Wednesday, November 6, 2019

The Man Who Won't Go Away

It's important to see the documentary, Where's My Roy Cohn? The late disbarred lawyer started out representing possibly the most evil person of the '50s, Sen. Joseph McCarthy, and then had a lengthy series of rich crooks, fixers, and rotters as clients for the next few decades. One of the reviews of this film suggested that the key question we should be asking is: Why did the rich and famous not only hire him but socialize with him, knowing how evil he was?

Of course, Tony Kushner made him the leading figure in his superb Angels in America and showed him as who he really was: a closeted homosexual who had persecuted other gay men. In many ways, he was the evil genius with few redeeming attributes. Even the many who despised him acknowledged his smarts: he knew how to use the law for his purposes. I recall reading an account in the NYU Law Review about how several public interest cases were litigated. In one of them, he represented the bad guys and his performance was a demonstration of how to use the law to delay and obfuscate.

He's most relevant today--many years after his death in 1986--because he was the early mentor of our current President when the latter was learning the real estate business. Cohn taught him never to apologize, always to fight back harder than he had been hit, and to lie and cheat as necessary. Amazingly, it looks like the title of this film reflects his difficulty in finding a mouthpiece as skilled and effective as Cohn was. In another profile of Cohn, in Esquire some years ago, one observer said that Cohn was the lawyer you wanted when your case looked like a sure loser, because he had just about invented the hardball style of litigation.

He had been a prosecutor on the Rosenberg case and his statement in a TV interview years after it showed his propensity to lie. It has become clear that Julius Rosenberg was guilty and that Ethel Rosenberg was not, but was prosecuted and executed in a futile attempt to "turn" Julius. It's also important to add that their espionage was hardly "the crime of the century," in J. Edgar Hoover's phrase, because Klaus Fuchs had already given the Soviets all the secrets they needed to build an atomic bomb. Cohn said in the interview that "we had tons more evidence against Ethel Rosenberg that we didn't even need to use," an obvious lie that is rendered even more despicable because he was communicating ex parte with the trial judge to encourage him to impose the death penalty.

The film is worth seeing to remind us that sharpsters like Cohn do get away with their crimes. Yes, he was disbarred at the end and he suffered a somewhat painful decline and death from AIDS. But he was something of a social lion in New York, and was welcomed as a lawyer and friend by the highest figures in the Catholic Church in the city. Cohn should be featured in the new law school ethics courses (which we never had when I was in law school) as the clearest horrible example of how a lawyer can use every skill and technique to succeed in defending the worst among us. Everyone is entitled to be represented, but we've rarely seen someone who spent an entire career protecting the rich and evil and oppressing those who hoped to find justice in our justice system. 

Saturday, November 2, 2019

Huzzas for Chopin's Second Concerto

Tonight we enjoyed hearing at Kennedy Center in D.C. the National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Krzysztof Urbanski play Chopin's Second Piano Concerto, with Lise de la Salle, the pianist. This was the third and last performance of this concert, which had not yet been reviewed in the Washington Post. The concerto itself is wonderful and the presentation by Mlle de la Salle and the NSO under Maestro Urbanski was magnificent.

Not being familiar with any Chopin compositions other than his piano works, which is a little bit like saying not knowing much about Verdi except his operas (ok, there's the Requiem, of course, and the quartet, which remains sort of an oddity), this concerto was a revelation and this pianist excited listeners and us as much as last year when I heard Daniil Trifonov playing Schumann and other piano challenges with much panache.

Chopin of course was the soloist in the 1830 premiere, and the piano soloist's part contains about every type of piano virtuoso element. It kept your interest without being either repetitive or merely pyrotechnical. It was entirely different in style, but still the bravura effect of the performance reminded me of the wonderful recording of Vladimir Horowitz playing the fantastic and famous Chopin Polonaise in A-flat Major.

The remainder of the concert featured Graznya Bacewicz's Overture for Orchestra written in 1943 which was brief (six minutes) and held interest as well as being enjoyable. The last section of the program after intermission was Tchaikovsky's Fourth. I hadn't heard it before but the one part that was more than pleasant was the second movement with its two great themes. This movement will be instantly familiar to you as one of those Greatest Moments in Music pieces, but that shouldn't diminish the delight it inspires. 

The rest of the symphony seemed mainly bombastic and repetitive to me, except for the third movement's pizzicato which sounded like nothing I had ever heard before and was definitely something worth hearing for the first time. Consider all the strings playing quite an extended section of purely pizzicato with none of the rest of the orchestra included for most of this scherzo movement.


Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Dedicating the Res Club Memorial at Cornell



After 52 years, Cornell has recognized the nine members of the university community who died in the Cornell Heights Residential Club fire—eight students and one faculty member—with a well-designed memorial placed centrally on the campus between Sage Chapel and Day Hall.

One member of our class, Anne Catherine McCormic ‘67, was among the deceased, and another, Sherry Carr ’67 ’70 MILR, delivered one of two reflections at the dedication ceremony at the memorial site on October 4. Both were senior women, who resided on the second, which was the top, floor of the Res Club.

Most people at Cornell then only were aware that 60 freshmen were living on the two lower floors: they had been recruited for the Ford Foundation-funded Six-Year-PhD program. But women in our class who learned about the housing opportunity, at a time when living on campus was severely limited for undergraduate women, occupied the rooms on the top floor, along with several female graduate students.

All, except for Anne McCormic, managed to be rescued by first responders and other residents who used ladders to reach the windows after those trying to escape punched out the screens. Those living on the lower floors either got out through a back door (on the lowest level) or through the windows on the first floor at street level.

The Tompkins County District Attorney’s Office has never initiated criminal proceedings in the case. Until recently, Cornell University did not allow any scrutiny of its archives and records relating to the fire. Our class’s 50th Reunion Book, published in 2017, featured an article by one of the ’67 survivors, Judith Adler Hellman, who recalled what happened that night and also analyzed what has been described as a cover-up by Cornell. Subsequently, the New York Times ran a long piece examining what it could find out about the case.

Cornell President Martha Pollack delivered opening remarks at the dedication of the memorial, acknowledging that “[F]or too long, all of you have felt unheard and your memories unacknowledged. No one can take away the pain of what you experienced. But what we can do is hear your stories and become accustomed, become the custodians of your memories with this memorial, which will remain here in the heart of campus for as long as the University stands.”

In her reflections, Sherry Carr described McCormic, who was one of her roommates and was enrolled in what was then the School of Home Economics during her time at Cornell, as a “dynamo” and observed that “earlier administrations” had refused to recognize the need to honor those who were lost in the fire or resolve the issue of its origin.

The case was complicated by the University’s admitted negligence in failing to observe fire codes in the building, which lacked fire doors, sprinklers, and other standard protective requirements. Subsequent investigations by the New York State Police, fire marshals, and other authorities have reached inconsistent conclusions as to whether an accelerant, which is a fire-causing substance, was detected on the Res Club premises.

One speaker at the reception in the Straight Browsing Library, which followed the dedication, mentioned the name of a former Cornell student whom many of the survivors, and their families and friends, believe started the fire and is living under an assumed name. Others have said that they don’t expect any legal cases—civil or criminal—to be brought unless the District Attorney’s Office ever decides to proceed or Cornell issues a finding regarding the fire’s cause.

Both of these possible outcomes are regarded as unlikely to occur, although the District Attorney’s Office regards the fire as an open case.

The memorial reads “In memory of nine vibrant and brilliant young scholars who died in a tragic fire at the Cornell Heights Residential Club on April 5, 1967,” then lists the names of the deceased and concludes: “Their families, friends, classmates, colleagues, and the entire Cornell community promise to never forget them.”

Monday, October 14, 2019

Mockingbird and Tootsie

Is it still possible to approach To Kill A Mockingbird without bringing the immense baggage that the title now carries all these years after becoming perhaps the most significant novel of the second half of the 20th century? Watching Aaron Sorkin's highly effective adaptation for the stage this weekend at New York's Shubert Theater leads me to conclude that the answer is yes. This is because the underlying subject--race--remains a major part of our culture and because the leading character--Atticus Finch, the lawyer who accepts a court appointment and believes he can achieve justice--is still compelling.

Last year a sequel to the famous novel by Harper Lee was published posthumously amid questions regarding both its provenance and its quality. It apparently (I haven't read it) presents Atticus as somewhat less than the saint portrayed in the renowned movie by Gregory Peck. Despite his proclamations in the movie (and original novel) that justice can be achieved and times have changed in the Deep South, the sequel suggests that he was more conflicted and wasn't in favor of change coming too quickly.

Even without that added input, however, the current rendition is moving and inspiring, while providing excellent characterizations through outstanding performances by the entire cast. The set design and production are excellent, reflecting traditional Broadway standards. Jeff Daniels may well give us a fairer portrayal of Atticus than the majestic Peck. My only complaint was not the appropriately strong Southern accents but the players' tendency to drop the ends of sentences or project them toward the side or rear of the stage.

Sorkin has managed to capture the novel's powerful impact even though by this time, most of us are familiar with the plot and many of the characters. In the end, Mockingbird stands as a formidable picture of our times because it confronts its challenging subject so well, showing all the different angles and impacts it has on each character.

On a lighter note, I was mightily surprised to enjoy the musical Tootsie so completely. My recollection of the Dustin Hoffman movie is now vague so I had no problem accepting the talented Santino Fontana in the title role. The book here is clever and often uproariously funny. That to me may be why this musical captured the Tony award for best musical. Others in the cast are also excellent: Sarah Stiles as the lead's ex-girlfriend performs what could easily be a Gilbert & Sullivan patter song with great spirit and charm.

The whole topic of men dressing as women to save a thus-far dead-end career is now freighted with our current battleground of sexual politics and culture. Even so, this show demonstrates that there's still room for enjoyment of clever lines and lyrics, accompanied by imaginative music. My weekend included these two exciting evenings in the theater--and even more, the weather in New York was palmy and pleasant. It remains challenging to walk through Times Square either before or after showtime, and that's as it should be.

Friday, August 30, 2019

Pavarotti Sings Again

The movie  Pavarotti captures the sheer delight that Luciano Pavarotti inspired during his career as the reigning tenor of his times. The film is a documentary of sorts directed by Ron Howard, who has already succeeded in a second career as a director following his acting days, when, most memorably he played Andy Griffith's son in the TV series of the 60s.

It reminded me of just how fantastic Pavarotti was. His voice was absolutely beautiful and he seemed adept in using it to give extra quality to the famous operatic arias he sang. He first appeared of course in his native Italy and then Covent Garden. When he came to the Met in the early 70s, he costarred with Joan Sutherland, the Australian soprano who made singing bel canto scales and trills as easy as he made the great challenges of the tenor repertory.

We saw them in a grand performance of Donizetti's The Daughter of the Regiment, a show-off bauble that exists today, or should exist, to be revived only when singers of the calibre of Sutherland and Pavarotti are available. Sure, there are nine High Cs for the tenor and likely a similar challenge for the soprano, but the special appeal of this duo was the ease with which they appeared to produce these amazing sounds. No one wants to see a singer show the difficulty of performing these arias; Pavarotti always seemed to be holding notes for amazing lengths and Sutherland negotiated the exposed coloratura of Lucia di Lammermoor's Mad Scene without seeming to try.

The reason I called the film a documentary of sorts is that it mostly presents a wholly positive view of Luciano. Even his affair with a far younger woman in his later years, which led to his divorce from the mother of three of his children, is treated sympathetically--while pointing out that this did diminish his popularity in Italy, his first wife seemed understanding about what happened. I also chuckled about the omission of his disastrous solitary venture into starring in a movie.

But the high point of the picture is definitely the famous Three Tenors concert in the Baths of Caracalla in Rome on the eve of the World Cup football (soccer) final. Aside from the gorgeous singing, what is most enjoyable is the sheer joy that Pavarotti, Domingo, and Carreras, along with Zubin Mehta, exuded while producing incredibly wonderful music. The indulgence of those three magnificent voices doing O Sole Mio was complemented by their extraspecial rendition of Nessun Dorma

There were shots and snippets of Caruso, but although Caruso's fame was heightened by his making some of the first recordings, the somewhat limited quality of those early preserved sounds couldn't compare with modern technology. There was also a clip of DiStefano, who also came off as a lesser singer. It probably would have been the same with others--Gigli, Bjoerling, Martinelli--and we'll never really know how they would stack up with Pavarotti, Domingo, and Carreras.

I also learned from the film. I had never credited Pavarotti with his knowledge of singing technique derived from his two excellent teachers. To me, he just seemed to be a natural, needing no training, but that wasn't true. He had worked hard to be able to perform at the exceedingly high level he achieved. The film included many of his most famous and favorite operatic pieces and reminded me of just how extraordinary he was. We were so fortunate to be able to hear him in person and also on recordings and on television for all those years.


Thursday, August 8, 2019

Funny Man Not So Funny

Just finished reading a bio given to me as a present, Funny Man, by Patrick McGilligan, which is about Mel Brooks. It definitely holds your interest and even provides a laugh or two every so often. But while Brooks, still kicking in his early 90s, does not fit the sad clown-comedian profile perhaps most famously depicted in Leoncavallo's always delightful opera, I Pagliacci, the story does bear a resemblance to Billy Crystal's film, Mr. Saturday Night.

I always enjoyed Brooks's movies because he tended to push at the edges of being outrageous. The bio confirms that he only succeeded in producing top-flite films a few times. To me, The Producers will always stand apart, and I mean the original movie, not the musical, which I've not seen (the film of the musical did not get the raves received by the stage version). One reason it was so good was the perfect casting--Zero Mostel, Gene Wilder, Dick Shawn, Kenneth Mars. 

Young Frankenstein, which I hadn't known was Gene Wilder's conception, had great moments, again with players including Wilder, Marty Feldman, Peter Boyle, and Madeline Kahn making it work. And "The Inquisition" number in History of the World--Part I, performed by Brooks, offends a whole lot of people with panache and severely black humor.

He did produce 12 films altogether, not that many for a long career and there are other episodes in movies I've never seen in full, like the great song-and-dance scene in his re-make of To Be or Not to Be, where he and wife Anne Bancroft perform "Sweet Georgia Brown" in Polish. His marriage to Bancroft, which lasted more than 40 years until her death, was his second and seems to be one of the few really happy aspects of his life. 

It's also highly satisfying to compare Bancroft's career--always a fantastic actress, who was recognized as such, and who wisely kept her career separate from Brooks's until that song and dance late in both of their stories. One of the most moving events I read about for the first time was that Paul Simon sang "Mrs. Robinson" with acoustic guitar at a memorial for Bancroft at the Shubert Theater. She had many great roles but that's the one most will remember.

And last but definitely first, is the routine developed as a party piece by Carl Reiner, the perfect straight man (also still going strong, at 97), and Brooks--The 2,000-Year-Old Man, which provided Brooks with a continuing source of support--emotional as well as, ultimately, financial. Brooks always had limitations as a performer, eventually learned to direct without having to terrorize everyone on the set, and even had to get educated in writing comedy when he started out barely out of his teens as the junior on one of the greatest assemblage of writers ever--the gang that created Your Show of Shows starring Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. 

To me, what the book leaves you with is the recognition that Brooks missed enjoying much of his colorful career because he was so focused on making money. Many of his projects did not rake in profits, which of course is a sad truth prevailing in show business. But the story is full of occasions where he stiffed people and was chintzy when he didn't have to be, including to the three children from his first marriage.

It's encouraging that in his later years Brooks acknowledged that he had sacrificed a lot of enjoyment--especially with his children by his first marriage--by focusing almost entirely on his work. It's an object lesson because in many ways,he maximized a bunch of mid-range abilities--writing, singing, directing, producing--with the amazing comic inspiration of a truly great clown. It didn't always appear but we should be grateful for the handful of absolutely hilarious occasions when it did.




Thursday, July 18, 2019

Stevens and Elephants

Justice Stevens was one of the finest members of the Supreme Court ever because he was likely the last to approach every case with an open mind. He came to the bench from a privileged background and an antitrust practice with a major law firm. Of course, his family had suffered during the Depression when their hotel business failed and his grandfather and uncle went to early deaths and his father was imprisoned for fraud. That his father was later exonerated and freed did not erase the experience from the teenage son's consciousness.

Gerald Ford, who had been a partisan minority leader in the House and will be remembered for the disgraceful Nixon pardon, which at least cost him election to the Presidency, did act presidentially with regard to this Supreme Court appointment. Then-Judge (7th Circuit) Stevens's name was advanced by Sen. Charles Percy of Illinois, the kind of moderate Republican with a strong business background who no longer exists, and cleared by Ford's finest appointment, the distinguished former Dean of the University of Chicago law school and President of that university, Attorney-General Edward Levi. He was confirmed, 98-0, in those calmer times.

Stevens did strike observers when he was appointed as likely to follow a center-right trajectory on the court. Instead, his bow ties signaled someone who was independent if not maverick. He seemed to take each case as it came, without a prefixed position. This country has always been more tolerant of far-right positions than far-left ones: Stevens was in reality a moderate; he has been described as a liberal because our media and politicians have moved the center so far to the right. His mentor, Wiley Rutledge, for whom he clerked, was a liberal. So was William O. Douglas. We haven't had any on the court since then.

But some justices have demonstrated a willingness to change their world views. Earl Warren had been a solid conservative when Attorney-General and Governor of California. Now, it is hard to believe he was the Republican nominee for Vice President in 1948. He evolved or, more probably, was able to act on his long-held personal outlook when he joined the court. So did Stevens. He even did what hardly any of them have ever done, before or since: he acknowledged that some of his earlier decisions had been wrong.

I see his dissents in Bush v. Gore and in the Heller 2nd Amendment case as his shining moments. If you read his dissent in Heller, it destroys the spurious historical justifications Scalia managed to convince four ignorant colleagues to accept. The Bush v. Gore decision was fraudulent the moment it appeared and will haunt us by its naked power grab in inflicting someone who had not clearly won the election on us as President. Until now, he was the worst to hold that office.

A story in last Sunday's New York Times Magazine convinced me to change, as it happens. It described in fascinating detail how keeping elephants in captivity, much less having them perform, is entirely alien to their nature and, it has now become clear, their very continued existence. This is not a conclusion that I arrived at easily. I always enjoyed the circus and I've found animal rights a dubious legal concept.

Having put the circus out of business--yes, some small ones persist but Ringling Brothers' fall truly sounded the death knell for this ancient survivor in the show-business world--the animal rights movement turned its attack machine on the zoos. This article showed clearly that the zoos have ignored doing the right thing, which would be to support and lead a movement to enable elephants to endure in their natural habitat. Instead, they have connived to evade export bans to increase their entertainment values by exhibiting elephants. Even if I'm still skeptical of animal rights as a legal theory, I do hate to see animals mistreated. The elephant story shows that the zoos have behaved abysmally and deserve condemnation.

Wednesday, July 3, 2019

Baseball, Art & Rock'N'Roll

Recently spent several days in Cleveland more or less at large. Had been there before--ages ago for a wedding and a few years previously when I visited the then-new Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. This time it was a pleasant outing to Progressive (née Jacobs) Field to see the Tribe host the Reds--an intrastate battle but in a non-existent rivalry, because these ancient franchises hardly ever played each other before the relatively recent inter-league era, as they were always in different leagues.

It was a fine afternoon for baseball, not too hot, sun shining. Lots of memories revived by various monuments both in a "legacy park" and around the stadium to famous Indians. Unlike at my home park, hot dog vendors circulate through the stands and the house mustard is excellent, sharp and tangy. Indians fell to Reds, in last place in their division. Indians are in 2d, 10 games out, and lost twice in a row last week to Orioles, 13-0 each time.

A good part of re-visiting the Rock'n'Roll museum is that they keep changing the exhibits, and not just for each year's new entrants, although they get plenty of attention. A half-hour video showed how just about every significant performer appeared at least once on Dick Clark's American Bandstand, which I recall watching in the 50s in black-and-white at my cousins' in Philly. Dick Clark was a graduate of my hometown high school and seeing this reminded me of the immense charm he exuded as well as his programming skill. 

Enjoyed a filling dinner at Sokolowki's restaurant, a venerable Polish establishment where we were invited to join a large cohort. Lots of sports pix on the walls, and I did spot Jim Brown's and Bob Feller's as well as--less predictably--Ted Williams, but missed seeing Hank Majeski, who may well have been there, as he should have been.

The Cleveland Museum of Art is major league all the way. An amazingly eclectic collection--from ancient Greek and Egyptian to excellent paintings from just about every era. Not only was the museum clearly a product of old money, much like the St. Louis Art Museum, but the curators through the years showed a lot of perspicacity in their selecting the art. Good representation of American art, too, from colonial to American impressionists to abstract and current. 

We passed up a boat ride on Lake Erie because a storm was coming and those who sailed returned to a torrent. I don't think I've ever gone on one of these excursions--usually, as this one was, organized by conventions--where the comestibles offered were any good. We ducked out after negotiating the dinner line, which led us to conclude that escape was the best route.

Tuesday, June 4, 2019

Giverny and Bayeux

In addition to visiting the beaches and the cemetery and St. Mere Eglise and Arromanches a week before the 75th anniversary of D-Day, we managed to see a lot of Normandy. Bayeux is the town closest to the beaches but it's best known for the Bayeux Tapestry, really an embroidery, which tells the story of the last successful invasion in the other direction, of England in 1066 by William the Conquerer. (He obviously undertook that campaign to acquire a new name to replace William the Bastard.)

The Tapestry tells the whole story, from the Norman point of view, of course. It ranks as perhaps the first example of propaganda but is absolutely fascinating in its almost cartoon-like appearance. It of course is amazing that it has endured almost a millenium. Bayeux is a charming town, almost entirely spared from the ravages of the World War II fighting. 

Mont St. Michel is the prime turisto spot in Normandy, and it's in Normandy by a hair, across the way from Brittany. The abbey atop the rock on the island that until a decade or so ago was separated from the mainland every high tide remains fascinating and a geographic and historical anomaly. Honfleur is another largely unwrecked town that was spared because its harbor, a mainstay of French sea trade in the 1500s, was no longer viable. Le Havre, the major port across the Seine, was 95% destroyed. It has a nice museum given by the painter Eugene Boudin, who drew wonderful pictures of beaches and clouds, as well  serving as a mentor for Monet, who started his career there.

Giverny is where Claude Monet moved in 1883 and established both his house and marvelous gardens. Today, it is a prime spot to visit, although the original red Japanese bridge recognizable from many Monet canvases, has been replaced. But when we were there, the nympheas--water lilies--were in bloom, along with toitally glorious irises and many other flowers. It is the ultimate artist's garden and Monet took full advantage of it.

Deauville remains a tony resort and its adjacent neighbor, Trouville, has much more of a raffish tone with its blocks of wonderful bistros. It was good to learn that it was the first spot Marcel Proust visited on this coast, as the one major omission in my trip was getting (or not getting) to Cabourg, which apparently was the model for Balbec in the second volume of In Search of Lost Time, where Marcel meets Albertine.

Normandy is famous for apples and Calvados, butter and cheese, viz., Camembert, Pont L'Eveque, and Livarot, and perhaps most relevantly for dining: fish and seafood. The seafood restaurants are the places to go and so we went. Platters of oysters and mussels and whelks and shrimp as well as homard (lobster) and langoustines. Good cod and raie (skate) and probably as excellent fish and chips as are obtainable across la Manche (the English Channel).


Wednesday, May 29, 2019

In Advance of D-Day

We spent yesterday rediscovering D-Day in Normandy a week ahead of the 75th anniversary celebrations. The sheer audacity of the operation comes clearer from the vista of Utah Beach, our first stop on the visit and the most successful aspect of the U.S. attack on June 6, 1944.

The many memorials and stories reminded me of Gettysburg, the pivotal battle in an earlier war. So many individuals contributed to the success of the assault, and everyone, in those wonderful pre-social media days, kept their mouths closed long enough for the surprise critical to the amphibious surge's working. 

It also is stirring to visit St. Mere Eglise, the nearby village which still reveres the two American airborne divisions that freed the place from the Germans. The amazing story of the paratrooper who got caught on the church spire is still commemorated by a figure and parachute cloth atop the steeple. 

These were the days when we all pulled together: "the last good war" as it was often labelled. Brig. Gen. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., who died a few days after the landing of a heart attack, was the only general to actually lead his unit from the landing craft onto the beach and onward. He had despised and opposed FDR, who returned the dislike, largely because TR Jr. apparently felt that as Teddy's oldest son, he deserved to be the family's favorite. Interestingly, Teddy had gotten on warmly with FDR, as both admired each other's abilities. But TR Jr. went out a hero and did the right thing: when his unit's landing craft landed 1.5 km away from the target site, he immediately adapted the plans and helped ensure the success at Utah.

You can feel the anticipation of next week's celebration, minus the crowds and the road closures and all the security for the big names who will be here then. The memorials enable you to remember that this battle hinged on everyone doing his part. The man from Nebraska who designed the landing craft in New Orleans and managed to convince the Navy to buy it made a bundle and later lost it all--he's remembered on a memorial, as are the engineers who lost their lives clearing the way for the troops through mined waters.

Somehow the U.S., Britain, and Canada managed to function as a team to pull this off. Montgomery and Patton, inevitably at loggerheads later, both contributed, as did so many others, from generals to privates. Roosevelt chose well with Eisenhower, who kept this alliance together and even managed to handle Churchill, who saw himself as a grand strategist.

In our current world, the experience of seeing where D-Day happened is invigorating. Things can go right and governments can work together and accomplish great things when their leaders are capable, as they were then. Some day we may see their like again.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Oslo Redux

We went to see the play Oslo which was presented here in  D.C. by Round House Theater at the Lansburgh downtown, the older home of the Shakespeare Theatre Company. I'd seen the play in New York and have appended my comments then from this space below this entry. Eileen needed to see the show especially because of its focus on mediation technique.

The cast here played well, although I felt the production lacked the sharpness of the Lincoln Center version. Everyone had fewer hard edges: for example, the Israeli official who is first sent in response to the demand for an upgraded presence came onto the Beaumont stage in a black leather jacket and exemplified the image of the tough character replacing the two accommodating academics who had initiated the discussions with the PLO finance minister and another high-level Palestinian. Here, he seemed like a usual pleasant diplomatic type. I also thought the leading man, the Norwegian academic-think tank leader who gets this all started, was played a bit too hammily.

But the play still packs a punch and is always worth seeing. There are few plays other than the classics that I could stand seeing more than once, but this proved to be one of them.

Here's my comments in this space a couple of years ago in April 2017:

Oslo

Managed to get to see the remarkable play, Oslo, at the Vivian Beaumont, Lincoln Center, when in New York last weekend. I had heard of two of the leads, Jefferson Mays and Jennifer Ehle, before but not much and not anything about the others in this excellent ensemble cast. The play is based on how two Norwegians with foreign policy backgrounds initiated and facilitated the talks between Israelis and Palestinians that led to the Oslo Accords in the 1990s.

Mays plays a policy think-tank head who has met leading Palestinians and Israelis through his contacts in the foreign policy world. One is the finance minister of the P.L.O. and the other is a right-hand man of Shimon Peres, the legendary Israeli politician who was described upon his death last year as the last of the Israeli founders.

He manages, with the help of his wife, an official in the Norwegian foreign ministry, to bring these Israelis and Palestinians to Norway to meet. (Later, when they warm to each other, they agree that it was a shame they had ended up meeting in Norway: "It's so cold!"). But his approach proves successful: he places the men in a room together and does not join them to facilitate, mediate, or try to drive a bargain. Instead, he wants them to speak directly to the other and he makes sure they are plied with superb local cooking
.
It works. There are further meetings and eventually, Israel upgrades its representative and finally, a Washington lawyer is brought in to ice the deal in precise terms that Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister, will approve. Although it all seems likely to collapse at any moment, all persevere and the Oslo Accords are signed off by both sides, in Washington, despite the steady dismissal of the American efforts to broker a deal through traditional interventionist tactics.

The performances and the play are both top-notch. It is a thrilling experience to see this play which captures why this unusual event occurred. At the end, each character states what happened to him or her after the Accords were agreed to, and many had unfortunate ends. So did the Accords, rendered mostly ineffective when Israel's government turned to the right after the rightist assassination of Rabin.

Aside from its dramatic power, the play and its performers convince you of what might have been.

There's Always Tosca

Last week at the Washington National Opera's dress rehearsal of its new production of Puccini's Tosca,  I realized why this story turned out to be perfect for opera while it comes up short as a play, which it originally started out as.  The events in the plot are so out-sized as to be over the top for anything less than opera. But they are also perfect as a backdrop to some glorious singing.

Washington Opera put together a nice production with a cast of good singers who haven't been heard here before. Keri Alkema was a good Floria Tosca, the diva of the title. She's even a graduate of the opera's Young Artists Training program. This is one of those rare operas where the soprano plays an opera star--I think Andrea Lecouvrer is an quite lesser-known other example. Riccardo Massi, making his debut with the company, was a solid-voiced Cavaradossi, the tenor and her lover. 

Veteran Alan Held, who specializes in all kinds of operatic villains, having sung Hagen in Wagner's Goetterdaemerrung, plays a properly evil Scarpia. I had not remembered how big his part was. Held started out a bit low-powered but rose to the demands of the role in the crucial second act.

Everyone else is at a secondary level, including Wei Wu as the Sacristan, a traditional role for the indulgent over-acting that Puccini seems to expect from some oif his roles.

Tosca is famous for Puccini's use of chords, especially the dark ones that always symbolize Scarpia's presence or looming nearness. I've always regarded it as significantly different from Puccini's other major works, such as Boheme and Butterfly, because of the chords and the sheer drama, or perhaps more accurately, melodrama.

However, it provides wonderful occasions for good singers: Tosca's famed vissi d'arte ("I have lived for art")in the second act before she plunges the knife into Scarpia and Cavaradossi's e lucevan le stelle ("the stars were shining") in the last act, which offers the tenor a chance to shine in his recollection of his meeting Tosca. 

My favorite memory of this opera is seeing a clip in a video bio of Maria Callas after she sings vissi d'arte and murders Scarpia, when she lights the candles and places them around him, creating a bier, and in so very formal fashion, walks off with her dignity intact. When it's done well, this is a delightful operatic experience, and it was done well at this dress rehearsal, led by conductor Speranza Scappucci.,



Friday, May 3, 2019

Philadelphia Story

I worked one summer for a law firm in Philadelphia and I've been going there all my life to visit family and friends, but it seems as if I don't get there all that often. Philly is a city which does not ballyhoo its pluses. The classic way they refer to their great institutions--The Orchestra, The Art Museum, The University--is one indication of the reluctance they have to boast about any of these. In addition, in the past few decades, it has become a top-notch restaurant town. 

Last weekend, we spent part of Saturday there, starting with a visit to the Art Museum, which had assembled its Impressionist collection into one major exhibit. Since the collection is first-rate, it was a wonderful show: plenty of renowned French Impressionists along with some who are not so famous but superb. It was what I sometimes call as "British Museum show," where a museum puts together an exhibit by taking objects from its own collections, or especially, from its storerooms. 

Some years ago, I went there to see what was labelled "a small Vermeer" that was lent to the museum for a few months. It was shown in one of the museum's galleries of Dutch paintings and the only indication that this was something special in that small gallery was the number of visitors gathered in front of the Vermeer. When his "The Milkmaid" was lent to the Met museum a few years ago, the Met took a slightly different approach. They exhibited the painting with related ones by contemporaries, and then accompanied it with a chart showing a photo or reproduction of every Vermeer extant in the world--about 32, I believe--and a note indicating where each painting was located.

We dined at a new restaurant called Libertine which was excellent and a few blocks from the Kimmel Center, where the concert was. The menu was imaginative and they even had a pre-theatre special. We shared the four desserts that came with our specials. They too were special and I doubt we would have ordered them had they not been included. 

The concert featured Schumann's Piano Concerto and Beethoven's Eroica symphony. Opening the program was the overture from Weber's Der Freischutz. I thought The Orchestra played well, very sharp and clear. I learned the next day from a review in the Inquirer that the encore that the pianist, Jonathan Biss, had played was a well-known (though not to me) short piece by Schumann. Both the critic and the audience loved it. The critic found some fine points in the performance where he felt the musicians should work on.

We lucked out in that a guest conductor cancelled so we heard the Orchestra's music director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conduct. The audience clearly loves him, and he seemed very much on target during the concert. To my surprise, I liked the Schumann more than the Beethoven. I guess I really enjoy the 7th and the 9th the most. The Weber was enjoyable, as his overtures always are and have thus been on musical programs always, unlike his operas, which only now are being revived here.

There was so much we didn't get to do. We missed a good exhibit at the Penn Museum, where the archaeological contents are drawn from the many fascinating objects brought back by the many expeditions sponsored by the museum. I'm not sure whether the Phillies were in town but they now have a powerhouse lineup; we wouldn't have had time to go, anyway. There's the Barnes and the Rodin and the National Museum of American Jewish History, too. And seeing basketball in one of the best halls for it: Penn's Palestra.

And then there are my favorite old haunts: Bassett's ice cream in the Reading Terminal Market, one of the cheese-steak emporia in South Philly, Smokey Joes's--the classic Penn bar now way out on 40th St. to which Penn has now extended, Fairmount Park. We passed the places I remember on South Broad--the old Academy of Music, the Bellevue, and the Union League, where I was taken to lunch when I worked at the law firm and when I mostly believed they would throw me out when they found out I was a Democrat. 


Saturday, April 27, 2019

Lady in the Dark

There was a time in the history of American musical theatre when not only were music and story integrated so that the songs moved the plot ahead--the classic instance being Rodgers and Hammerstein's initial collaboration, Oklahoma--but some went further. While musicals had a significant past in operetta, mostly in the first twenty years of the 20th century, some in the 30s and 40s began to range into what had until then been operatic realms.

Porgy and Bess remains the most significant example. To this day, argument persists as to whether it is really an opera or a musical. Answer: it's both, because Gershwin's genius drew on folk music and jazz as well as other musical and cultural sources to produce an inimitable masterpiece. Kurt Weill also looked in this direction. His Street Scene has usually been performed by opera companies and The Threepenny Opera, for which his librettist was Bertholt Brecht, thrives in a place all its own.

Last night, enjoying the middle of three performances at City Center in New York of a revival of Weill's Lady in the Dark showed how composers, writers, and directors were exploring new ways of expanding the musical stage. When Moss Hart met with Weill to discuss his idea for a musical play that dealt with a woman executive's effort to deal with depression through psychoanalysis, neither was interested "in doing a how for the sake of doing a show..and the tight little formula of the musical comedy stage held no interest for either of us."

As the director and conductor Ted Sperling points out in his note in the program, Lady in the Dark was structured to fit its subject: "At a time when musicals were experimenting with linking songs and scenes more tightly, Lady in the Dark does the opposite--it segregates the music to the fantasy world." There's a lot going on here--and at the finale, the music does expand out of the fantasy world into what looks to be the core of the story.

It's a marvelous show. The credit Hart and Weill deserve is shared with the great lyricist Ira Gershwin, whose participation in the 1941 show was his first in any theatrical project following the untimely death in 1938 of his greatest collaborator, his brother George. Gertrude Lawrence was the original lead. Today we may have difficulty grasping how her incredible charm seduced audiences who paid little attention to his very constrained vocal range and technique. She went on to great success in The King and I, which she headlined until shortly before her death.

This show progresses through three dream sequences, all with spectacular production, choreography, and music. Victoria Clark, playing Liza Elliot, the focal character, performs admirably and has a delightful voice. Everyone else is excellent, including the veteran Amy Irving in the somewhat thankless role of the analyst.

Two famous songs come near the end: "Tschaikowsky," a perfect show-off piece for the talents of Danny Kaye, and "The Saga of Jenny," where Weill's sprightly music and Gershwin's clever lyrics take off, Another earlier song, "One Life to Live," also should be familiar.

It's a wonderful show, whether or not you are enthralled with psychoanalysis. It presents some good plot complications and the MasterVoices company brought it off with panache. Some Encores productions have moved to Broadway for limited runs, including Finian's Rainbow, which I saw a few years ago. This production at City Center was in the spirit of the Encores ones, but was wholly its own thing. Even the credits showed some style: gowns for the female dancers courtesy of Radio City Music Hall, tuxedos for male dancers by Brooks Brothers.

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Burn This

I've liked Lanford Wilson's plays although it's been some time since I saw one until catching Burn This in New York recently. The earlier dramas Talley's Folly and The Fifth of July were set in the Midwest, Missouri, where I believe Wilson came from. To me, he demonstrated an ability to get beneath the surfaces that usually keep any two people who think they may be in love as well as all of us from understanding each other.

Although I hadn't had the chance to read much about this play--which had premiered on Broadway 32 years ago with John Malkovich--the presence of Keri Russell in one of the two leading roles made it attractive to both of us. She had been the key character in the cable series, The Americans, for several years. In that she was outstanding in conveying the many issues her character, a Soviet spy implanted in the U.S. with a husband provided by the KGB, with whom she has had two children.

This play puts her in another complex role. Anna is a dancer now turned choreographer. Others in the play attest to her talent but she is insecure in her new work, especially since her prime colleague, also a dancer, has just drowned in what clearly had been an avoidable accident. On top of this, she is trying to decide whether to pursue a relationship with a successful writer who seems enamoured with her.

A major complication bursts onto the scene when the dead man's brother, Jimmy, who wants to be called Pale, bursts into her Soho living space, which she shares with a congenial gay man. He is from the Midwest and is very assertive, if not dominating. She is affronted by his attitudes and behavior, yet it is clear that he has lit a spark in her that had not been there before.

Adam Driver plays him, and he's good, whether or not he proves to be as exciting a performer as Malkovich. The play does give both him and Russell the chance to expose their feelings as well as their challenges and attitudes. I found it both entertaining as well as providing a lot to think about. Russell's character, Anna, also complicated, because while she is fully engaged in the dance world and cherishes her friends, she is clearly open to something more. One gradually realizes that the more predictable route to happiness wed to the writer might not give that to her.


Monday, April 1, 2019

Contrasts in Opera

This weekend provided two very enjoyable operatic experiences. The Met's much-criticized "machine" production of Wagner's Ring is being revived after a few years: Saturday afternoon we went to an HD presentation of the live performance of Die Walkure in the movies. This, the second opera in the four-opera series, is the strongest of the tetralogy. 

While it continues to story of the Ring of the Nibelung, it introduces the two most important female characters in the operas: Brunnhilde, the Valkyrie of the title, and Sieglinde, sister and wife of the hero Siegmund, and most significant as the mother of Siegfried, star of the last two operas and the hero whom Wotan, the increasingly beset king of the gods, hopes will do no less than save the world.

Two fine singers filled these roles. Christine Goerke, an American soprano, rose to the demands of Brunnhilde's mightiest appearance (she, as with Witan, appears in three of the four operas--not the same ones) and Eva-Marie Westbroek rendered a sparkling performance as Sieglinde, who, with Wotan, a resolute Greer Grimsley, holds the stage for the longest stretches.

The opera presents in stark form the moral and ethical trap in which Wotan finds himself ever since he stooped to trickery to take possession of the ring forged by Alberich who stole the Rhinegold from the Rhinemaidens. One might almost conclude that there was no good way to resolve this story since if Wotan had returned the ring to the Rhine--we are constantly reminded that the world will not be at peace until that occurs--what would have prevented Alberich or a similar-focused villain, from stealing it again and starting the whole cycle over.

Now Wotan has sought to set the stage for a great hero, who will be Siegfried, to save the gods and the world, but he is undone by his wife, Fricka, jealous of his romantic dalliances (one of which resulted in the twins Siegmund and Sieglinde, the Walsungs), who insists that Siegmund lose the battle with Hunding, the snarling and snivelling basso who is married to Sieglinde, taken from the burning house he and his comrades had inflamed.

The message of the Ring often seems to be that no one's really all good or bad--well, not exactly: no one: Alberich the dwarf, his son Hagen, and brother Mime are unremittingly evil. Wotan is forced by his moral code to cast out his favorite child Brunnhilde (also the result of a dalliance with an unidentified woman not his wife) when she follows the message of his heart rather than his direct order and tries to save Siegmund.

Although the third act starts with the famous Ride of the Valkyries and proceeds to the magnificent Wotan's Farewell and Fire Music, the first two acts in this Met revival played wonderfully both dramatically and musically. Siegmund and Sieglinde brought the first act to exciting levels with their singing and acting, and Brunnhilde's appearance in Act Two enlivens the opera immediately. Even Jamie Barton, in the unsympathetic role of Fricka, was marvelous--she is younger than she looks as she won the Met's National Auditions only a few years ago. As always, the Met Orchestra, brought by the now non-person James Levine to its high level, performed Wagner's challenging score magnificently.

Sunday afternoon I saw music and drama students at Catholic University present Handel's early-17th century opera, Julius Caesar in Egypt, in a fine production at the Hartke Theater. It is amazing to realize that not only were countertenors often principal singers in the opera seria produced most notably by Handel (the roles were written for castrati) but none less than the might Julius Caesar is played by a countertenor.

We seem to be in an age when the revival of baroque has brought countertenors to the fore after a couple of centuries of being omitted from opera. Last year it was delightful to hear two countertenors singing Handel in a Broadway production of Farinelli and the King starring the great Mark Rylance. The performance, part of a three-day run at CU, was entirely student-performed, stage-managed, and designed: it was superbly done. Baroque opera, even by Handel, is a definitely different species and one which takes some getting used to. The harpsichord accompanying the recitatives also shows how some half a century or so later, Mozart would refine this standard of baroque into a more amazing technique in the three DaPonte operas.



Wednesday, March 20, 2019

A Really Good Churchill bio

Tackling Andrew Roberts's massive new biography of Winston Churchill--Churchill: Walking With Destiny--is a major undertaking: it runs a good 1000 pages plus notes. Although I've not read many of the existing huge pile of previous biographical enterprises devoted to Churchill, I found this one very rewarding. 

Usually, I find that when I tend to agree with the theme of the biography, it strikes me as a good job. Roberts's book is definitely well-written, which always excuses many shortcomings, of which there are only a few in this volume. My view, as it happens, of Churchill is that he was absolutely the right person for the job in 1940, and that he accomplished what he was there to do: in essence, preserve the free world from the Axis at a time when every other significant political figure in Britain had been an appeaser and when no one else anywhere was willing to take on what surely looked to be a fight against the odds.

Churchill realized that he would only prove successful eventually if the United States joined Britain in the war. His principal task was to maintain Britain while it was under attack without American help for more than two years. Toward the end of that time, he managed to work with Franklin Roosevelt to secure Lend-Lease, without which Britain would have been both broke and defenseless while under steady German attack.

Churchill did have an incredibly long career--running from his presence at the Battle of Omdurman in the Sudan when Kitchener led the British forces in their last cavalry charge to avenge the death of "Chinese" Gordon and being imprisoned by the Boers in South Africa during the turn-of-the-century Boer War to being the British equivalent of Secretary of the Navy in World War I and previously Home Secretary and then Chancellor of the Exchequer in the '20s. 

He did acquire the skills from managing munitions in World War I and he did learn from his mistakes: he was the principal proponent of the disastrous attack on the Turks at Gallipoli and had been prominent in the savage treatment of labor at Tonypandy, among other major errors. But he learned a great deal from his experiences, both good and bad: in World War II, he relied on the excellent strategic abilities of the Army Chief of Staff, Alan Brooke, later Viscount Alanbrooke, and wisely delegated all labor issues during the war to Ernest Bevin, formerly head of Britain's largest union, the TGWU, and later Foreign Secretary in the postwar Labour government.

So the five years during which Churchill was in charge were critical and he managed to come out of it with deserved praise for persevering when few others might have or could have. The years before the war, when he was in "the Wilderness" since all those in the government were appeasers, also give him credit. 

It also is illuminating to see how his political outlook was generally unchanging over those many years: he was a Tory Democrat, which meant he really did stand in the middle in that he favored measures to improve the lot of the workers and the poor. He never really accepted the reactionary attitude of the Tories, even though he had switched to them when he could no longer abide the declining Liberals.

He also included the major  Labour figures--Attlee, Bevin, Morrison, and Dalton, who were all prominent in Attlee's government that had won the 1945 election right after the war ended--in his wartime Coalition government, and was likely better served by them than by many of his Tory ministers and even his eventual and long-delayed successor, Anthony Eden, who managed to self-destruct in the mid-50s after a mere year as Prime Minister.

So Churchill remains a worthy historic figure, despite his imperialism, which he never would have denied, and racism, which he would have but which was totally characteristic of his times. He also was almost alone among British political figures in the 30s and 40s in his support of the establishment of Israel, in addition to Balfour whose 1917 declaration was generally disregarded by everyone else but Churchill who followed Balfour into office.




Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Finian's Rainbow Redux

A few years ago we saw a semistaged revival of the 1947 musical Finian's Raiunbow at Encores at City Center in New York. It was a delightful rendition of a wonderful musical. So when my daughter alerted me that it would be done on a one-night only at Olney Theatre, we made the rush-hour trip out to Olney Friday evening and the show was worth the journey.

This was pretty much a concert version with the orchestra -- a large one -- at the back of the stage and the cast occupying the front two rows of seats set up in front of the musicians. They would come up front when they were performing and there was a good deal of dancing along with the singing and the recitatives, to use the operatic term. Of course, one of the principals fills what is a totally dancing role--until the very end.

The performers were perfectly fine, with not much available in the minimal program as to background but the lead soprano had a nice full voice for what is the major singing role, the leading man was strong, and my favorite, the leprechaun, who was somewhat larger than one expects, had a nice voice.

In my view, he has the two cleverest E.Y. Harburg lyrics: "When I'm Not Near the Girl I Love (I Love the Girl I'm Near)" and "Something Sort of Grandish" and performed them well. The original in that role was the great Broadway vet David Wayne and seeing a picture of him in the role, I for the first time realized he brought an additional advantage to the role: being slight of build.

The Harburg-Burton Lane songs, of course, are fantastic: "How Are Things in Glocca Mora", "Old Devil Moon", "The Great Come-and-Get-It Day", "If This Isn't Love", "Look to the Rainbow" (reminds you of Harburg's "Over the Rainbow"), and "When the Idle Poor Become the Idle Rich" as well as "The Begat" which was better sung by the "Gospelers" than I ever remember.

One theater historian said that Finian's Rainbow was "a socialist analysis in the form of an American musical." Part of the fun the show engenders is the shrewdness with which Harburg created the lyrics. They have a political and even philosophical spark but avoid hitting you over the head with ideology.

The soprano's Irish accent came and went, which was also not a problem. It's delightful to listen to the recording of the original show and hear the lead, Ella Logan, employ a charming Irish accent, made even more enjoyable once you realize that she wasn't Irish. 

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

A gruesome Richard III

You do not need to accept the veracity of Shakespeare's depiction of the English monarch Richard III to savor the play. It is one of Shakespeare's early works, when he was focusing on history and when he was most cognizant of his need not to offend the last Tudor, Elizabeth I. After all, Richmond, who wins the day at the Battle of Bosworth Field and ends the play by dispatching Richard, became the first Tudor king, Henry VII.

Indeed, the great work that seeks to clear Richard's name, Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time, points to none other than Henry VII as the real villain who was responsible for the murder of the two princes in the Tower of London, Edward V and Richard, Duke of York. Another major figure who helped establish Richard's vile reputation was Laurence Olivier, whose portrayal of Richard as a hunchbacked, snarling monster in the 1950s-era movie he produced contributed to confirming the evil image of the leading role.

Nevertheless, Olivier and many other wonderful actors have performed wonders in conveying the essence of a Shakespearean villain who gives Iago and Macbeth a run for their wickedness. Jose Ferrer led a marvelous cast on Broadway way back when and a few years ago, Stacy Keach shone in the part at the Shakespeare Theatre here in Washington.

The current production there, however, which we saw last Saturday night, goes off in the wrong direction. Matthew Rauch plays Richard and his performance is fine. But the director, David Muse, engaged by departing managing director Michael Kahn in his last season, has chosen to focus mostly on presenting gory death scenes to emphasize the lengthy chain of murders Richard directs. The  scenes seem to draw on both hospital-like execution settings and the atmosphere of a totalitarian state.

There's more blood that you see in even Jacobean tragedies such as Middleton and Rowley's The Changeling. That's not necessarily terrible but here it does not contribute to the impact of the play, and in fact, likely overshadows some of the more engaging sections that Shakespeare wrote which have been edited out to extend these death scenes. The play's length does support selective cuts, but I would take issue with the ones made here.




Saturday, February 16, 2019

Left Coasting

 Returned to a favorite place to spend a few nice days, San Diego, and courtesy of the better half, who was presenting at a program on negotiation for lawyers, the time is being spent at the Hotel del Coronado, a charming place that needs no instruction in how to charge but which overcomes all shortcomings when you gaze out at the breakers on the ocean in one direction and the sailboats in the sun on the bay in the other.

I've been coming out here since I was a teenager and I even remember when you could only get to Coronado on the ferry. Biggest surprise was driving over what is now the free bridge that rises way up on the bay. I've been at this hostelry a few times previously, always for conferences or the like. It's one of those places where you're not surprised when you run into someone you haven't seen for years who's attending a different conference.

The weather now limits beach enjoyment to walking on the beach, which, with the La Jolla Shores, might be one of the choicest spots to engage in beach jaunts. As usually occurs, timing was off for cultural opportunities: Rigoletto just finished at the San Diego Opera and a new musical based on the life of Princess Diana (titled creatively, Diana) opens the day after we depart. However, last week I caught a rehearsal at the National Symphony in Kennedy Center which began with the glorious Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde, and that makes up for quite a few missed shows.

There's also good dining to be had in San Diego, and even in Coronado outside the Del. That means there are nice spots that offer a somewhat better price than the Del's stratospheric scale. Clayton's Coffee Shop is a satisfying place to start the day with one of the most comprehensive breakfast menus around. And the night before we left, there was a delightful group dinner at Buck's Fishing and Camping following a reading at Politics & Prose by Eileen's old friend from Boston days, Elinor Lipman, who had read from her new novel, Good Riddance.

There's also the Road Runner Sports headquarters and clearance stores up near Miramar which offer not only the most cutting-edge running shoes but salespeople who know how to make sure the shoe fits. It even makes me feel when I'm there that in some way, shape, or form I'm actually still running races instead of walking. Since I need all the encouragement I can get in this direction, it's also great to find that there still are a good number of laid-back folks out here on the Left Coast.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

Symphony Hall, Boston

Have been enjoying a Boston weekend, occasioned by attending a Cornell alumni meeting but enabling some old and new pleasures as well. The Hub was cool and windy at times, but for the second weekend in February, no complaints are lodged. Started out with a lunch at the nearest Legal Seafood, this one at Copley Place, where you can order fish chowder, unavailable at any of their outposts outside the Boston area. It's always worth it. And they now call "schrod" cod, because, as the waitress helpfully advised, that's what it is and when it used to say schrod on the menu, it could have been a lot of different fish.

One of the highlights was, surprisingly, to me at least, was my first time inside Symphony Hall, to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra play a modern piece by Olly Wilson, a violin concerto by Karol Szymanowski with soloist Lisa Batiashvili, and Aaron Copland's Symphony No. 3. Ms. Batiashvili played beautifully and her part seemed to overwhelm the rest, both because of how it was written and her playing. She returned after the concert to sign CDs of which we had her autograph one for Vanessa. The Copland was pleasant and the fourth movement made it glorious, since he incorporated in it his famous Fanfare for the Common Man, which returns to end the symphony on a triumphant note, apppropriate for the first posrwar year when it premiered: 1946.

Symphony Hall itself, designed by Charles McKim of McKim, Mead & White fame for its 1900 opening, is a grand old place, with its perfect acoustics clearly in evidence for both piano and forte. The programs are the most comprehensive I've ever encountered, which is what one would expect from the Athens of America, the sobriquet it was still grasping when the hall was built. And the whole scene has a particular charm, emphasized by the musicians in tails and Ms. Batiashvili, a German violinist born in Georgia, even playing an encore before intermission.

Down the way from Symphony Hall is the Museum of Fine Arts, which featured an enthralling Ansel Adams show, including examples of his predecessors like Carleton Watkins and photographers who drew from Adams's legacy. The only missing part I noticed was the lack of any prints by Edward S. Curtis, who assembled a major first collection of Native American portraits. There's a book of them in the shop but none in the exhibit. The Adams prints are as amazing as ever, with some good commentary including how he jumped from his car to shoot Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico, and gauged his light by knowing how bright the moon was and how quickly he needed to set up and shoot because the moon would soon disappear behind some clouds.

Then upstairs at MFA are the wonderful range of Monets and other Impressionists, which were delightful, and many other highlights we didn't get to savor. We also spent a great evening with my cousins Vikki and Gerry in Cambridge, and rode the T. Recently was sent a journal article dug up upon the death of the 92-year-old lyricist who wrote the MTA song, popularized by the Kingston Trio. It was fascinating to recall how the song had been written for the mayoral campaign (unsuccessful) in 1949 of Walter A. O'Brien, whom the Trio changed to George at the end of their version of the song. And seeing the lyrics reminded me that I was right in remembering that Charlie got on at the Kendall Square Station headed for Jamaica Plain but his wife slipped him the sandwich at what was the Scollay Square Station. Now the Man Who Never Returned is memorialized in the ticket and card you use to enter the system: the Charlie Ticket and Card.