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I originally put these memories on paper to share with my two sons when they become mature enough to comprehend more fully the events described. As long as I live, I will never forget my secretary, Kathy informing me on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, that an airplane had just struck one of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.
That moment had an exceptional impact on me, as my nearly seven and nearly four and a half year old sons and I had been studying skyscraper history and construction for the past several months. I ran out to the lobby of my office building, where there was a television and watched in horror as the black smoke billowed out of gaping holes in Tower 1. My heart sank as any doubts about this being a terrorist attack went up in the very smoke that I was now horrifiedly watching along with my colleagues.
I resumed seeing the shocked patients in my office, when my secretary informed me that one of the Towers (Tower 2) had just fallen. My mind was now miles away from my office, with those innocent victims of the ultimate in hate. I called both of my hospitals, Manhattan, Eye, Ear and Throat and New York-Presbyterian to learn that their emergency rooms had a€?adequate staffing for the time beinga€?. I now knew that if I were to make a significant contribution to the relief effort, I had to get a slit lamp downtown to treat the rescuers and victims with eye problems on-site. I called the assistant administrator at the Manhattan Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital, Craig Ugoretz, who combed the building and found the one slit lamp microscope that was not bolted to a floor-mounted stand. Not knowing when my next meal would be, or when I would return home, I grabbed a quick bite in a local restaurant. When I arrived at the hospital, the slit lamp was in the lobby, waiting for me at the security desk.
On our way it was suggested that I first stop at One Police Plaza to treat the eyes of injured police officers.
The police officers that I cared for were still so debris-laden, that their uniforms appeared more khaki than blue from the concrete dust and ash.
On the first day alone, I had the honor of caring for the eyes of more than one hundred heroes in every sense of the word.
Fortunately, most of the eye injuries were not severe, but were nonetheless incapacitating. During the night, when the steady flow of the injured slowed to a trickle I walked into the Command and Control Center next door to try to learn what was going on outside this fortress. Still later when the flow of injured officers stopped, I wanted to take the slit-lamp to a€?Ground Zeroa€? itself to care for injured members of the other uniformed services. I went uptown during the night for a few hours to check on my family, clean up and possibly get a nap to prepare for the next day. It wasna€™t until my second day downtown, during a break, that I first opened the blinds of my improvised emergency room at One Police Plaza to discover that the windows faced out over the devastation.
After my final visit to One Police Plaza to render follow-up care on September 20th, I was escorted to a€?the sitea€? by Sergeant Giuzio from the Office of the Chief of Police. As we went through multiple checkpoints, I began to see large groups of rescue workers walking through the streets. We walked the blocks of lower Manhattan, through several more checkpoints, to an NYPD a€?staging areaa€?. The road on which we were walking (West Street), just days before, was under high piles of debris, left by the Towersa€™ collapses. We were now standing adjacent to a€?Ground Zeroa€? on West Street between Building 6 and the World Financial Center.
While I was transfixed by the overwhelming spectacle of this tragedy, the sergeant asked me to stay where I was as he walked up to a tall thin man. As we walked around the corner to the Hudson River side of the World Financial Center both the lights and the clatter of the rescue work faded, somewhat. Going down Albany Street, we passed a restaurant, where people must have been sitting until the windows were blown in by falling debris.
As we walked onward toward the site of the Tower 7 collapse, there were many tents and tables set up to provide the workers with the essentials of life during their mission. We passed buildings that looked as if they had been spray-painted gray because of their coating of concrete dust. After the address we said farewell, feeling a sense of comradeship, which was disproportionate to the time we spent together. As we approached Liberty Street we saw a large group of rescue workers gathered under one of many gasoline-powered floodlights. Taking Douglasa€™ design from concept stage to a scale model rendered in Plexiglas became a year-long father and son project. Victimsa€™ names are an entirely appropriate means of remembering the dead in all memorials. It must be noted that there were no recovered or identifiable remains belonging to over one thousand victims of the World Trade Center tragedy. Albeit not universally praised for their architecture, the Twin Towers were an integral part of New York City, which no longer grace our skyline.
Both the names of the victims and a reincarnation of the World Trade Center icons could be represented simultaneously by the memorial, as there is no fundamental incompatibility between memorializing both human and material loss. Relics and rubble from the disaster site represent significant and tangible ties to the actual tragic event and location.A  Relics of the disaster should not solely be housed in a museum or off-site (as they are now) in an airplane hangar. The design evolved into a pair of transparent towers with rectangular areas missing where the airplane impacts occurred, containing standing faA§ade relics inside one Tower and the recovered American flag inside the other. After studying the photo for pensively for several minutes, he said, a€?You have to do something with thisa€?. Within a few weeks, I received not just one, but two letters from the General Counsel of the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (the organization empowered with the rebuilding of the Ground Zero area). Not knowing where to start, I casually asked an architect, Mark Mascheroni, who has a son at my sonsa€™ school, how much a set of architectural renderings might cost.
We met face to face for only the second and final time at a very busy architectural printing shop, Esteban & Co at 139 West 31 Street.
As I handed Mansion a check for his work, I asked him to sign the official LMDC release, required for all submission team members.
One appropriately placed 3-dimensional rectangular space, devoid of its glass faA§ade, representing the a€?impact voida€? in each Tower (floors 93-98 of the North Tower and floors 78-84 of the South Tower) symbolize the loss from, and location of, the damage from each initial airplane impact.
The difference between life and death for thousands of people inside the Twin Towers was the ability or inability to find an intact stairway by which to escape. Each of the two Memorial towers has a footprint of 40 x 40 ft., and is situated in the space in between the two 200 x 200 ft.
The glass panels making up the curtain-walls are inscribed with each victima€™s name, date of birth, occupation, nationality and, when from a uniformed service, the appropriate shield (FDNY, EMS, NYPD, PAPD) (Image 1, Section E). The glass curtain wall is supported by an internal, open stainless steel frame, reminiscent of the Twin Towersa€™ metal infrastructure whose melting under the intense heat of the jet fuel fires resulted in the Towersa€™ ultimate collapse. 1)The inspiring American flag recovered from the World Trade Center rubble that was solemnly raised by rescuers. A patient of mine, who saw the submission to the contest, was so impressed with Dougiea€™s concept that she arranged a meeting with the world-renowned architect, A. William Stratas, a website developer from Toronto created a wonderful website for contestants to share news of the competition and to discuss their personal experiences. Stratas and I began to communicate on a regular basis and became long-distance comrades in architecture.
After office hours, I took Dougie to the party followed by a trip to the exhibition of the eight finalists at the Winter Garden of the World Financial Center. After talking to Dougie for a while, she informed me that the man standing directly behind me was Kevin Rampe, the President of the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation. At the Forum, Dougie was interviewed by Georgett Roberts of the New York Post and by Alan Feuer of the New York Times. After the photo session and the presentation of the Certificate of Merit to Doug, we were escorted to a locked room called a€?The Family Rooma€?. Doug was introduced to the winner, Michael Arad, and his associate, Peter Walker, in a conference room. Aptly stated about the competitors by New York Times reporter Julie Iovine was, a€?Working on their own initiative and against lousy odds, determined to express themselves and to keep memory alive, they spent countless thousands of hours conceiving, drafting, revising and explaining their visionsa€?. As an ophthalmic surgeon, I expressed my personal need to do something constructive in the aftermath of the WTC tragedy by obtaining a portable slit lamp microscope and using it to treat the eye injuries of rescue workers at Ground Zero. I reflected on how many renowned architects begin their creative processes with Lego blocks (or equivalents), or perhaps with rough sketches on cocktail napkins.
I discussed my feelings about these comments with a patient, who is an editor of the New York Times. Our teama€™s memorial design now proudly resides on the LMDC website along with the other 5200 entries.
One final note is that, several years later, a patient came into my office and informed me that he had just been hired as the General Counsel of an insurance company in Philadelphia, by, of all people, Kevin Rampe.
As I wrote in the beginning, I originally put these memories on paper to share with my two sons when they become mature enough to comprehend more fully the events that I have just described.
One of the most difficult things that I have ever been called upon to do, was to address the Connecticut Society of Eye Physicians on my experiences and on emergency preparedness, only a few months after the disaster, on December 7, 2001.
I think about the tragedy every day, and particularly my personal memories of experiences that have changed the course of history. A total of 5,193 World Trade Center memorial proposals have been given the heave-ho, but the people who created them aren't slinking quietly back to their day jobs.
On December 6, hundreds of teachers, architects, and engineers that didn't make it will gather at New York University to display their work and discuss their discarded ideas. Another participant, Barry Belgorod, plans to bring his 6-year-old son, Doug, to the all-day event. William Stratas, the Canadian Web developer organizing the forum, said the event wouldn't be a rally or a session dedicated to critiquing the eight designs that made it past the 13-member jury. Only one session is dedicated to discussing the finalist designs, and he said he's anticipating some thoughtful but harsh critique. December 7, 2003 -- Some 60 people, including a 6-year-old boy, who were among the 5,000 entrants who submitted Ground Zero memorial designs, and lost, met in lower Manhattan yesterday to protest the closed-door judging process that produced the eight finalist proposals. Contestant Douglas Belgorod, 6, of Manhattan said he used his Lego building set to construct the two towers and had pulled out the blocks to leave a space where the hijacked planes hit.
Brian McConnell, 33, an engineer from San Francisco, said he was glad he made the effort to see other people's work. New York heart surgeon Robert Jarvik, 57, said the finalists lacked passion and imagination. The losers -- no, not the losers, the ones who did not win -- stood around doing what they had done for many months online, which is to say they thought, talked, argued, vented, ranted, complained and basically obsessed to the point of meltdown over how to build the best possible World Trade Center memorial.
Naturally, there was a bit of surprise when Adrienne Austermann, who goes by the name of Trinity online, turned out to be a woman since many people thought she was a man, and there was more than pleasant applause when Eric Gibbons, also known as Lovsart, took his own turn at the lectern since people really liked the absence of public benches in his plan, benches that might encourage loiterers to hang out eating hot dogs -- not exactly what Mr.
All in all, it was a remarkably diverse group, which had among its ranks a financial analyst, an engineer, a graphic designer, a schoolteacher, a sculptor, a union electrician, an ophthalmologist and his 6-year-old boy, and Robert Jarvick, the inventor of the artificial heart.
There was also a very simple replica of the towers done in glass that was conceived by Dougie Belgorod, the 6-year-old, who constructed the initial model out of Legoes.
At any rate, the idea did not attract the interest of the competition's jury, which -- whenever it was mentioned -- seemed to produce in the crowd of nonwinners the kind of forced affability and small uncontrollable tics one often finds in people trying to suppress great rage. They spent the morning sharing their designs with one another, and in the afternoon set out to draft a Declaration (''Capital D,'' Mr. Later in the afternoon, the nonwinners went down to ground zero, where they stopped off at the World Financial Center to look at the eight designs that had defeated theirs.
It smarted having lost, no doubt about it, but all the nonwinners said they would not give up. As long as I live, I will never forget my secretary, Kathy informing me on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, that an airplane had just struck one of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.A  Prior to this, it seemed like a normal Tuesday morning, seeing patients in my ophthalmology office on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Fortunately, most of the eye injuries were not severe, but were nonetheless incapacitating.A  When the Towers collapsed, there was a cascade of enormous quantities of pulverized concrete and sheetrock, wisps of fiberglass, asbestos dust (the buildings were not asbestos free) and splinters of glass. Still later when the flow of injured officers stopped, I wanted to take the slit-lamp to a€?Ground Zeroa€? itself to care for injured members of the other uniformed services.A  I was emphatically discouraged from doing this by the staff of the office of the Chief of Police, until buildings stopped collapsing and the ground beneath was more stable. There, as we watched the surf crash on the shore, we dined on spinach salads, curried shrimp and Mary, the breast of chicken. We passed by the Pacific Naval Command Center and then on into the small park and visitor center that houses the entrance to the Arizona Memorial.
As I looked to the North, at the mountains not far away, I could imagine the first wave of 187 dive-bombers and then the second wave of torpedo planes appearing like an evil apparition over the nearby crests.
These thoughts careened through my head as I looked at the raised nameplates of the mighty battle ships nearby. From the Arizona memorial, we boarded our buses and rode up into the hills to another peaceful military cemetery called the a€?Punchbowl.a€? Here, amidst the bucolic rows of trees, shrubs and neatly trimmed grass, lie 39,000 military men and women who saw service in the pacific theaters, in various wars of our history. As we drove through Honolulu, the bus passed by several old churches and then by the Queen Iolani Palace. We were tiring with the long and active day so we retreated to our cabin, We opened the balcony door and sat for a time in the fresh sea air admiring the moonshine of the ocean beneath us. On the journey down the mountain, we could espy Nihau, the a€?forbidden islanda€? about 11 miles from Kauai. We walked down to deck five and boarded the motorized tender for the short ride to the Lahaina docks. The small basin between them is shallow and became an ideal breeding ground for the sperm whales from time immemorial. It was misting lightly as we stood outside the center and looked across the Caldera, or Volcanoa€™s mouth. It was only 12 years ago that an enormous lava flow had slid down the mountain and destroyed 189 homes and virtually the entire town of Kalapena. We traversed the volcano on a ring road watching the lunar landscape created by the sulphur and old lava flows. From the Volcano house, we rode a brief way to the a€?Akatsuka Orchid Gardensa€? to admire the many gorgeous varieties of colorful orchids that the island produces. From the Mona Loa Nut factory, Derek drove us to the ocean shore, at the afore-mentioned site of the unfortunate town of Kalapena. After our late morning siestas, we stopped by the deck 14 trough to ingest the appropriate caloric overload.
The waiters served up the usual five star extravaganzas as we sipped a nice bottle of Mondavi Merlot and got acquainted with this charming couple. We were now some 800 miles South of Hilo and still had another 400 miles before we reached that small speck in the Pacific labeled Christmas Island.
An art auction was taking place in the wheel house lounge, so we sat through that for a time enjoying the banter of the auctioneer and the lively patter about artists a€?not yet dead.a€? Then, we watched the delightful comedy a€?Analyze That,a€? with Billy Crystal and Robert De Niro. Breakfast found us in the deck 14 Horizons court and then we sunned on the aft section of deck 12 for an hour or so before retreating to a€?Octogenarians row,a€? on covered deck 7, to read our books and enjoy the lazy motions of the ship. Even turtles get sunburned , so we packed it in and walked three miles (12 laps around deck 7) enjoying the vigor and the sweat that the walk produced. It was another a€?formal nighta€? for dinner, so we repaired to our cabin to dress in our a€?Cinderella Clothesa€? and venture forth once again down the grand promenade on deck 7. In the dining room, Kevin and Laura shared a good Cabernet, sent by their travel agent, which we helped them enjoy. The Princess Lounge provided another interesting song and dance routine titled a€?Rhythms of the City.a€? We watched and appreciated the talent and energy these kids put forth.
Just off the bow of the ship a jagged and erose peak, with a phallic shape, rose needle-nosed into the surrounding sky. The driver pulled along the side of the road and bade us look at the ubiquitous holes all along the roadside.
Near the end of the tour, the guide stopped by the most famous eatery on the island, a€?Bloody Marya€™s.a€? It is a grass roofed, sand- floored and quietly elegant restaurant made famous by James Michener and others. We were up early to watch the Dawn Princess sail into Opunohu Bay on the North Coast of Moorea, some 130 miles Southeast of Bora Bora.
We assembled in the deck 7 Vista Lounge and then walked school fashion, through the ship, to the gangway on deck 3 for boarding the shipa€™s tenders. The pier area is a simple jetty with a stone rest room and a nearby municipal building for the gendarmes. Along the sides of the road, our guide pointed out thin Mahogany trees, acacia, tulip, a€?lipsticka€? trees, guava, banana, teak, lice and Chinese chestnut trees along the roadside.
Along the coast road, we could see the island of Tahiti rising up from the ocean, some 11 miles away.
The Moorea Sheraton again has those delightful grass-hutted rondevals, with glass bottomed floors, sitting on piers looking into the bay. We descended to deck 7, saw and talked with Laura and Kevin Hanley for a bit, before returning to the cabin to read and relax before surrendering to the welcome arrival of the sand man.
We had arrived in Tahiti, a€?The Gathering Place.a€? Just the sound of the name brings up worldwide images of soft breezes, exotic women and an escape from the harsh realities of the Old World.
Most of us carry visions of Tahiti in our head from the various versions of a€?Mutiny on The Bounty.a€? The film, made from a James Norman Hall novel detailing a mutiny aboard Her Majestya€™s ship a€?Bounty,a€? captained by the now famous Captain Bligh and his first mate Fletcher Christian. Whalers, merchantmen and adventurers arrived in waves bringing new world gifts like STD and the moral standards of seamen who had been afloat for a year and away from leavening strictures of women and polite society. During the 1840a€™s, France consolidated its control of five of these small island chains into what we now call French Polynesia. Tahiti, one of the larger islands in the group, is actually comprised of two extinct volcano mounts and the slopes surrounding them. After breakfast on deck 14, a wooden a€?Le Truka€? shuttled us into the Centre De Ville, on the waterfront. Next, we came upon the two-story version of the central marketplace in Tahiti, a€?Le Marche,a€? or the market.
It was nearing noon, so we decided to stop by one of the many portable a€?Les Roulettesa€? for a snack.
We continued walking the small streets, enjoying the feel of a culture and language not our own.
We sunned for an hour, on deck 12, had a refreshing dip in the smaller spa pool and then retreated to our cabin to consider the logistics of packing for the trip home.
We packed our clothes, kept some necessary toiletries and clothes for a carry on bag, and then put the bags outside the cabin for pickup.
Chapter 1 takes place between February and September 1933, and introduces young Woody Hazelbaker as a junior member of a Wall Street law firm in trouble thanks to the Depression.
When Woody Hazelbaker got there at the end of the 1920s, he thought it grand, even after the breadlines that followed the Stock Market Crash in October a€?29: New York was Americaa€™s greatest and most bustling city, its port the gateway to the world. Owney Madden was no scientific genius like Professor Moriarty, but he handled things the same way. In Chapter 2, during the autumn of 1933, Woodya€™s deepening involvement with Owney Madden jars his cultural preconceptions loose when he visits the flagship of Maddena€™s nightclubs, the Cotton Club in Harlem. Club DeLuxe opened in 1920 at 142nd and Lenox Avenue, but Owney Madden bought it three years later and turned it into the Cotton Club, offering not only booze but the best jazz to be had, launching meteoric careers for Fletcher Henderson, Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and others. Bleecka€™s had opened as a speakeasy in the mid a€™20s, and though ruled with an iron hand by its irascible owner Jack Bleeck, it was instantly and permanently adopted by the newspapera€™s editors and reporters. Bleecka€™s saloon was a few paces from the Herald Tribunea€™s back door, a stonea€™s throw from Seventh Avenue. Nevertheless Walker and Beebe become important resources about New York social life for Woody, their perspectives stretching from the 1920s into the a€™40s.
Prohibition ends December 5th, 1933, just about when Harvard Club librarian Earle Walbridge a€” later a€?The Sussex Vampire,a€? BSI, and at his death in 1962 the only man whoa€™d attended every BSI dinner back to its a€?first formal meetinga€? in June a€™34 a€” takes Woody to Christ Cellaa€™s speakeasy on East 45th Street, where he meets Christopher Morley and some of his friends just as the nascent Baker Street Irregulars are about to burst out into the open.
In Chapter 3, over the winter, Woody is incurably bitten by the Sherlock Holmes bug, but his work for Owney Madden is not done.
New York Police Commissioner Grover Whalen estimated in 1929 that there were 32,000 illegal speakeasies in the city. It will take all of $5.00 to pay for a dinner for two at Christ Cellaa€™s little hideaway restaurant in the basement of a brownstone front at 144 East Forty-fifth Street, just a block from Grand Central Palace.
Cella, sleek, brown-eyed and chunky, is a born innkeeper, though he gives mural painting as his profession. But in the early 1930s it was a speakeasy, where around a table in the kitchen Chris Morley and his Three-Hour Lunch Club friends met to drink, laugh and talk, gestating The Baker Street Irregulars. He sat back and sipped the drink that Chris brought him, watching the room through half-closed eyes.
The crew Woody met that day were about to bring the BSI out into the open, once Repeal took effect.
In Chapter 4, stretching from spring to autumn, 1934, a chance meeting with Lucius Beebe at Bleecka€™s propels Woody into a more cosmopolitan circle at the Plaza Hotela€™s Mena€™s Bar.
It still exists a€” known now as the Oak Room: a€?by far the hotela€™s most significantly historic space, virtually unchanged since the day the Plaza opened for business, Oct. It was then known as the Mena€™s Bar, an all-male enclave said to be the favorite room of the hotela€™s architect, Henry J. For the next 70 years, it was patronized by some of the most celebrated folk of the 20th century.
Alsop was younger than me, short and pudgy with a pale face and dark-rimmed glasses beneath thin brown hair. When the National Organization for Women decided to challenge the men-only policies at restaurants and clubs, it chose the Oak Room, which refused to serve women at lunch on weekdays, as a test case, knowing the kind of upscale publicity it would lend to the cause. The Mena€™s Bar Oak Room is sadly the only venue this chapter that still exists (with a close escape a few years ago when the Plazaa€™s barbarian redeveloper intended to gut it). If Ia€™d seen the place empty I might have wondered what the fuss was about, but it was busy when we arrived. Shake well with ice cubes and dash of orange bitters, twist of lemon peel and just a touch of sugar. Owner John Perona and maA®tre da€™ Frank Carino made El Morocco, once a speakeasy, the place to go and be seen for all manner of celebrities, including Broadway and Hollywood stars. People kept stopping by to speak to Beebe, hoping to find themselves in his column the next day. I must have snickered, because he went on reprovingly: a€?Believe it or not, fortunes and careers are made by sitting at the right table. Beebe basked, and started to reply, when suddenly behind me a silvery voice spoke out of the blue.
In Chapter 5, December 1934 through the next several months, Woody attends the first Baker Street Irregulars dinner at Christ Cellaa€™s and solidifies his position in Chris Morleya€™s BSI. Suddenly, with an explosive burst so nobody would miss his entrance, Alexander Woollcott arrived. Chapter 6 stretches from the spring of 1935 to New Yeara€™s Eve in 1936, more than a year and a half of political turbulence in America, and in Woodya€™s life as well. Woody attends the a€™36 annual dinner at Christ Cellaa€™s a€” neither he nor anyone else there realizing that it will be the last for four years. In the early 1930s the New Schoola€™s snazzy new Greenwich Village building, with an informal left-wing faculty and ties to outfits like the John Reed Clubs, was just the place for a Wall Street lawyer to validate his anti-Wall Street feelings, as long as he could duck. Chris Morley looked down the table at me, elbows propped up on it and chin resting on tented hands. After taking Diana to see After the Thin Man on New Yeara€™s Eve, he finds himself finally, truly, completely alone with Diana a€” and this time all escape cut off. And Diana snatched the paper from me, dropped it on top of the others, and pushed the entire stack off onto the floor.
The consolation of BSI seems to be denied: there is no Annual Dinner in 1937 (nor will be in 1938 either).
Pratt stood only 5'3", had thin receding red hair, and wore round-rimmed eyeglasses with tinted lenses. In 1937 even Irregulars have foreign dangers on their minds, and not just those convening at the Mena€™s Bar Sundays for martinis and chicken soup.
The British Empire may no longer be able to regard itself, as it reasonably could until 1914, as the leading power of the world; since we let opportunity slip through our fingers in the early twenties, it may be doubted if the world has had any leading power, which may be one of the things that is the matter with it.
When the crisis that ended with the abdication of Edward VIII had been quickly and smoothly settled the English indulged in a good deal of excusable self-congratulation. Americans are not particularly proud of their countrya€™s isolation from world politics, but do not see what else can be done about it at the moment. People who try to describe the Czechoslovak Republic in its nineteenth year seem driven to metaphor.
Diana has her own response: use her family money to fund groups opposed to Nazi aggression. Everyone did after Benny Goodman took the Paramount Theater by storm, people clamoring for tickets nearly rioting in Sixth Avenue. The first time I heard them do a€?Moonglowa€? it was three in the morning, Diana and me listening to the sweet haunting music through a dreamlike haze of smoke and alcohol.
Bleecka€™s had opened as a speakeasy in the mid a€™20s, and thoughA  ruled with an iron hand by its irascible owner Jack Bleeck, it was instantly and permanently adopted by the newspapera€™s editors and reporters. A A A  Cella, sleek, brown-eyed and chunky, is a born innkeeper, though he gives mural painting as his profession. A A A  He sat back and sipped the drink that Chris brought him, watching the room through half-closed eyes. Preface Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation. She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners. So I shall start with a brief outline of the Mount Holyoke College community of which we were only a part. A returning alumna trying to find the Mount Holyoke she knew in the late a€?twenties, would see much to reassure her if she drove along College Street. Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body.
Most of us were Protestant: Congregationalist, Presbyterian, or Methodist, although there was a sprinkling of Episcopalians and Quakers. If all that lack of variety -- social, religious, and class -- made us parochial in outlook, it was also the basis for what I find the most distinguishing and influential characteristic of the college I knew: we were classless.
It all happened between September 1928 and June 1929; that was a very far-off time -- sixty-seven or sixty-eight years ago, to be specific. If Sycamores has ghosts today, I think they are not of the students I knew there, but Margaret, Nellie, and Dunk, assuming still their roles as guardians of the house. Later came the daffodils, narcissus, and hyacinths in clumps at the bases of the big trees, filling the borders, escaping somehow into the wilderness beyond the grape arbor. Naturally, being girls still, we did not confine our reaction to the garden to aesthetic raptures. Having chosen Sycamores for its eighteenth-century charm, we tried to furnish our rooms in the spirit of the house, at least in so far as our not very knowledgeable taste, our pocketbooks, and our comfort allowed. We had the southwest room at the top of the stairs on the second floor, the one with its own dogleg staircase leading to a locked door on the third floor. We tried to make the double desk, again college-issue, as inconspicuous as possibly by setting it to the left of the door; at least, it didna€™t strike the eye as one entered. In the fall of 1971 or a€?72, the Dean of Students office, faced with a shortage of rooms for an unexpectedly large freshman classand having on its hands an empty Sycamores -- if a really old house so full of memories can ever be called a€?emptya€? -- decided to move foreign students from Dickinson, where most of those on the graduate level had been housed for at least twenty years, to Sycamores; that is, from the extreme south end of campus to the even more extreme north. As foreign student adviserI was worried about the change, but since I had been presented with a fait accompli, I had no opportunity to raise the questions that troubled me. I must confess that it worked out fairly well, though the difficulties Ia€™d predicted did arise. Despite their initial disappointment, they began to accept the situation, and gave in gracefully, or at least, not too plaintively, as they fell into the rhythms of their adopted life.
Second semester had begun, everyone had returned, somewhat gratefully, to the safety of campus after the confusing scramble of Christmas vacation, and everyone had settled in nicely, I thought.
So she went off with the key and it was so effective that Miss Lyon returned to wherever she had walked in my day, and never turned up at Sycamores again.
Our relationship with our Head of Hall was fairly close, but our meetings usually took place at meals, in the halls, or in our own rooms, though Evelyn Ladd, as House President, probably saw more of her than I was aware of.
We knew, of the room itself, that one whole wall was white-painted paneling with a fireplace, and that it was fitted up like a sitting room, with chairs and a cot, of the sort we students had, with a serviceable dark green couch-cover. This juxtaposition of bathroom and Miss Dunklee was at the heart of one of our more dramatic experiences that winter. My memory may be wrong: it couldna€™t have been more than a healthy trickle, though a reprehensible one, after all.
Still there were, there had to be, lapses; further disappointments for Miss Dunklee, though none so serious as the bath episode. Whatever the reason for our unease, an evening came when we feared that the sheer numbers of our small infractions had accomplished what one serious carelessness had failed to do: discouraged Dunk irrevocably. She smiled benignly, went into her room, and shut the door, leaving us to trail upstairs feeling, if truth must be told, a little flat.
The name a€?Sycamoresa€? brings up memories of one of the happiest years of my College life. I wish I could recall when we first had Sycamoresa€™ Delight, and I wish I could say that it was something Escoffier would have risked his life for.
Since ordinary dates were usually confined to weekends, a week day was chosen for this occasion, in order to highlight the glory. Meanwhile, the two young lady dates, having got themselves dressed for an evening out, were lurking on the second floor at the top of the stairs. About the other, I can be more sure and detailed, though the 1931 Llamarada, placing that wintera€™s Llamie Dance in late October, shakes my certainty about the background. There was much good-natured chaffing as each date boasted of his prowess as a trencherman and vowed to add his name to the list.
Feminine modesty required observance of two conflicting dicta: one did not interfere with the innocent pleasures of onea€™s date, and one did not allow notoriety, especially if there was any danger that it might be accompanied by public ridicule. Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays differed somewhat from class days, and greatly and crucially from the present weekends.
Within that routine, there were, naturally, variations, sometimes worthy to my nostalgic mind of treatment in some detail, sometimes very minor but insisting on a brief notice. Some of our elders, and some of the more conventional of us, must have thought there were other, more dangerous flames that year, for 1929 was an election year and, though the Republican Herbert Hoover became president that fall, despite my own staunch adherence to the Democratic party, radical criticism, even some talk of listening to the demands of a€?those unionsa€?, was in the air.
For the most part, though, our interests and activities were confined to college and, more specifically, the dorm. Such long walks were common for us in spite of the skirts we still wore everywhere, but they tended to be informal.


Some of our walking was less healthy that sophomore year than Outing Club hiking; the fall of 1928 saw the Administrationa€™s capitulation to the Campus cigarette lobby.
In those days, one of the entertainment glories of the Connecticut Valley was the Court Square Theater in Springfield. One incident that really had nothing to do with Sycamores but certainly lent flavor to our lives there, took place during the winter. A function of Jeanette Marksa€™s Play Shop was to lend its expertise to the foreign language departments when they put on their annual plays.
More connected to Sycamores was one more of these passing events, small in itself but important to the participants; in this case, to me. Sophomore year, as Ia€™ve said, was the year a class began to define itself as a part of the college community. Each class inherited its color -- red or blue, green or yellow -- and its heraldic emblem -- lion or Pegasus, griffin or Sphinx -- but the song had to be original. End of an extraordinarily satisfying year for seventeen sophomores and for one -- yes, I really do believe it -- often distraught head-resident. The only explanation I can advance for such an uncharacteristic omission is that this was a a€?middlea€? college year, merely the end of a dormitory, not the end of college.
Nevertheless -- here the story-teller gives a shout of triumph -- I do remember most fondly and with a little hindsight embarrassment one event that might be described as a climax of sorts: Dunka€™s final attempt to give pleasure to a€?her housea€?. I cana€™t say whether I had an exam that morning, but I do recall the late May flowers and fragrance and our great pleasure when Dunk told us as we assembled for lunch that we were to have a picnic in the garden. The cup was not quite full, however: no food had appeared and Evelyn Ladd, the designated hostess, was missing.
Miss Dunklee, mindful of the passing time and Miss Greena€™s inexorable schedule, reluctantly took care of the first problem, giving away the second part of her secret: the food was to be hunted for. The food was laid out on the tables, our plates were piled very high; Miss Dunklee and Mr.
Someone else was sent, like Sister Anne in the Bluebeard story, to see whether a laggard Evelyn was even so belatedly wandering down the road from the college. At about five oa€™clock that afternoon Evelyn turned up, exhausted but jubilant that the questions on the exam she had just taken had called forth her best. I find it hard to accept that the sophomores I have been writing about and whom I can see so clearly are now in their mid-eighties, elderly women by anyonea€™s standards. PrefaceA  Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation. A A A  She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners. We were an astonishingly homogenous group.A  Almost all of us were middle-class and Protestant and came from east of the Rockies, and most of those, from the Atlantic coastal states north of the Mason-Dixon line.
Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body.A  As Ia€™ve said, the student body was almost ridiculously homogeneous. Charles Mango, from New York-Presbyterian Hospital, had managed to get downtown near the disaster site.
Lester, a detention-center designer, is flying in from Kansas City, Mo., to show his design, which involves a kinetic polycarbonate sphere etched with the names of the victims. McConnell used mathematical equations to design his plan for a spire that creates the illusion of infinite height. Stratas posted registration forms online Wednesday morning, as the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation was announcing the finalists. Stratas insists the forum isn't about political action, some people say they'd like to find power in numbers.
Stratas was standing at the lectern, on the fourth floor of the student center at New York University, talking to a group of peers whom he knew intimately but had never met before.
Mango said: ''You see, when I came up with my idea, I really thought that I was going to win.
Stratas said), which will lay out their displeasure with the competition's eight finalists and which could be released to the public as early as today.
Heys's comment, Zane Kinney, who had flown all the way from Ellensburg, Wash., felt compelled to correct the record. Vincenta€™s (which is not one of my hospital affiliations), which was closer to the scene, but they too had a€?enough medical personnela€? for the task.A  I was referred to a triage center at Chelsea Piers where medical volunteers could go to see a€?if they were neededa€?.
A Hawaiian woman gave us two flowered leis and then asked for $10 contributions for the local boy and Girl Scout troops. We walked along the world famous Waikiki beach, gazing down the beach to a€?Diamond Head.a€? The massive granite outcropping had been so named by Captain Cook, an early explorer who saw the crystallized volcanic material glinting in the noonday sun and thought the peak encrusted in diamonds. We stopped for some decent Kona coffee in the Outrigger and watched the moving tableau around us. We managed that well enough and then had coffee and croissants in the lobby area of the Tapa tower. We were headed for the holiest of military shrines in the state, the Arizona memorial, commemorating the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7th, 1941. He told us about the a€?Hawaiian Home Program.a€? Residents of Hawaiian descent are eligible to purchase homes and receive the land for $1.
A large group of high school kids were passing the time like all kids, singing, joking and clowning around.
A graceful white arch of stone, with a series of open side vents and open roof area, house two smaller enclosed marble rooms at either end.
They had launched from the Akagi, Kiryu and two other carriers sailing a short 220-mile to the Northeast.
We had a nice Fiume Blanc for openers, then a shrimp appetizer, crA?me of mushroom soup, pastry filled with shrimp calamari and other seafood, in a lobster sauce. Instead of molten rock, I could see the flow of electric lava as it slid down the mountains in the dark. We read for a time and then surrendered the hypnotic sway of the ship as we drifted off into the land of the great beyond.
Our immediate impression of the islands is that it is lush and tropical, with a much smaller population (56,000) than the other isles in the chain.
The driver told us humorously that in the early 1960a€™s whole families would bring picnic food and camp out nearby to watch the light change colors. The growers, ironically, found that a€?burning the fieldsa€? lowered the molasses content in the plants and increased the sugar yield from the cane.
There is a moral here someplace about pretending who you are not and the consequences of that action.
In many ways, the Hawaiians resemble Native Americans with their preoccupation with superstition, mythology and colorful sagas transmitted orally throughout the generations. We ascended, in a series of gradual switchbacks, 2,800 feet to the top of the islanda€™s extinct Wai ali ali volcano. The Sinclairs, a family of Slave traders from Massachusetts, had purchased the island from King Kamehameha in the 1830a€™s. We boarded the vessel and had a nice lunch of fish, fruit and vegetables in the deck 14 buffet. After dinner, I was still reeling from a bad head cold, so we retreated to the room to read and retire.
These a€?tendersa€? are wholly enclosed lifeboats that are capable of ocean sailing in an emergency. They spawn here from December through April and then in May, begin their swim up to the Aleutian Island chain. We walked the paved ocean path, along the beach, enjoying the swaying palms, the flowering hibiscus, the neatly manicured lawns of the huge hotels and the general aura of opulence.
We met and talked with Marty and Tom Bleckstein, who live on Maui and were aboard for the cruise to Tahiti.
Jon was our waiter again this evening and we exchanged a a€?Magandang Gabia€? (good evening) and a€?Mabuti, salamata€? (I am fine, Thanks) in Tagalog. It was cloudy and warm, with the promise of rain, something that happens often on this side of the island.
Great white swaths of dried calcium and super heated sulphur remained from the flows of heated magma.(magma below ground, lava above) As the mist and rain seeped into the ground, steam rose as the water hit heated rock below. The fiery lava seeped into the ocean and created super heated mists that explodes the rocks and created the black sand beaches that we were to see in a few hours. We were stopping at the a€?Thurston Lava Tube.a€? The 360 yard, ten foot high tunnel had been carved out by heated lava.
In a few hundred years, this newest portion of Hawaii will be a tropical beach and palm grove.
We had a glass of the Merlot in the cabin as I wrote up my notes and we settled in to relax for a bit. As we watched the big island settle into the Horizon, we met and talked again with Tom Bleckstein.
The sky was studded with gray clouds, the air was warm and a brisk trade wind was quartering us from the northeast. Proper dress was required, so we cleaned up some and venture in to this now familiar place of gustatory titillation. It is every bit as funny as a€?Analyze this.a€? The really is a wealth of things to do shipboard if you seek them out.
This was the a€?island tour.a€? We never did find Captain Cooka€™s Hotel or any other commercial establishment for that matter. We enjoyed Lobster appetizers, pea and onion crA?me soup, filet of Halibut in peppercorn sauce and Macadamia nut ice cream, all accompanied by a Mondavi Merlot and good coffee.
These kids might not be on Broadway, but they gave 150% in energy and we enjoyed their performances.
We enjoyed the film and then made our way to deck 12 for Hagendaaz ice cream floats topside.
It was a€?Italian Nighta€? in the Florentine room and we were looking forward to the gustatory experience. This introduced crab and melon ball appetizers, a Greek Salad, Norwegian trout for me, all followed by an Austrian Sacher Torte and good coffee. The Palm trees and the vegetation here are lush and green, a result of the 74 inches of annual rainfall. It is a collection of those lovely, small grass-roofed huts that sit out on piers right over the ocean. The crabs are apparently nocturnal creatures and come forth at night o feed on the fallen fruit of the many trees I had noticed.
These were provided by the government, at a cost of $2,000, to any of the islanders whose homes are destroyed by the various hurricanes that sweep over the island. A large wooden gargoyle sits in front of the restaurant, near a wooden sign carved with the names of all of the a€?famousa€? people who had dined here.
Shrimp cocktails, lentil soup, Alaskan crab legs and a wonderful black forest cake made for an elegant and relaxing repast.
Several tents had been put up by local vendors hawking jewelry and Moorean arts and crafts. The deep blue of the far ocean, azure sky, studded with white puffy clouds, all accented the deep emerald of the lush vegetation on the island.
These are limestone temple sites where yearly the islanders had sacrificed humans in a ritual to please the great god Oro. The 4-masted Windjammer and the Paul Gauguin were sitting at anchor in turquoise Opunohu bay, the palm trees were swaying in the breeze, against the brilliant backdrop of multi hued sapphire sea, azure sky and emerald hills. A large car ferry and a smaller and swifter catamaran ferry made regular, daily trips to nearby Tahiti. The heat and humidity were intense, so we decided to hop the tender for the air-conditioned comfort of the Dawn Princess, sitting placidly at anchor in the bay. Even a dip in the small pool couldna€™t revive us, so we headed to the cabin for a 2-hour nap.
English Captain James Cook and French explorer Captain Louis Bouganville had first discovered these a€?Society Islandsa€? in the 1760a€™s.
The backdrop images in the film are mostly taken from the lovely islands of Moorea and Bora Bora. The Protestant missionaries had come in the early 1800a€™s and banished most native cultural practices, including ritual sacrifice of humans.
Mount Orohena, at 6,700 feet, dominates the larger chunk of the island (Tahiti Nui) Mount Aurai, at 6,200 feet sits on most of the smaller portion of Tahiti (Tahiti a€“Iti). A small tourist pavilion, adjacent to a newly constructed town square, dominates the waterfront here. The offer of $120 for a cab ride, with a driver who knew little English, didna€™t seem too enticing to us.
The traffic is heavy and runs in twin ribbons of moving steel separating the town and the ocean. The first floor of this open-air barn is filled with food vendors selling everything from fruits to fish and any number of sundries. We dodged the speedy traffic and visited another elegant Joualerie where we found a beautiful set of black pearl earrings to match the necklace pearl we had just purchased. A small bronze bust of Louis Bouganville commemorates this eminent French explorer after whom had been named the colorful tropical flower a€?Bouganvillea.a€? We sat for a time in the shade and enjoyed the lush tropical foliage, the colorful flowers and the heat of a tropical isle and each othera€™s company. The next chore was to find a€?le box postal.a€? It isna€™t like our cities, where you can find a blue, US mailbox on every corner. We walked back to the waterfront and caught a shuttle for the 15-minute ride to the commercial end of the port and the welcome air-conditioned bubble of the Dawn Princess. He gets a chance (and despite trepidations, takes it) to hang on by undertaking work for a clandestine client, the kind his firm would never accept in good times: bootlegger Owney Madden, and his No. What I knew about them came from Walter Winchell in the Mirror and movies like Little Caesar. Owney Madden was in the bootlegging business and everything else that went with it, including his chief aide and enforcer Big Frenchy DeMange. Black entertainers performing for strictly white audiences reflects the eraa€™s racial segregation, but the Cluba€™s showcasing of brilliant talent helps make jazz a national treasure. Beside the entrance was a tarnished brass plaque saying a€?Artists and Writersa€? a€” the admission policy?
It finally comes to an end a year after it started, with Madden retiring from the rackets in New York and departing for a new life elsewhere.
Lexington Avenue could still be followed south to 45th Street; and on 45th Street Chris Cellini should still be entertaining his friends unless a tidal wave had removed him catastrophically from the trade he loved . The kitchen was the supplement to the one small dining room that the place boasteda€”it was the sanctum sanctorum, a rendezvous that was more like a club than anything else, where those who were privileged to enter found a boisterous hospitality undreamed of in the starched expensive restaurants, where the diners are merely so many intruders, to be fed at a price and bowed stiffly out again. The flash of jest and repartee, the crescendo of discussion and the ring of laughter, came to his ears like the echo of an unforgettable song. On the far side, back to the wall, was a burly man with a broad hearty face, thick brown hair, and lively eyes full of mischief. 1, 1907,a€? wrote the Times five years ago (a€?What Would Eloise Say?a€? by Curtis Gathje, Jan.
One day in February 1969, Betty Friedan and several other women swept past the Oak Rooma€™s maA®tre da€™ and sat down at a table. The Biltmore Hotel is gone, turned into office space despite protected-landmark status at the time. I froze, then scuttled out sideways like a crab, and turned to face the most stunning girl Ia€™d ever seen. At Decembera€™s BSI dinner, he observes a Worlda€™s Champ and a Fabulous Monster, both of whom he will meet again, but more importantly he makes a new friend for life in Basil Davenport.
Everybody knew his face from magazines and high piping voice from the radio a€” and some people hated both. Woollcott and Morley might be rival bookmen, but Chris didna€™t look half as annoyed as Bob. One of his dislikes was Alexander Woollcott, whose presence at the December 7, 1934, annual dinner Leavitt always insisted was uninvited, unwanted, and obnoxious. Woody can use one: his regained professional calm is jolted the self-possessed young heiress he met at El Morocco has daddy switch his legal work to Woody.
The still young phenomenon of radio carries not only FDRa€™s reassuring Fireside Chats into American homes, but also the demagoguery of former Louisiana Governor, now Senator, Huey a€?Kingfisha€? Long, and the maverick priest Father Charles Coughlin. Not only cana€™t he get started with Diana, he doesna€™t even seem to have her attention when theya€™re together a€” and is silly enough to look for answers in the movies, as if life were one big screwball comedy.
For some it was Shirley Temple, for others Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald, for more than you could count Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Diana is beautiful and wealthy, but comes with a father-in-law whose politics Woody can barely abide.
But Woody and some others, instead of shrugging, organize occasional Irregular three-hour lunches of their own. But into those sessions now is injected an isolationist note even Anglophiles like Elmer and Woody cana€™t ignore, from Chris Morleya€™s brother Felix, a€?the Second Garrideb,a€? editor of the Washington Post sharply critical of FDR and his policies. Elmer Davis gives up fiction to write serious foreign policy articles for Harpera€™s Magazine, about the dangers in store for an indifferent and unprepared America. Not only had they disposed of a troublesome situation with less fuss than almost any other nation would have made over ita€”the reaction abroad, they told one another, had demonstrated that all men of good will realized that the stability of England was vitally essential to the stability of a somewhat unsteady world. You still meet Europeans who ask you why America does not come into the League and help to do something about world peace; but most of them, after recent collapses of the system of collective security, know why, and only wish that they could do as we do. President BenA?s, in his radio broadcast last Christmas Eve, said that a€?Czechoslovakia stands like a lighthouse high on a cliff with the waves crashing around ita€”a democracy that has the mission to keep the flag of peace, freedom, and toleration flying in Central Europe.a€? The propaganda German radio stations and newspapers have been pouring out for months sees the country as a a€?sally port of Bolshevism,a€? And K.
She hastily switched to an English major when she learned that Consuls are expected to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of economics, however, she did take as many courses in government and political science as the college then offered. Dedicated smokers now snatched a fugitive drag in dormitory rooms, with all the consequent flurry of suddenly flung-open windows and frantic waving of towels if someone in authority approached.
Lovell freely, to take us to the Court Square, and to Springfield at the beginning of vacations. Woolley Hall, the Rockies, Skinner, the Mary Lyon gates, Mary Lyon itself, the libe, and Dwight have altered their front elevations so little, or so subtly, that she might even overlook the new link between the libe and what she knew as the a€?art buildinga€?. Their design was a glass replica of the twin towers with rectangular holes where the airplanes struck. His design includes uniformed honor guards, firefighters and cops watching over a tomb in defense of the nation. The Northwest and later, the Pacific Ocean were clouded from view as a massive front roared beneath us.
Tiring, we headed back to the room to read, make some notes and surrender to the Hawaiian night. The a€?Don Hoa€? style preacher had everyone singing God Bless America and other group songs. A list of the sailors and marines lost that day, in raise metal etchings, adorns one wall, with a plaque and several American and military flags. The sight of an entire fleet of attacking planes, on a warm Sunday morning, must have been surreal as the angry wasps spit fire and lead into the row of battleships at anchor.
In the words of a prescient Japanese Admiral, with their surprise attack, they a€?had awoken a sleeping giant and filled it with a terrible resolve.a€? The conflict wasna€™t to end for four long years. The bus took us to a virtual a€?sea of luggagea€? and calmly suggested we a€?identify oursa€? for processing. Diamond Head, Waikiki beach and the other recognizable features of Oahu blended into the Ocean dark. The informative bus driver gave us a running narration of the fauna and flora of the island as well as a cultural overlay that we found interesting. I dona€™t know how true the story is, but it gave insight into the islanders endearing trait of not taking themselves too seriously. The stone foundations of a a€?Russian Forta€? gave rise to another tale of Colonial treachery and Hawaiian retribution, swift and sudden. It was a beautiful day and we decided to walk from the port area to the nearby Sheraton hotel and beach area. We sipped some passable Cabernet as the erose skyline of Nawiliwili harbor and Kauai faded into the setting sun. They can seat almost 90 people and are a bit removed from the old a€?lifeboatsa€? that ships used to carry.
One can only speculate at all of the events, legal and foul, that must have transpired under its shelter. Whale blubber and whale oil fueled the lamps of Europe and America during the 1800a€™s, until the advent of mass production of electricity. We had enjoyed this low-key, unhurried look at Maui, without the hustle and commotion of a guided tour. His grasp of plate tectonics, the mechanics of volcanic eruption and a score of other disciplines, involving agriculture, local flora and fauna and marine biology were not just superficially acquired. The actual volcano mouth was surrounded by succeedingly larger depressions that extended out further. The lava had the consistency of brittle tar that had frozen in wildly flowing waves of super heated rock. When the surface of a lava flow starts to cool, the molten lava often is still flowing beneath the surface.
We had a leisurely breakfast on the balcony, watching the white caps of the blue sea swell and flow around the big shipa€™s wake.
We had brought our books with us and sat outside, on lounge chairs on the covered promenade deck. Four photographers were busy taking pictures of passengers in their tuxedos and evening wear. We breakfasted in the deck 14 Horizons Court and then sunned on the aft fantail of deck 12, enjoying the leisurely time to read, try a cooling dip in the small pool and generally laze about the deck. After the movie, I sent some e-mails into cyber space enjoying the novelty of transmitting from the middle of the ocean via satellite, something that would have been near impossible only a few years before.
The performance was blocked some by clouds, but we watched it eagerly enjoying the light play of sun on water and sky as the day turned into night at sea in its daily magical performance. We smiled at the co-incidence and enjoyed another meal with these charming young people from London.
Even better, across the bay at a now abandoned similar anchorage, the area had been named Paris. After the show, Mary and I wandered topside to look at the full array of celestial beacons that adorned the heavens.
Even the name conjured up visions of Polynesians in outrigger war canoes with the sound of drums resonating in the humid air. I dona€™t usually like lounge singers, but this engaging performer gave convincing renditions of Neil Diamond, Frank Sinatra, Paul Anka, Elvis Presley and a bevy of others, in a toe-tapping medley that left you smiling. W returned to our cabin to read (a€?Backspina€? Harlan Coben ), write up my notes and retire. The bay in which we were anchored, and most of the visible island, once were ensconced firmly in the center on an ancient caldera of a volcano that had risen some 13,000 feet into the Polynesian sky. The sturdy vehicles were clean and comfortable with seat pads, not anywhere near as Spartan as the guides had warned us. We drove by and admired Papaya, Banana, coconut and the famous breadfruit trees for which the HMS Bounty had come to the Society Island looking in the 1800a€™s. The tab was a respectable $500-$800 a night for those fortunate enough to be able to stay there. Tongue in cheek, the guide explained that, like most social programs the program has those who used it unfairly. French is spoken on the island exclusively and French Polynesian Francs the currency of choice..
Rotui was already peaking out from the gray wisps of cloudy garlands capping its erose peak. The 53 square mile island, shaped like a butterfly, is a popular destination for upscale tourism. It had rained heavily a few hours before and the small rain puddles made the walk through the open field interesting.
The a€?lipsticka€? tree had small fuzzy buds that when rubbed on lips or fingers had the same effect as rouge. Small bushes, with thin and wiry leaves, are carefully tended by laborers and then harvested for their sweet fruit.
All high school students have to commute daily to Tahiti as well as many workers who commute daily.
Then, Lobsters tails and a light parfait, all washed down with a Mondavi Merlot and decent coffee completed this wonderful dinner. We could watch half a dozen freighters lading cargo, the men and forklifts scurrying here and there, noisy and busy at work. The accounts they brought back electrified Europe enticing artists like Gauguin and adventurers of every type. The missionarya€™s razed the several Marae (sacrificial altars) and brought the European version of a straight-laced version of an unforgiving deity.
A few hundred yards over sits the huge Ferry dock for the daily shuttles to Moorea, visible on the horizon, just 11 miles Northeast of Tahiti.
The Tahitians are religious about stopping for pedestrians crossing the street, but it is still proved to be an adventure. We then walked down the main gallery of deck 7 and had some coffee in the small lounge outside of the restaurants.
Neon signs from the honk tonk clubs a€?Broadway,a€? a€?Manhattana€? and others vied for the club trade.
Member of Hudson Dusters gang, convicted twice of safecracking with 13 arrests total, including one for murder. And as winter approaches Woody makes a third discovery that will change his life for good, this time at the Harvard Club library: Vincent Starretta€™s brand-new and magically evocative book, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Ellingtona€™s a€?Cotton Club Stompa€? captured the beat and drive as well as the venue and era. Astora€™s Horse (1935) are available today; The Night Club Era especially evokes the New York popular culture in which the BSI gestated and was being born in the early a€™Thirties.
Woody has weathered the Depressiona€™s worst year and learned a lot a€” but the ending of his clandestine association with Owney and Frenchy DeMange leaves him feeling blue. One was opened in a brownstone at 144 East 45th Street in 1926 by an Italian immigrant named Christopher Cella, whose boyhood friend Mike Fischetti was on the NYPDa€™s a€?Italian Squad,a€? one of the toughest cops in town.
Although there were no familiar faces seated round the big communal table, the Saint felt the reawakening of an old happiness as he stepped into the brightly lighted room, with the smell of tobacco and wine and steaming vegetables and the clatter of plates and pans. It was the same as it had always beena€”the same humorous camaraderie presided over and kept vigorously alive by Chrisa€™s own unchanging geniality.
Its German Renaissance design features walls of sable-dyed English oak, frescoes of Bavarian castles, faux wine casks carved into the woodwork and a grape-laden chandelier topped by a barmaid hoisting a stein. Cohan, the Broadway hyphenate, a composer-playwright-actor-producer-theater owner, and the only person ever awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor for a song, the rousing World War I anthem, a€?Over There.a€? Cohan made the Oak Room his pre-theater headquarters, his preferred table being a booth in its northwest corner. There was an air of privilege about him even in the way he held his drink and his cigarette. The waitersa€™ response was to remove the table, leaving the women sitting awkwardly in a circle. Banquettes along the walls, and backs and seats of chairs, were in the blue zebra print identifying El Morocco in newspaper pictures. At a podium outside the arch, the maA®tre da€™ greeted us and led us inside, where Beebe was perched on a stool watching a bartender perform with a cocktail shaker.
On his favor and discretion hang feuds, romances, careers, ambitions, the very foundations of the most bitterly jealous and competitive social hierarchy of our generation. She looked at me with indignation, rubbing the top of one gold-sandaled foot against the back of her other ankle. His acquaintance with Elmer Davis moves beyond the BSI into other realms, and Woody comes to understand what Morley had told him: they do all have Sherlock Holmes in common, but the BSI is primarily about friendship. But a September 9, 1938, letter from Elmer Davis to Vincent Starrett gives a different impression: an older friend of Morleya€™s than Leavitt, Davis took up merrily with Woollcott that night. While Elmer Davis worries about a native despot poised for the a€™36 elections, Woodya€™s worries are closer to home. For me, it was one romantic comedy of William Powella€™s after another until my mind turned to mush. Yet Ambrose Converse is also his most important client now, as if Jimmy Stewart had gone to work for old buzzard Potter in Ita€™s a Wonderful Life. The big stories were the Prince of Walesa€™ abdication, Italy invading Ethiopia, and FDRa€™s new term.
Four columns were marching on the city with a a€?fifth columna€? inside it waiting to strike like a snake. To Basil Davenport, Peter Greig, Earle Walbridge, and Dave Randall are added two more, one a kinsprit already, the other someone who will become important to Woody as the world drifts closer to war. Wiry and muscular, with a neatly clipped mustache, he resembled a wary bird whoa€™d bite off any finger poked in his direction. I believe that every democratic nation in Europe today would get out of Europe and stay out if it could; out of the neighborhood of Germany .
But for them both, 1937 is their newlywed year a€” out on the town, taking in the movies, seeking out the coolest jive joints with the hottest jazz, and going dancing with the Age of Swing in full blast.
One night I overheard a callow youth say something to his girl about a€?shaming the old folks off the floor,a€? and realized in dismay that he meant me. He said he could play drunk because he practiced drunk, and he sure could play, but we were watching self-destruction right before our eyes. We went on that way into 1938, celebrating our first anniversary without even a BSI dinner to break the mood.
After graduation at the height of the a€?Great Depressiona€?, she spent four years in Northampton, Massachusetts, as a governess, finishing that period with an M.A.
This wartime work led her to return to the Mount Holyoke English department, as a teacher of English as a foreign language and of composition.
There was a 70-foot glass sculpture of a pair of hands cupped together reaching for the heavens, and a sort of paddle-wheel thing that people pushed, and when they pushed it, it generated energy, and the energy was used to power spotlights, and the spotlights shone up into the sky, and the intensity of the shine, well, it depended on how many people were pushing the wheel. Nieman Marcus, Nordstroma€™s, Macya€™s and many other toney shopping meccas lined the streets of the main boulevard. We also found out later that the sand had been imported from Australia due to a lack of white sand locally.


You always think it will evaporate like some ephemeral bubble that will just go a€?popa€? and disappear. A small park area looked out across the channel to Ford Island, where the graceful white arch of the monument sat atop the sunken remains of the Battleship USS Arizona.
The rugged green mountains that split the island were just to the North of us, with gray garlands of fluffy clouds drifting across them.
The channel from Ford Island to Oahu is narrow and an entire fleet of ships was berthed here.
It was like an Arabian bazaar trying to search for our two black bags amidst a sea of hundreds of others. Ozzie Nelson was paging me and we returned to the stateroom for a long afternoon nap, my favorite activity in the tropics. It was to be the first of twelve such meals that would impress us greatly and expand us measurably. The bus passed through Poi Pu, with its alley of mahogany and Eucalyptus trees that met overhead. Some small shops and restaurants are clustered nearby, but the real attraction if the golden beach and the bright blue ocean. We had enjoyed our visit to the island, though we thought that a goodly supply of books would be needed for an extended stay here. Radiating outward are collections of small commercial shops, hawking the usual tourist wares, and several streets of small, neat homes. It is a modern, tri-level shopping court of high priced shops like Versace, Ferragamo, Tiffany and Gucci.
The Marriott, Sheraton, Hyatt and Maui Ocean Shores are beautiful in their landscaped elegance.
It gave us a softer look at a place that deserves to be further explored on another occasion.
It is these incidental meetings shipboard, either at dinner or casually, that much enhance the entire experience.
When you think of lava exploding all the way up through 31,000 feet of mountain, that makes for a degree of physical force that is hard for me to grasp.
It was fascinating for me to look at this cone and realize that enough volcanic material had erupted from this aperture to create 4,000 sq.
Off to the Southeast, visitors were warned from walking because the sulphur fumes could be toxic.
The top layer of the flow had that crystalline diamond effect as the molten surface rock cooled and crystallized. Our fellow park bears were munching at the sample a€?buffet linea€? like people who hadna€™t just consumed 1200 calories at the Volcano House. It was geriatrics row, god bless them for the gumption to be still traveling at an advanced age.
Tonight was the first a€?formal dinnera€? in the Florentine room and we wanted to be alert and enjoy the affair.
It is a life speed gear that I am not much familiar with, but would like to experience more of it. It was a€?French Night.a€? I had escargot, French Onion Soup, Orange roughie and an apple tart with ice cream for desert. We returned to our cabin to shower and prep for dinner, much appreciating the splendor of our surroundings in juxtaposition to those available on Christmas Island. The Mondavi Merlot led us into squid and shrimp appetizers, Zuppa minestrone, swordfish griglia and then finally a delicate Tiremisu with good coffee. It had been a long day in which we had witnessed the span of events from first light to twinkling evening. We met Kevin and Laura Hanley in the deck 5 lounge, had coffee and got better acquainted, before entering the Florentine Room for another wonderful experience. The erose, emerald remains of an ancient volcano rose up in front of us, cloud shrouded, mysterious and tolkienesque in the early morning sun. I had recognized the craggy skyline from a modern painting by an Italian artist named Freshcetti, I think. When Brigitte Bardot, the French actress, had visited the islands, she took up their cause. Almost instantly, a small army of these crabs crawled forth from their burrows and began dragging the fruit and peels back into their holes. The Bora Borans called these homes, the French equivalent of a€?re-election homesa€? for the propensity of mayors to award these homes to certain favored islanders during re-election years. We cooled off from the sun and then decided to walk the roads for a bit to see what local culture we could absorb. For reasons, unknown to me, the sun sets earlier here, by some 45 minutes, than in the Northern climes. We walked topside to once again admire the stars emblazoned across the inky night of these former Society Island in French Polynesia, glad that we were here and together. A dozen or so of the huge, air-conditioned land cruisers were waiting their aging cargos for the daya€™s tours. Many of the island women wore it in place of costlier lipstick, hence the name of the tree. These sacrifices are laced through the Hawaiian legends as part of the reason the ancient Hawaiians had fled the harsher culture of Bora Bora and Moorea.
This island is the most beautiful in the chain and the one we would most like to return to. That was something we will long remember during the cold and snowy Winters of our home in the frosty northern climes. Then, we stood nearby eating our sandwiches under the protective shade of a large Monkey pod tree.
Colorful cotton sarongs, flowered garlands and other bright pastels adorned these handsome people. We had agreed to have dinner with Jazz and Janice, from London, this evening and met them in the lounge. The river of cars left a trail of red taillights flashing in the dark, as they rounded the bend towards the air port. For the green and rather innocent Woody, Madden, DeMange, and the work prove quite an education.
Then decades later, in Francis Ford Coppolaa€™s 1984 movie The Cotton Club, its life and times were recreated superbly, with Bob Hoskins and Fred Gwynne playing Owney Madden and Frenchy DeMange. A chorus line of nearly naked colored girls ran out onto the stage and went into a routine never seen south of Central Park.
Its big room, mahogany, brass and mirrors with a forty-foot bar, served as clubhouse for Trib reporters and editors.
Tables are covered with clean white cotton cloths and the waiters wear long white linen aprons that flap about their ankles.
It took him back at one leap to the ambrosial nights of drinking and endless argument, when all philosophies had been probed and all the worlda€™s problems settled, that he had known in that homely place. Why were there not more places like that in the world, he began to wondera€”places where a host was more than a shop-keeper, and men threw off their cares and talked and laughed openly together, without fear or suspicion, expanding cleanly and fruitfully in the glow of wine and fellowship? It drove me across town to East 39th, the wet streets dark and nearly deserted at that hour.
Offering a fine view of all comings and goings, it became known as the Cohan Corner, where the great man was courted by theatrical types looking for work. A man at a nearby booth offered breadsticks, which were declined, and the group decamped to form a picket line in front of the hotel.
But the movie Woody saw there that night has lasted: The Thin Man, starring William Powell and Myrna Loy. Ita€™s comical that the Nobel Committee gives its Peace Prize to do-gooders like Jane Addams.
Ia€™d struggled through it in high school; they talked about Horace as if he were a mutual friend. So Woody dwells uncomfortably in a higher social and economic stratum of an increasingly disturbing world, as he takes stock of it when they return from their honeymoon. Fierce debate had started over his court-packing scheme, to circumvent the Supreme Courta€™s a€?nine old mena€? striking down one New Deal program after another.
Frank of the Czechoslovak parliament, a German belonging to the half-Hitlerized Sudetendeutsche Partei, has said that the state must be a€?either a bridge between Germany and the southeast or a barricade against Germany.a€? . But when I walked into a jive joint with Diana, nobody took me for a rootietoot, let alone a lawyer. He had an about-town column in the Herald Tribune called a€?This New York.a€? It wasna€™t Woody Hazelbakera€™s New York. In 1960 the position of foreign student advisor was added.A  She retired as Associate Professor of English and died in 2006. The worldwide impact of the tragedy is emphasized by recognizing the international scope of the loss. Still, they wanted to remain involved and to contribute something -- anything, please -- because their energies and passions, the collective vat of their creative juices, really, could you throw it all away? We checked in at Continental Airlines and then went through the security screens to gate #22 to await our flight eastward, to Newark airport in New Jersey. Over 1,200 men were still entombed in the sunken wreck and the site was treated respectfully as a burial ground.
Missouri, a€?Mighty Mo.a€? She and the submarine a€?Blowfina€? are anchored just around a bend in the lagoon and are available for boarding and viewing to the public. The driver noted several times the 1893 takeover of the Hawaiian republic by British and American military. Nihau still lies in the hands of Mrs.a€™ Sinclaira€™s grandsons, the Gay and Robinson Company, who also own about one third of Kauai. We sat for a time under a shade tree and watched the ocean crash against the shore on a golden day in Kauai. When the waves are choppy, the boat can rise and sink several feel, in an instant, making getting on and off interesting, especially for the older folks on board.
We browsed some shops for a bit and then hopped a cab to nearby a€?Whalera€™s Villagea€? on Ka'anapali beach.
We stopped at the Marriott for coffee on the ocean and watched the comings and goings of the many vacationers.
It looked like Dantea€™s version of the nether regions and it held us spell bound at the raw power and energy contained in the process. The super heated gases, just above the molten rock, further molded and carved the area until a fairly smooth rock tunnel is created through which the lava can flow like tooth paste through a tube. We enjoyed the sea, sky and harsh lava for a time and then set off back across the fractured flow for our bus. We wished them a good evening and returned to our cabin to read and finish yet another lazy and enjoyable day at sea. I wondered at the ancient mariners who had sailed these lonely seas for thousands of years using these same beacons as their maps. Dawn Princess had crossed the equator several hours before, so we were watching our first sunrise on the Pacific Ocean and in the Southern Hemisphere.
We were even treated to the fabled a€?green flasha€? as the sun sank beneath the waves and hissed as it hit the cool waters. I can die happily now, I have had everything wonderful that I ever wanted to eat on this cruise.
We had enjoyed the day and each other to the fullest, in the South Pacific, enroute to Bora Bora and Tahiti.
We had breakfast on the balcony and enjoyed the sea air, the azure blue sky and the rolling, royal blue waves around us, We were steaming south at 19 knots and fast approaching Polynesia.
In the old days I think they used to throw first time crossers over board for the novelty of the rite.
We would pay for these extravaganzas with a few zillion hours in the health club for the next few months. From the high deck of the Dawn Princess, it looked like we were entering one of those mysterious isles that you see in King Kong or Jurassic Park. This particular erose formation had probably fed the imagination of a thousand painters and artists over the centuries. Bora Bora has several large and very posh hotels that cater to the carriage trade form all over. The women vendors gave demonstrations of how they dyed the colorful garments in a process similar to a€?Batika€? in the Caribbean.. The homes looked prosperous enough, with their stucco walls and tin roofs, used to catch the rainwater. Then we retired to our cabin to read for a time and fall into the arms of Morpheus at sea off Bora Bora.
The temple area had fallen into disrepair, but a small grass-roofed hut and some printed information boards filled in the blanks. We had just last year seen a Gauguin collection at New Yorka€™s Metropolitan Museum and yet another small collection at the Art Gallery of Toronto. The second floor is filled with scores of small vendors peddling what we lovingly called a€?Le Jonk.a€? Sarongs, bead necklaces, carved figures of marine life, Tahitian gods and all manner of jewelry, tee shirts and other sundries, that gladden a shoppera€™s heart, are on display. They share that warm and gracious charm that we had experienced and enjoyed from their Hawaiian cousins. It is a custom we had much enjoyed in Paris and Firenze, walking about a crowded square with a sandwich and bottle of water, enjoying your busy surroundings. We watched for a time, admiring the pomp of the ceremony, whatever it was.a€? a€?Department de Francea€? shined out from a brass plaque on the lanai wall.
We watched the huge car ferry and the smaller catamaran from Moorea glide by our ship for their mooring across the bay. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized.a€? Same with Madden, and I discovered a separate and different world beneath the surface.
Formed alliance with Tammany Hall chieftain Jimmy Hines, went into bootlegging including many speakeasies and night clubs.
Kidnapped and held for ransom by a€?Mad Doga€? Coll in 1931 (an unwise career move on the lattera€™s part). It was nearly empty at eleven in the morning, but even busy I couldna€™t have missed Walker halfway down the bar, next to an arresting sight: another man dressed, at that hour of the day, in white tie and tails. I carried the briefcases when we got there, and Owneya€™s driver lugged the rest up to my apartment. After his death in 1942, a bronze plaque was installed to commemorate his tenure; it still hangs there today. As the evening wore on and more and more people arrived, additional tables and chairs were brought out and placed on the dance floor until it almost disappeared. When I finally got a word in edgewise and asked what the hell, Basil shrugged off a€?two perfectly useless degreesa€? in classics from Yale and Oxford. Bradford, another Thin Man imitation, had come out while Diana was in Europe, but when she got back I took her to My Man Godfrey at Radio City. Enlarging the Court had peoplea€™s backs up, while others felt the Court was so pre-Depression in make-up, it might as well be the Dark Ages.
It was the New York of El Morocco by night, people with plenty of money despite the Depression, Broadway openings instead of bank closings, charity scavenger hunts instead of breadlines, uninterrupted self-indulgence instead of the dole. At Northfield she was given permission to marry Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age. Yet here it was, our home for some nine months, and a home we had chosen for ourselves when low room-choosing numbers allowed the choice. At Northfield she was given permission to marryA  Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age. The surreal experience ended gradually as the tender ferried us back to the reception center.
The natives, in relating the destruction of the monarchy have that mildly pissed off attitude that you hear when native Americans talk about how their lands were stolen from them. Then we walked them through a line to run them through a huge x-ray scanner for transport to the ship. The hunger monster was calling so we ventured forth to the buffet lunch on deck 14, The Horizon court. It freed you from the fear of being stuck with morons and cretins for dinner during the entire cruise, an experience we had already suffered thorough on an earlier cruise. It was to be a medley of nationalities that had me speaking Polish, Tagalog, Spanish, French, Italian and mumbling bits of Rumanian and Hungarian. Here, the wave erosion had formed several a€?blow holesa€? where the seawater exploded from fissures in the rocks as each wave crashed upon them.
Hard drinking, hard living and men who had been at sea for a year had their effect on the local populace both in terms of quality of life and gene pool additions.
We browsed the shops for a time and then discovered a small whaling museum on the second level. Inside are displays explaining measurement of earthquakes, pre volcanic expansion and scores of other details relating to volcanoes. Grasses and scrub trees had already started to cover the rock, attesting to its rich mineral content. We walked the damp tunnel and were mindful of the heat and energy that had created this natural wonder. The lunch was middling to poor, a€?slop the hogsa€? variety, and the place was crowded to the gunnels with tourists from everywhere. We didna€™t want to waste the lethargy so we repaired to our cabin for a delicious one-hour conversation with Mr. A humorous Hungarian waiter gave a knowledgeable and entertaining lesson on appreciating and purchasing Pinot Grigio, Fiume Blanc, Shiraz, a Mondavi coastal Merlot and Korbel champagne. We put aside our glass slippers and magical robes and surrendered to the sandman, happy to be here and with each other, someplace at sea in the vast pacific. The Dawn Princess proceeded South at a brisk 19 knot pace and we could espy nothing around us except for sky, wind and wave. The dining experience was delicious and consistent with the other elegant repasts we had enjoyed aboard the Dawn Princess. They must have gazed in wonder, even as we now did, at the full array of twinkling beauty that we now admired. We saw and talked to Kevin and Laura Hanley, a couple from Maywood New Jersey, whom we had met on the ship. I would never have thought of myself on a cruise like this, growing up in a working class section of Buffalo, New York. But, it is worth it three-fold for the pleasure that we experienced in this 5 star dining emporium.
The scent, on the ocean breeze, was pregnant with the healthy rot of tropical jungle just tweaking our nostrils. The Southern Hemisphere star show rose on the horizon and we looked up at these strange constellations for a time before heading back to our cabin to shower and prepare for dinner. English seems to be spoken by workers in the tourist industry, but is neither known nor spoken by most of the populace. We were confirmed admirera€™s of this artista€™s brilliantly colored renditions of Tahiti and her people. We browsed the shops, bought some bead necklaces for a few of the kids at home and enjoyed the color and commerce of a real market place. On the grounds of L'hotel de ville sits a large open-aired hut with a brown grass roof upon the large structure. Owney Madden grew up in the part of New York called Hella€™s Kitchen, and had been in the rackets since he was a kid, starting with one of its Irish gangs, The Gophers. He held a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other, and on the surface of the bar rested a silk top hat.
I hung up my hat and coat, opened the briefcase Owney had given me and gazed at the money again, then stashed it in the back of my closet. Then as I started thinking of him as a pudgy intellectual, he said something to Gene Tunney across the table about their boxing a few rounds at the Yale Club before coming to Cellaa€™s.
He and drummer Gene Krupa were from his band, but the others were colored musicians, cool Teddy Wilson on piano and excited Lionel Hampton on vibes, the first mixed group wea€™d seen. You can still see the large circular bases of the massive gun turrets rising just above the surface.
The Arizona, the West Virginia, the Oklahoma and the California all were caught in the initial barrage and either exploded or sunk. But the memories have followed me home from that haunting place in the beautiful Hawaiian sun. Maybe they too will discover the notion of gambling casinos and how they can fleece their lands back from us someday. We had a nice medley of shrimp, salmon and fruit for lunch as we took stock of our surroundings. First though, we headed for the Vista Lounge on deck 7 with our large orange life jackets for the mandatory lifeboat drill.
If you were topside, you were at the furthest end of the pendulum and felt the full range of the sway. This particular formation was called the a€?spouting horna€? for the noise and spray that exploded from it. Harpoons, scrimshaw (carved whale bone) abounded in small exhibits that told you everything you would ever want to know about whale blubber, whaling and the industry that surrounded it.
Golf courses, shopping, trendy restaurants and the finest white sand, that California could supply, make Ka€™anapali beach a comfortable and elegant escape from the everyday grind. Kilauea about 11 miles from and below us, but it was too difficult to get us safely near enough to view the phenomenon.
At the other end of the tunnel, we ascended a few sets of stairs and the hiked through the dense tropical rain forest to our bus, admiring the many varieties of plants and flowers everywhere around us. We finished quickly, browsed the cheap souvenir shops and then did a a€?Chevy Chasea€? outside looking at the scenery, before boarding the land cruiser to continue the tour. We chatted with Marty Bleckstein, the photographer from Maui, as we watched this spectacle and enjoyed her company. We read for a bit before drifting off to the roll of the ship-plowing forward, ever forward, to our exotic destination. It apparently has great medicinal effects but had a malodorous side effect that wrinkles the nose.
The traffic was both swift and steady as we walked the roads with their too narrow shoulders. Reportedly, the islander who owns the land you walk across to get there, charges a $2 levy on anyone crossing his land, capitalism in the tropics. Moorea is a gorgeous arboretum and botanical gardens that is a pleasure just to ride through and enjoy. We had also hoped to see the spectacular black sand beach and lighthouse at Point Venus, the Vaima Pearl Center and a few of the waterfalls cascading from Mt. He had to eat; and in all the world there are no steaks like the steaks Chris Cellini broils over an open fire with his own hands. Author: History of the New York Times, 1921, Times Have Changed, 1923, Ia€™ll Show You the Town, 1924, Friends of Mr. I loosened my tie, poured myself a stiff drink, and sat down beside a window a€” sat there a long time, the untasted drink in my hand, listening to it rain.
Anyone whoa€™d box Gene Tunney for funa€” I gave up, and went and got another drink myself.
Powell was a stockbroker down on his luck, plucked out of a hobo jungle to butler for the nuttiest family on Fifth Avenue. Most of the rest of the ship is an indefinite mass that lies below, a sepulcher to those who went down with her. Lastly, we walked through yet another line to pick up our cruise credentials and be scanned and have our carry ons searched yet again before walking up the gangway to the ship. This ship was to be at sea for twelve days in stretches of the Pacific where even the birds didna€™t fly. We watched for a time as the frothy turquoise sea crashed upon the eroded black lava formation. I sent some e-mails into cyber space from the 12th floor business center and Mary did some laundry in a small area near our room.
The surfers, divers and swimmers enjoyed their recreation while the sunbathers reveled in the warm hot Hawaiian sun.
The fissure here were more brittle, like shattered pottery in a huge black piles of hardened tar. We all posed for various pictures and decided to join each other for dinner in the Florentine room.
We then sunned on the aft section of deck 11, enjoying the steaming morning sun on our bodies. The natives say that as a reminder, the soldiers had left behind 100 children of mixed parentage.
The guide pointed out that all islanders who pass on are buried under small, roofed tombs in their front yards.
Small clumps of people would stand and talk animatedly under the shade of a tree or that of a buildinga€™s awning. A filet of salmon and baked Alaska for desert was all washed down with some decent cabernet. Staff New York Herald Tribune since 1929; writer, syndicated column a€?This New Yorka€? since 1933. 1919; professional boxer, 1919-1928, World Heavyweight Champ, 1926-28, a€?Fighter of the Year,a€? 1928, retired undefeated that year.
The Times called Lombarda€™s Irene a€?a one-track mind with grass growing over its rails,a€? but that was a damn sight better than her mean sister Cornelia. An armor-piercing bomb, from a Japanese dive-bomber, had pierced her forward magazine.The ship virtually exploded and sank in minutes on that fiery Sunday morning 62 years ago. We all paid attention to the crews explanation in the proper use of the jackets and tenders should an emergency arise.
We were tongue in cheek cautioned about removing lava samples, because Pele would bring us bad luck. Luckily for us, the rains had stopped for a few minutes to allow us this walk through the lava. It is these chance encounters with people from everywhere that make the cruise experience so enjoyable. I can now empathize with turtles and crocodiles for the languid pleasure of basking in the warm sun. They were an improbable pair that had been married for 26 years and they got along famously. It was nearing the end of the steamy summer season here (Dec.-April) The Spring season is reportedly much cooler. They waved shyly back at us and returned our greeting with a soft a€?bonjoura€? before scurrying away. Member Confrerie des Chevaliers du Tastevin, Wine & Food Society of America, Republican. It had a walker, with a red line though it, apparently warning people from walking across lava that had not yet cooled and risk being burned alive.
A refreshing dip in the small pool, in the health spa, felt wonderfully cooling after the 88-degree heat. We enjoyed chatting with the London kids this last time and were pleased that we had met them.
Burning oil, smoke, noise and confusion reigned for several hours that day until the attack ended.
I was enduring a bad head cold or I would have tried to mitigate the caloric onslaught as well. This light wine immediately took on a much fruitier and fuller taste to some chemical transfer or other. We didna€™t think it odd to see the well-tended graves in the front yards of the prosperous looking homes. The local school had let out for lunch and the kids were walking the roads like kids everywhere. They had an early flight out tomorrow morning and a lay over in Los Angeles, before the long flight back to Heathrow in London. Founded, with Cleon Throckmorton, Hoboken Theatrical Co., 1928, producing revivals of a€?After Dark,a€? a€?The Black Crook,a€? etc. We had shared the experience with Lynn and her father Peter from London and two Torontonians, Judy and Paul. We also neither saw nor encountered beggars or pan handlers of any kind during our stay on the island. Guggenheim Fellow, League of Nations, Geneva, 1928-29, dir., Geneva office, League of Nations Assoc. Seven World Trade Center was not actually on the same plot of land as the rest of the World, Trace Center complex. Inside, several bars and galleries led to the central three story, open well that extends from deck 5 to deck 8.
A huge waterfall, far in the distance, gave testimony to the force of the winds this high up.
The shipa€™s two formal restaurants, several boutiques, the casino and other small cafes all opened off of this central court.
It is resplendent in gleaming glass and shining brass with marble staircases and open glass elevators. We did our a€?Chevy Chasea€? and appreciated the beauty of the a€?Grand Canyon of the Pacifica€? as Mark Twain had once called it.



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