first billion dollars…
once upon a time
I went to people’s homes where parents ignored us because they didn’t see us anyway.
dear clusterflock
Anything at all.
“Are dey anti-American or what?” (Part II of a remembery)
Almost home from the memorial service and luncheon. At the last controlled intersection.
WHOO-OOP! BOOM!
We had a green light. We collided with a speeding ambulance. I’m still convinced the siren only kicked in at the very last instant.
I was in the Death Seat. Had a driver less skilled than Jon been at the wheel, I might have been toast. Or at least a disjointed fowl. I still wonder about the person in the ambulance and about the effect of the impact.
Medical personnel. We refused medical assistance. Next: a pair of cops. A man and a woman. The woman was nice. She clearly felt bad when she learned we were driving home from a funeral. At last we were let to go home. Jon took to bed, as you might, too.
A knock at the door. The nice woman cop. She’d stopped by to return Jon’s insurance card, which she’d tucked into the sun visor of her cop car.
She was a true-blue Chicago type. Southwest-side accent.
“Dat’s nice ya got da flag out. Nobody on my block’s got da flag out. I’m thinkin’, Are dey anti-American or what?
“Tell your husband again. I’m sorry about his mother.”
I didn’t tell her that it was our landlord who’d hoisted the flag.
“People love America” (Part I of a remembery)
This has to be a brilliant hoax, I thought. “Due to the national emergency,” I read, Logan Airport had been shut down indefinitely.
I’d gone to Logan’s website to try and figure out when Alice might be leaving Boston for Chicago. Alice is Jon’s cousin; we hoped to see her at the memorial service for Leah on September 14. Leah was Jon’s mother.
I got a similar message at the O’Hare website. Something wasn’t right.
I checked a couple of news sites, then turned on the TV. Then woke Jon.
Later, he said, “I heard you say a couple of planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. I didn’t realize . . . ”
” . . . that the World Trade Center no longer exists?”
once upon a time
Why were they running, through the dark, along the edge of the river?
from the comments
Erica, just so you know: I was in Paris in March 1980, visiting my best friend, an emerging film scholar (who died oh too young). I returned to the US on March 26, the day the fatal laundry truck struck Roland Barthes. I probably have an alibi, just as I have an alibi for the JFK assassination.*
_____
*I was in Mr. Mahaney’s math class.
“They are tearing out part of the heart of Buenos Aires”
The interior of the historic Cafe Richmond was gutted a couple of weeks ago; a spot once frequented by Jorge Luis Borges and Graham Greene may be replaced by a Nike Store.
The plight of the Richmond has dominated local media since the cafe’s insides were gutted last Monday morning. Apparently to ensure it could not be returned to its former splendour even if the local government rules against the Nike shop, the Richmond was emptied of its historical interior, right down to its grandiosely comfortable Chesterfield wingback leather armchairs, in a 3am raid. The movers took the precaution of pulling down the security camera on the front of the building first.
“It’s against the law,” said Monica Capano of the city’s Heritage Preservation Commission. “The Richmond is one of the city’s emblematic landmarks.”
For a personal view: Oh, no: La Richmond by my friend Charlie.
Dear Clusterflock
Post the most accurate picture and/or link to your first car?
Mrs. Bells
When my Papa, Stancel, was around 13 and living in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, he got caught kissing the sister of his best friend, Pukey Bells. Pukey got mad at Stancel and wanted to fight him, but Stancel never wanted to fight because it would mess up his nice clothes. So he went home and got his older brother, Mason, who, despite being about a foot shorter than Stancel, always fought his fights for him. Mason knocked Pukey out on his first swing (probably because of the brass knuckles he wore as an equalizer to make up for his lack of height). Pukey’s mother got upset that Mason knocked out Pukey, so Mason knocked out Mrs. Bells, too. He said he felt kind of bad about that, but he didn’t see that he had much of a choice.
Emmitt Smith Plays With a Dislocated Shoulder
Since we’re talking momentous occasions from 90s-era sports history.
