There's still nothing like seeing a hit show on Broadway. Academically-oriented critics complain that there's been no"serious theater" there for ages, and except for revivals, that's pretty much true. I just got a flyer for a production this coming fall of Tennessee Williams's The Glass Menagerie, with Cherry Jones, probably the leading American stage actress today, playing the lead role that the legendary Laurette Taylor created way back in 1945. This, by the way, will be its sixth revival on Broadway.
But Broadway can still come up with musicals--sure, you may not leave the theater humming as I did after seeing Anything Goes in St. Louis two weeks ago, a production that is now landing at the Kennedy Center here in D.C. for a few weeks' run--but all the same, I just saw a good new one. It opened in April and walked off with a mess of Tony awards earlier in June. It's Kinky Boots, music and lyrics by Cyndi Lauper, who burst upon the music scene some years ago with "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and book by Harvey Fierstein, with a passel of shows to his credit.
The show moves, keeps your attention, has a nice straight-forward story line, and boasts a standout singing and dancing star, Billy Porter by name, who works mostly in drag. He's absolute dynamite. The musical follows the tradition that dates back to Oklahoma in 1944 of using song and dance to advance the story; Anything Goes, which hails to 1934, preceded that momentous turning point and is a pastiche of comedy scenes, big production numbers, and minimal plot stitched together masterfully by theatrical wizards Cole Porter, the composer, and the tandem of Guy Bolton and P.G. Wodehouse on the book and lyrics. And how can you go wrong with a score that includes (I know, not at of the Porter songs were in this particular show, but now they are): It's Delightful, It's De-Lovely, It's Delicious; You're the Top; I Get a Kick Out of You; and best of all, in my humble view, Blow, Gabriel, Blow.
I find that the lack of tunes that stick with you has been a drawback to most musicals I've seen debut in recent years but Kinky Boots has so much going for it in the excellent staging, marvelous dance and song routines, and Porter's overall stage presence that it pulls it off and aside from the standing ovation, you leave the Al Hirschfeld Theater (ne Martin Beck) on West 45th past Eighth feeling like you've spent your time and money well.
I've since learned that the plot is based on a real story from Northampton, England, and was in fact the basis for a movie in 2005. It's an exhilarating experience--yes, I know that audiences get up on their feet these days for lots of shows that wouldn't have pulled them up previously but I still felt this was the real thing.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Ruining Baseball
Yes, I've become a cranky codger, I suppose, because I refuse to concede that baseball can be played properly in the rain. This revelation came to me as I sat with Eileen and a friend of ours at a game in one of baseball's most traditional settings, Busch Stadium in St. Louis. I know--it's not the old Busch Stadium, nee Sportman's Park, but aside from the fans remaining fervent and most wearing Cardinal jerseys or shorts or something red, this remains a great baseball town.
It used to be known as the southern-most outpost in baseball, too, which came to the fore in the famous incident where Enos (Country) Slaughter tried to eliminate Jackie Robinson from the sport physically, most recently recaptured in the wonderful movie, 42. But though the city of St. Louis has changed a lot -- like Washington, D.C., it was segregated back then -- and is even restoring some of its almost-totally wrecked downtown area, the baseball mania that has been accentuated by the Cards' 11 Series wins--second only to the Yankees--continues.
Nevertheless, this repository of baseball tradition in a sport that still pretends to revere tradition--a reality that ended for good in 1957 when the Giants and Dodgers caught the last flight to the coast but began to end in 1953 when the Braves abandoned Boston--was the right place to see yet another change for the worse. They started the game while it was still drizzling. There had been a rain delay and the tarp was finally rolled up while the drops still fell. I was surprised but even more surprised when they just started playing under the rainfall.
I'm willing to concede that too much wasn't affected--there were no obviously messed-up outfield plays but there may have been some hits that wouldn't have been hits without the wet grass slowing the fielders. The Cards did have the basepaths swept after every two innings but I still couldn't get away from thinking that this isn't how the game is supposed to be played. I am ignoring our own use of umbrellas to protect both heads and clothing from the continuing precip; if I needed a good reason to pass on having a beer--guess which brand they sell even if A-B no longer owns the club?--it was the chill accompanying continued drizzle.
One reason for playing--and this was Major League Baseball, not the Cards or the umps, making the call--is that visiting teams outside the division only visit once and the last game with the Diamondbacks was the next day, so that would've meant a double-header with rain checks on getaway day. If it rained again, the game likely would only be replayed if it turned out to be crucial at season's end. So the game went on and there were wonderful histrionics--Arizona's star first baseman Paul Goldschmidt popped a grand slam--and this was definitely one time I was rooting for the visiting team, the Cards being my example of the "other team" I could never support.
It used to be known as the southern-most outpost in baseball, too, which came to the fore in the famous incident where Enos (Country) Slaughter tried to eliminate Jackie Robinson from the sport physically, most recently recaptured in the wonderful movie, 42. But though the city of St. Louis has changed a lot -- like Washington, D.C., it was segregated back then -- and is even restoring some of its almost-totally wrecked downtown area, the baseball mania that has been accentuated by the Cards' 11 Series wins--second only to the Yankees--continues.
Nevertheless, this repository of baseball tradition in a sport that still pretends to revere tradition--a reality that ended for good in 1957 when the Giants and Dodgers caught the last flight to the coast but began to end in 1953 when the Braves abandoned Boston--was the right place to see yet another change for the worse. They started the game while it was still drizzling. There had been a rain delay and the tarp was finally rolled up while the drops still fell. I was surprised but even more surprised when they just started playing under the rainfall.
I'm willing to concede that too much wasn't affected--there were no obviously messed-up outfield plays but there may have been some hits that wouldn't have been hits without the wet grass slowing the fielders. The Cards did have the basepaths swept after every two innings but I still couldn't get away from thinking that this isn't how the game is supposed to be played. I am ignoring our own use of umbrellas to protect both heads and clothing from the continuing precip; if I needed a good reason to pass on having a beer--guess which brand they sell even if A-B no longer owns the club?--it was the chill accompanying continued drizzle.
One reason for playing--and this was Major League Baseball, not the Cards or the umps, making the call--is that visiting teams outside the division only visit once and the last game with the Diamondbacks was the next day, so that would've meant a double-header with rain checks on getaway day. If it rained again, the game likely would only be replayed if it turned out to be crucial at season's end. So the game went on and there were wonderful histrionics--Arizona's star first baseman Paul Goldschmidt popped a grand slam--and this was definitely one time I was rooting for the visiting team, the Cards being my example of the "other team" I could never support.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Opera in St.Louis
No one will ever convince me that Puccini's Il Tabarro is any kind of great opera and no matter how many times I see and hear Leoncavallo's I Pagliacci, I will still enjoy it as much or more than any other opera. Nevertheless, the production of these two one-act operas we were lucky enough to witness tonight was as good an evening of opera--both in production and singing--as I've ever been privileged to attend.
The Opera Theatre of Saint Louis performs on the outlying campus of Webster University, which is a short drive from downtown St. Louis but is almost inaccessible save by car. That, of course, does not affect what I conclude is its deserved status as one of the three leading summer opera companies of the U.S., with Glimmerglass near Cooperstown and Santa Fe. The latter is now the sole remaining one of the three I've not yet attended.
Kelly Kaduce was highly touted in local reviews for her performance as Nedda in Pagliacci and she lived up to all the advance ballyhoo. It stands to reason that she is a company favorite because not only has she a fine soprano but she is one of the best singing actresses I've ever observed. She threw herself into the part which doesn't always stand out amid the more famous arias given the lead tenor and baritone: after all, Canio has the famed "vesti la giubba" a.k.a. "ridi, pagliaccio", as well as two other major singing pieces and Tonio has the almost-as-famous "prologuo", but Nedda's Bird Song was magnificent, along with her acting in the love duet with Silvio and the final play-within-the-play as Columbina.
Tim Mix used his powerful baritone in the leading role in Tabarro but stood out in Pagliacci from the moment in the overture when he steps onto the stage to sing the Prologue. Yet another fillip in that opera was returning to Tonio the classic last line of the opera, "la commedia e finita" which Leoncavallo had intended for the baritone because he is the prologue but which line was wrested from him by none other than Caruso, whose favorite part was Canio--he sang it 70 times at the Met.
The most outstanding part of the whole evening was the superb staging and design of the production. The imaginative sets and staging made both of these chestnuts come to life. I'm convinced based on these two operas that Opera Theatre of Saint Louis deserves its excellent notices. And the success came in the case of Tabarro, with an opera that unlike the third of the three one-acters Puccini joined to form Il Trittico, Gianni Schicchi, has no great arias. Good music, yes; memorable passages, none. Yet the productions made the occasion: this included having about a dozen players dressed in clown costumes to provide more depth to the Pagliacci cast--they made you realize how clowns can be at the same time funny, sad, and scary. Moreover, this company performs in English and that plus the excellent surtitles also improved the productions immeasurably.
Thus, even though I would recommend that any opera company considering this issue stick with Cavalleria Rusticana as the traditional one-act companion (and opener) for I Pagliacci, this presentation of Il Tabarro was as good a one as I ever expect to experience. And finally, the lead tenor in both operas was indisposed so the cover was a tenor from, of all places, Washington, D.C., named Michael Hayes, whom I'd not heard before--I'd not heard any of the casts before--and he, too, was strong and convincing.
The Opera Theatre of Saint Louis performs on the outlying campus of Webster University, which is a short drive from downtown St. Louis but is almost inaccessible save by car. That, of course, does not affect what I conclude is its deserved status as one of the three leading summer opera companies of the U.S., with Glimmerglass near Cooperstown and Santa Fe. The latter is now the sole remaining one of the three I've not yet attended.
Kelly Kaduce was highly touted in local reviews for her performance as Nedda in Pagliacci and she lived up to all the advance ballyhoo. It stands to reason that she is a company favorite because not only has she a fine soprano but she is one of the best singing actresses I've ever observed. She threw herself into the part which doesn't always stand out amid the more famous arias given the lead tenor and baritone: after all, Canio has the famed "vesti la giubba" a.k.a. "ridi, pagliaccio", as well as two other major singing pieces and Tonio has the almost-as-famous "prologuo", but Nedda's Bird Song was magnificent, along with her acting in the love duet with Silvio and the final play-within-the-play as Columbina.
Tim Mix used his powerful baritone in the leading role in Tabarro but stood out in Pagliacci from the moment in the overture when he steps onto the stage to sing the Prologue. Yet another fillip in that opera was returning to Tonio the classic last line of the opera, "la commedia e finita" which Leoncavallo had intended for the baritone because he is the prologue but which line was wrested from him by none other than Caruso, whose favorite part was Canio--he sang it 70 times at the Met.
The most outstanding part of the whole evening was the superb staging and design of the production. The imaginative sets and staging made both of these chestnuts come to life. I'm convinced based on these two operas that Opera Theatre of Saint Louis deserves its excellent notices. And the success came in the case of Tabarro, with an opera that unlike the third of the three one-acters Puccini joined to form Il Trittico, Gianni Schicchi, has no great arias. Good music, yes; memorable passages, none. Yet the productions made the occasion: this included having about a dozen players dressed in clown costumes to provide more depth to the Pagliacci cast--they made you realize how clowns can be at the same time funny, sad, and scary. Moreover, this company performs in English and that plus the excellent surtitles also improved the productions immeasurably.
Thus, even though I would recommend that any opera company considering this issue stick with Cavalleria Rusticana as the traditional one-act companion (and opener) for I Pagliacci, this presentation of Il Tabarro was as good a one as I ever expect to experience. And finally, the lead tenor in both operas was indisposed so the cover was a tenor from, of all places, Washington, D.C., named Michael Hayes, whom I'd not heard before--I'd not heard any of the casts before--and he, too, was strong and convincing.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Great Train Ride
I was heading to Indianapolis for a conference so I decided to make a real trip of this jaunt, riding Amtrak's Cardinal through Charlottesville, Staunton, West Virginia, Kentucky, and Cincinnati to Indianapolis; then, three days later, hopped on the Hoosier State at 6 one morning, then changed in Chicago's Union Station to the Southwest Chief for Los Angeles.
Each train was either on time or early, not that Amtrak doesn't pad the schedules just a bit. But the ride was a delight--especially the Chief, which is a direct descendant of the Santa Fe's famed Super Chief, heading west through Galesburg, thence across the Mississippi at Fort Madison, Iowa, on to Kansas City, then past Dodge in the middle of the night and across southeastern Colorado to New Mexico, Arizona, and on into L.A.
Remember the old trick question that the Santa Fe never did go to Santa Fe--some folks I met on board got off at Lamy, where you shuttle from the dusty station named after Willa Cather's memorable archbishop to New Mexico's capital. The Chief is among Amtrak's premier western trains--full diner, lounge car with dome-like windows, good service. The Cardinal is a much smaller train--the Capitol Limited makes the Washington-Chicago run through Pittsburgh in faster time but runs almost entirely at night--with only one sleeper (the Chief had four or five) and a half-diner where the waiters were hard put to fit everyone in and get them served very efficiently.
We came back on a quick United flight from LAX, under five hours. It was fine but when you take the train, you really get an idea of what this country is like. Lots of open space still out west--sure, someone owns it and is mining it if there's anything underneath worth extracting--but miles of sagebrush and mountains and deserts.
The Hoosier State runs from Indy to Chicago on the days the Cardinal doesn't. It had about eight deadheads--empty cars being taken to Chicago for use on other trains--but only two open coaches, no diner, no cafe, no nothing, lucky we had rest rooms, I suppose, for the five-hour journey. But you only realize that Indiana and Illinois are mostly flat prairies while right over the river in Iowa, you go through hills aplenty.
Chicago's Union Station, now handling what it once took four separate stations to operate, seems bustling since all four long-distance western trains leave within a two-hour span. And Amtrak treats the sleeper passengers nicely--a lounge serves you as well as any airline's, not that that's saying that much.
L.A., of course, welcomes you at the wonderful southwest-styled Union Station--I almost looked for the Fred Harvey's--which is also busy with commuters and the new LA subway system. Much still to see and do in the greater LA world--the LA County Musuem of Art, the new American art building and Chinese garden at the Huntington, and yes, the Nixon library and museum in Yorba Linda, which offers some light relief, even after the government took it over from the glorifying foundation.
Saw the Pacific on a drive down to La Jolla and it remains a fabulous sight to behold. And then there's the Valley, replete with marvelous delis and the Brat Brothers on Ventura, celebrated on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.
Each train was either on time or early, not that Amtrak doesn't pad the schedules just a bit. But the ride was a delight--especially the Chief, which is a direct descendant of the Santa Fe's famed Super Chief, heading west through Galesburg, thence across the Mississippi at Fort Madison, Iowa, on to Kansas City, then past Dodge in the middle of the night and across southeastern Colorado to New Mexico, Arizona, and on into L.A.
Remember the old trick question that the Santa Fe never did go to Santa Fe--some folks I met on board got off at Lamy, where you shuttle from the dusty station named after Willa Cather's memorable archbishop to New Mexico's capital. The Chief is among Amtrak's premier western trains--full diner, lounge car with dome-like windows, good service. The Cardinal is a much smaller train--the Capitol Limited makes the Washington-Chicago run through Pittsburgh in faster time but runs almost entirely at night--with only one sleeper (the Chief had four or five) and a half-diner where the waiters were hard put to fit everyone in and get them served very efficiently.
We came back on a quick United flight from LAX, under five hours. It was fine but when you take the train, you really get an idea of what this country is like. Lots of open space still out west--sure, someone owns it and is mining it if there's anything underneath worth extracting--but miles of sagebrush and mountains and deserts.
The Hoosier State runs from Indy to Chicago on the days the Cardinal doesn't. It had about eight deadheads--empty cars being taken to Chicago for use on other trains--but only two open coaches, no diner, no cafe, no nothing, lucky we had rest rooms, I suppose, for the five-hour journey. But you only realize that Indiana and Illinois are mostly flat prairies while right over the river in Iowa, you go through hills aplenty.
Chicago's Union Station, now handling what it once took four separate stations to operate, seems bustling since all four long-distance western trains leave within a two-hour span. And Amtrak treats the sleeper passengers nicely--a lounge serves you as well as any airline's, not that that's saying that much.
L.A., of course, welcomes you at the wonderful southwest-styled Union Station--I almost looked for the Fred Harvey's--which is also busy with commuters and the new LA subway system. Much still to see and do in the greater LA world--the LA County Musuem of Art, the new American art building and Chinese garden at the Huntington, and yes, the Nixon library and museum in Yorba Linda, which offers some light relief, even after the government took it over from the glorifying foundation.
Saw the Pacific on a drive down to La Jolla and it remains a fabulous sight to behold. And then there's the Valley, replete with marvelous delis and the Brat Brothers on Ventura, celebrated on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Ives, Bernstein & Rouse
A brief visit to New York included my first New York Philharmonic concert in years. We were attracted by the scheduling of Charles Ives's Fourth Symphony, which requires resources of orchestra, chorus, and rehearsal such that it doesn't get on symphony programs all that often. Plus many people put Ives in the rather massive category of modern music they don't get.
Ives, however, has wonderful uber-American elements in his music. He loved bands and church hymns, so his works are full of them. I had forgotten that he was so sophisticated a composer that the references are often brief and not all that long and thus not always able to register as you move from hearing one and listening for more.
The symphony runs about 35 minutes and is sufficiently complex as to require a second conductor to assist the Philharmonic's dynamic young leader, Alan Gilbert. I gather that the second conductor (the NY Phil's associate conductor) guides selected parts of the orchestra but I can't be definitive on that. There was also a large chorus, made up of apparently star members of major New York choral groups and styled as the New York Choral Consortium. They sang hymns in the first movement and then briefly in the finale--I wished they were involved in more.
The Ives left us at the end feeling a bit less than overwhelmed. Lots of clashing sound and yes, fury, but not much became clear as to what he was really aiming to achieve. I always loved the concept that motivated him--he liked trying to compose what it would sound like if two bands marched toward each other--but in the hall, it was hard to discern what was going on.
The Bernstein was a serenade, which really was a violin concerto, and featured the marvelous soloist, Joshua Bell. His virtuosity, combined with Bernstein's usual exciting, attracting themes, made this the highlight of the evening, even if the programmatic reference to Plato's Symposium may have left me less than able to grasp everything he may have intended to convey in the piece. Bell always is exciting to watch as well as hear--he does fantastic things with his fiddle.
The curtain-raiser (even if there was no curtain, of course) was Christopher Rouse's short piece based on Poe's The Masque of the Red Death. It was echt-modern and not as exciting or interesting as the Ives. Using a Poe story is fine but I can't say that the product stirred much response; it proved very difficult to gather what he was seeking to do.
I'm not sure if this was a typical Philharmonic crowd--compared to years ago, when I last attended one of their concerts in the Pierre Boulez days, and half the audience walked out after Schoenberg's Verklarte Nacht--but the house was mostly full and these days, most folks don't dress up for concerts any more. On that front, it was fun to see the orchestra players in full evening dress--tails--while the conductors and soloist were attired in fashionable black "modern" non-suit suits.
Ives, however, has wonderful uber-American elements in his music. He loved bands and church hymns, so his works are full of them. I had forgotten that he was so sophisticated a composer that the references are often brief and not all that long and thus not always able to register as you move from hearing one and listening for more.
The symphony runs about 35 minutes and is sufficiently complex as to require a second conductor to assist the Philharmonic's dynamic young leader, Alan Gilbert. I gather that the second conductor (the NY Phil's associate conductor) guides selected parts of the orchestra but I can't be definitive on that. There was also a large chorus, made up of apparently star members of major New York choral groups and styled as the New York Choral Consortium. They sang hymns in the first movement and then briefly in the finale--I wished they were involved in more.
The Ives left us at the end feeling a bit less than overwhelmed. Lots of clashing sound and yes, fury, but not much became clear as to what he was really aiming to achieve. I always loved the concept that motivated him--he liked trying to compose what it would sound like if two bands marched toward each other--but in the hall, it was hard to discern what was going on.
The Bernstein was a serenade, which really was a violin concerto, and featured the marvelous soloist, Joshua Bell. His virtuosity, combined with Bernstein's usual exciting, attracting themes, made this the highlight of the evening, even if the programmatic reference to Plato's Symposium may have left me less than able to grasp everything he may have intended to convey in the piece. Bell always is exciting to watch as well as hear--he does fantastic things with his fiddle.
The curtain-raiser (even if there was no curtain, of course) was Christopher Rouse's short piece based on Poe's The Masque of the Red Death. It was echt-modern and not as exciting or interesting as the Ives. Using a Poe story is fine but I can't say that the product stirred much response; it proved very difficult to gather what he was seeking to do.
I'm not sure if this was a typical Philharmonic crowd--compared to years ago, when I last attended one of their concerts in the Pierre Boulez days, and half the audience walked out after Schoenberg's Verklarte Nacht--but the house was mostly full and these days, most folks don't dress up for concerts any more. On that front, it was fun to see the orchestra players in full evening dress--tails--while the conductors and soloist were attired in fashionable black "modern" non-suit suits.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Getting Obits Right
Neither of the two newspapers I read daily seems to get their obituaries right. The Washington Post does try to run an obit for almost anyone, but rarely runs them before weeks have passed since the subject's death. You have to be very important to have a story run the day after or even the next day after that.
Being very important doesn't get you an obit in the N.Y. Times anymore. Now the obituaries there--yes, if you're a truly world figure, you'll get one as a news story--focus on people who are, for lack of a better word, quirky. Someone who gave an unusual performance of something or other or someone who excelled in an art that remains mostly obscure.
I thought about this today when I read the death notices--the ones in tiny print--in the Times. This is where people who previously were regarded as significant, people who had made major societal contributions or been influential leaders of powerful or prominent or vital institutions, now are remembered. In previous Times, the paper would have written obits about them--now their heirs or institutions pay premium prices for lengthy recitations in the agate type.
Two notices--both very long--stood out today. One was about a Dr. Richard A. Bader, who clearly was a major medical figure with a distinguished career at Mt. Sinai in New York, complete with major research, fabled teaching and clinical prowess, and overall lasting impact on generations of patients, colleagues, and students.
The other was about Dr. Gerald W. Lynch, who was president of John Jay College of Criminal Justice, part of the City University of New York, for decades. Dr. Lynch, I learned from the notice, had actually saved the college back in the '70s when budget-cutters wanted to kill it. Not only did he preserve it, he was the mastermind behind a new campus and was lauded by the present incumbent and the Chancellor of CUNY at the time of Lynch's retirement.
At one time, there would have been genuine obituaries about these major New York City figures. But not now. The rather warped view the newspaper now takes in seeking out rather weird deaths to report reminds me of when it reformed its obituary practice many years ago--in the 1960s, I believe--to make obituaries less worshipful and more news-oriented. The then-new style presented the pluses and minuses of the deceased, something different from the prior practice of respectful attention to career and accomplishments.
In retrospect, I should have seen where that shift would lead--to the present strange kind of obit. One of the first major figures chronicled in the new, very critical kind of obituary was, as the princes of the church were then styled, Francis Cardinal Spellman, long one of New York's and the nation's most powerful clerics.
The late cardinal certainly had both fervent admirers and harsh critics. One who had great regard for him was the late William F. Buckley, Jr. In a column he noted that how the Times had approached writing about the cardinal produced something less than worshipful prose. He added deliciously that the cardinal's power during his life had been so great that Buckley believed the newspaper would never have written something so critical of the cardinal had the latter still been alive. It was, he concluded, all the more reason to mourn his passing.
April 24 Post-Script: I was wrong about the Times, as a day or two later, they ran a fairly long obit on Gerald Lynch. Oh well, there are plenty of other juicy long death notices most days that don't get full obit treatment.
Being very important doesn't get you an obit in the N.Y. Times anymore. Now the obituaries there--yes, if you're a truly world figure, you'll get one as a news story--focus on people who are, for lack of a better word, quirky. Someone who gave an unusual performance of something or other or someone who excelled in an art that remains mostly obscure.
I thought about this today when I read the death notices--the ones in tiny print--in the Times. This is where people who previously were regarded as significant, people who had made major societal contributions or been influential leaders of powerful or prominent or vital institutions, now are remembered. In previous Times, the paper would have written obits about them--now their heirs or institutions pay premium prices for lengthy recitations in the agate type.
Two notices--both very long--stood out today. One was about a Dr. Richard A. Bader, who clearly was a major medical figure with a distinguished career at Mt. Sinai in New York, complete with major research, fabled teaching and clinical prowess, and overall lasting impact on generations of patients, colleagues, and students.
The other was about Dr. Gerald W. Lynch, who was president of John Jay College of Criminal Justice, part of the City University of New York, for decades. Dr. Lynch, I learned from the notice, had actually saved the college back in the '70s when budget-cutters wanted to kill it. Not only did he preserve it, he was the mastermind behind a new campus and was lauded by the present incumbent and the Chancellor of CUNY at the time of Lynch's retirement.
At one time, there would have been genuine obituaries about these major New York City figures. But not now. The rather warped view the newspaper now takes in seeking out rather weird deaths to report reminds me of when it reformed its obituary practice many years ago--in the 1960s, I believe--to make obituaries less worshipful and more news-oriented. The then-new style presented the pluses and minuses of the deceased, something different from the prior practice of respectful attention to career and accomplishments.
In retrospect, I should have seen where that shift would lead--to the present strange kind of obit. One of the first major figures chronicled in the new, very critical kind of obituary was, as the princes of the church were then styled, Francis Cardinal Spellman, long one of New York's and the nation's most powerful clerics.
The late cardinal certainly had both fervent admirers and harsh critics. One who had great regard for him was the late William F. Buckley, Jr. In a column he noted that how the Times had approached writing about the cardinal produced something less than worshipful prose. He added deliciously that the cardinal's power during his life had been so great that Buckley believed the newspaper would never have written something so critical of the cardinal had the latter still been alive. It was, he concluded, all the more reason to mourn his passing.
April 24 Post-Script: I was wrong about the Times, as a day or two later, they ran a fairly long obit on Gerald Lynch. Oh well, there are plenty of other juicy long death notices most days that don't get full obit treatment.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
The Milk Snatcher
She was a mean, hard-ass woman who screwed up Britain just like Reagan started the move toward greater inequality in the U.S. And many, many people in the UK understood her for what she was: a single-minded fanatic determined to steal from the poor to aid the rich. Only the U.S. media remains enthralled by her--reflecting the indirect influence of the malign Rupert Murdoch.
Most Americans know little about her and care less. But to the Brits, she was the personification of the "bloody Tories." Reactionaries on both sides of the pond have made great gains in the past few decades mostly because pusillanimous opponents--like Clinton and Obama--won't take them on directly. The GOP and the Tories have no reluctance to engage in the most down-and-dirty tactics but we have a President now who tries to compromise with people who have no interest in it. He also paid no attention to the sleaze and dirty tactics that the Republicans used to capture the House and take charge of gerrymandering districts across the country to keep control even when the Dems got more votes last year.
With Thatcher, what you saw was what you got. She was a shameless apologist and advocate for no-holds-barred capitalism--this precipitated the financial crisis here and in Britain for which almost no bankers or other fiscal denizens have paid any price whatsoever. She started as education minister and did indeed show her true stripes by cutting out support for poor families' children getting milk at school.
Unlike our supine and hogwashed public, Brits don't ;pay as much mind to what their often blatantly biased media spout. As noted, it remains totally wrong to me to assume that Americans thought very much of her or even thought about her or knew about her at all. She of course benefitted from a low level of opponent--Neil Kinnock, Michael Foot--not bad men but somewhat inept politicians. Tony Blair played a con game by convincing the Labour Party that he could win by riding the middle. So we get a conservative regime followed by a moderate one that does nothing much to turn things around.
The same was true of Clinton. Blair, of course, was sufficiently off his rocker to be persuaded by, of all people, Bush Junior, to support the Iraq war. He also must have tired of holding off Gordon Brown, and must have gotten some minor schadenfreude from seeing the clumsy Brown blow his big chance to get elected in his own right.
Right now, even with a centre-right coalition governing in Britain, things look more promising than they do here. Ed Miliband, the Labour leader, is gaining in repute as the weaknesses of Cameron--the perfect Etonian--are becoming clear even to the Tories. But if you read or listen to American media, you would think that the left everywhere are inept.
Most Americans know little about her and care less. But to the Brits, she was the personification of the "bloody Tories." Reactionaries on both sides of the pond have made great gains in the past few decades mostly because pusillanimous opponents--like Clinton and Obama--won't take them on directly. The GOP and the Tories have no reluctance to engage in the most down-and-dirty tactics but we have a President now who tries to compromise with people who have no interest in it. He also paid no attention to the sleaze and dirty tactics that the Republicans used to capture the House and take charge of gerrymandering districts across the country to keep control even when the Dems got more votes last year.
With Thatcher, what you saw was what you got. She was a shameless apologist and advocate for no-holds-barred capitalism--this precipitated the financial crisis here and in Britain for which almost no bankers or other fiscal denizens have paid any price whatsoever. She started as education minister and did indeed show her true stripes by cutting out support for poor families' children getting milk at school.
Unlike our supine and hogwashed public, Brits don't ;pay as much mind to what their often blatantly biased media spout. As noted, it remains totally wrong to me to assume that Americans thought very much of her or even thought about her or knew about her at all. She of course benefitted from a low level of opponent--Neil Kinnock, Michael Foot--not bad men but somewhat inept politicians. Tony Blair played a con game by convincing the Labour Party that he could win by riding the middle. So we get a conservative regime followed by a moderate one that does nothing much to turn things around.
The same was true of Clinton. Blair, of course, was sufficiently off his rocker to be persuaded by, of all people, Bush Junior, to support the Iraq war. He also must have tired of holding off Gordon Brown, and must have gotten some minor schadenfreude from seeing the clumsy Brown blow his big chance to get elected in his own right.
Right now, even with a centre-right coalition governing in Britain, things look more promising than they do here. Ed Miliband, the Labour leader, is gaining in repute as the weaknesses of Cameron--the perfect Etonian--are becoming clear even to the Tories. But if you read or listen to American media, you would think that the left everywhere are inept.
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