Ab-solutely Shocking!

But looking on the bright side, the price of being suckered (adjusted for inflation) has gone down dramatically!

Googled

Way back when I was a graphic design student in college, my classmates and I would frequently speak with chagrin of being “Kinkoed”. Now, in similar fashion, I guess one has to increasingly guard against the possibility of being “Googled”, although I think it’s probably fair to say that anyone who opts to weed the garden in such a state of (dis)attire probably has it coming.

Venus Kisses the Sun: a Happy Marriage of Science and Art

Yesterday’s transit of the planet Venus across the face of the sun, a rare astronomical event, prompted me to break out my old telescope (a Christmas gift from when I was around twelve). It’s a pretty cheap refractor, but even so, it provided a remarkably good viewing experience for my family and I. Here are a few shots.

Despite the fact that Venus’ interior orbit to the Earth’s brings it between us and the sun fairly often (once every 584 days), the slight difference in the angle of the two planets’ orbital planes makes the exact alignment needed to produce a transit a much more rare occurrence than one would expect. They occur in a curious rhythm of 8 year pairs, separated by alternating gaps of 121.5 years and 105.5 years, making a complete cycle of 243 years. (The previous pair was in 1874 and 1882. There was one in 2004, the first of this pair, but there won’t be another until 2117-2125.) The transit of Venus was first observed by the English astronomer Jeremiah Horrocks in 1639. The parishioners of St. Michael’s church, in Horrock’s home village of Hoole, paid tribute to him and to his discoveries in the dedication of two stained glass window roundels.

The first, located most prominently in the central position behind the altar, shows the symbol for Venus within the sun’s yellow sphere. The surrounding Latin phrase is translated, quite predictably, as Venus seen in the midst of the sun, along with the Latin date of the 1639 transit. (VIII [Ante Diem] Kalendas Decembres = 8 Days before the Kalends of December = November 24; MDCXXXIX = 1639)

The other window, along the aisle, sports a rather romanticized (and inaccurate - he projected the sun’s image quite precisely onto a piece of paper, rather than a sheet) depiction of Horrocks’ observation of the event. The Latin phrase below, Ecce gratissimum spectaculum et tot votorum materiem, translates as Behold! What a marvelous spectacle, and the answer to so many prayers! (Horrocks, on the conviction that his own detailed observations of the planet’s motions were more accurate and reliable, had defied Kepler by predicting that 1639 would produce an actual, rather than a near-miss transit, as the venerable astronomer had foretold, and was proved correct.)

It’s a real shame that art and science are routinely set at odds in our own day, and more specifically that “science” so often takes a myopic approach to the exclusion of the bigger picture. The mechanics behind an astronomical event like a Venus transit are certainly fascinating in their own right, but the wonder of it is multiplied when you realize that such an event is merely one step of a rapturously beautiful and intricately choreographed series of musical dances that are spinning around us and over us all the time. If you want to learn to appreciate it more, this delightful little volume is a great place to start.

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.
Psalm 19:1-4a

…when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
Job 38:7  

Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light.
Psalm 148:1-3

Doc Watson: 1923-2012

Forbes Advocates the Essentiality of Good Design

Adam Swann recently published an article for Forbes entitled “Welcome to the Era of Design”. In summary, today’s consumers expect sharp, well-thought-out design, and anyone who wants to cultivate any substantial degree of positive consumer awareness has to be willing to make the investment.

Casey Jones' Last Ride

The most famous train wreck in U. S. history occurred in the early morning hours of April 30, 1900, when a passenger express piloted by John Luther “Casey” Jones plowed into the tail end of a disabled freight train at Vaughan, Mississippi. A resident of Jackson, Tennessee, the 6' 4" Jones had already achieved near-legendary status during nine years as an engineer on the Illinois Central Railroad. Bold and brave, perhaps almost to the point of recklessness, he once climbed out onto the very tip of the “cowcatcher” of his moving locomotive to snatch up a young girl who had frozen in fear on the tracks. In what might be taken as an additional touch of vanity (though it was fairly common practice for engineers of the period) he possessed a custom-built whistle, a six-fluted calliope that produced a distinctive, mournful, “whip-poor-will” call, which he would have mounted to his assigned locomotive. But it was his relentless commitment to punctuality—making up for lost time under nearly impossible circumstances had become a particular specialty of his—that really made him the darling of his superiors at the I.C.R.R., and which sealed his fate on that dark, foggy night.

At the throttle of the northbound Chicago & New Orleans Limited, Casey pulled into Memphis, Tennessee, per his usual m. o., exactly on time, which was just before midnight, on Sunday, April 29. Though his shift for the evening was supposed to be over at that point, upon discovering that the scheduled engineer for the corresponding southbound run was ill, Jones volunteered to double-back with it as far as Canton, Mississippi, 188 miles away. After delays associated with the switch (including mounting Casey's “Whip-poor-will” whistle atop assigned Engine No. 382, a powerful locomotive with 6' driving wheels), the “Cannonball”, as it was popularly called, pulled out of Memphis 95 minutes behind schedule. Running at top speeds of around 80 mph, Casey and fireman Sim Webb had shaved 55 minutes off the delay by the time they made a stop for water in Grenada, Mississippi, 102 miles into the run. As they neared Vaughan, Mississippi, just ten miles from their destination, the delay had been whittled down to a mere handful of minutes, and, with nothing but “fast track” (i.e. no speed-restricted curves) ahead, Casey bragged to Webb that they would make it into Canton “on the advertised” time of 4:05 AM after all.

But unexpectedly, a complicated “saw-by” procedure involving two overly-long freight trains on a siding at Vaughan went awry when a bursted air hose left several cars and the caboose of the southbound freight sticking out onto the main line. As “Ole 382” rounded a gentle left hand curve, fireman Webb was the first to discern the lights of the freight’s caboose through the thick fog ahead, and he frantically alerted the engineer of the impending disaster. Casey immediately threw the wheels in reverse, applied the emergency airbrakes, laid on the whistle, and ordered his fireman to jump. With 300' left between the two trains and closing fast, Webb reluctantly obeyed. The engine plowed through the caboose, one freight car of baled hay, and another of shelled corn before leaving the track, rolling onto its side, and expiring in a sickening carnage of twisted metal, splintered wood, and escaping steam. Through self-sacrificial bravery that was the hallmark of his era, Casey, in his final moments, slowed the train from an estimated 75 mph down to about 35 mph at the point of collision, ensuring that his own would be the only fatality. (His mangled corpse was pulled from the wreckage shortly thereafter. Sim Webb was knocked unconscious and suffered a dislocated shoulder as as result of his leap, and a few other passengers and crew members sustained non-life-threatening injuries.)

The wreck and Jones’ bravery in particular have been commemorated in numerous ballads and songs throughout the intervening century (some with scarcely more than nominal connection to the actual events), making the name of “Casey Jones” a genuine American folk icon. Casey Jones Village, featuring a fine restaurant, country store, and railroad museum, right next to Casey’s old home in Jackson, Tennessee, is definitely worth a stop if you’re ever traveling I-40 between Memphis and Nashville.

The above artwork was done by yours truly as a companion piece (obviously) to the one of the locomotive General covered in my previous post.

The Great Locomotive Chase

A century-and-a-half ago this fine spring day (Saturday, April 12, 1862), an early morning passenger train pulled out of Atlanta, Georgia, bound northward for Chattanooga, Tennessee. After making several stops just north of Atlanta, including Marietta, where a somewhat curious party of about twenty men boarded, the train rolled into Big Shanty (Kennesaw) at about 6AM for a scheduled 20 minute breakfast stop (for crew members as well as passengers) at a hotel adjacent to the tracks. The sumptuous southern fare had barely been served when the train’s conductor, William A. Fuller, happened to glance out the window, and then cried out in disbelief as he saw the locomotive, manned by some of the strangers who had boarded at Marietta, speed away, carrying with it three empty freight cars that were coupled behind the tender, and leaving the rest of the train behind.

Conductor Fuller, along with the engineer and another railroad official, at first believing the thieves were likely deserters from a nearby Confederate training encampment, set off in pursuit on foot. In fact, the score of men who had hijacked the General, as the engine was called (locomotives in the romantic, early days of steam typically had names in addition to mere numbers), were Yankee spies whose audacious design was to tear up track, burn bridges and cut telegraph wires all the way to Chattanooga, in coordination with a planned surprise attack toward that city from the west, along the Tennessee-Alabama border, by a modest-sized Union force. With the railroad severely disabled, it was supposed, the Confederates at Chattanooga would be unable to receive vital supplies and reinforcements from Atlanta, and the city would readily fall into Federal hands.

And the scheme almost worked. James J. Andrews, the charismatic leader of the raid, managed to connive and sweet-talk his way through and around every difficulty and every suspicious objector they met along the way. But despite this, several key factors began to work against the raiders. The recent rainy weather hampered their attempts to set fire to the bridges and trestles. The track was also jammed by a series of unscheduled freight trains being rushed south from Chattanooga, which caused significant and unexpected delays. (The raid actually occurred a day behind that which had originally been coordinated, and the Confederates at Chattanooga had already been spooked by the Union force's capture of Huntsville, Alabama the day before.) But perhaps most significantly, the tenacity of the pursuing railroad crew had been wholly unanticipated. Having started the chase on foot, Fuller and company soon commandeered a pole car, then a series of locomotives, and steadily gained on the raiders throughout the day. As the afternoon wore on, the pursuers, now aboard the locomotive Texas, which they were obliged to run in reverse, began to draw within whistle shot, and finally within sight of the fleeing raiders. But the General was running critically low on fuel and, with the pursuers hot on their heels, the raiders were forced to abandon it a few miles short of the Tennessee line and scatter to the woods, “every man for himself”. All 22 of the conspirators were eventually captured and eight of them, including Andrews, were hanged as spies.

The General, after repairs for minor damage sustained during the course of the raid, went promptly back into service for the Western & Atlantic Railroad. It sustained heavy damage during the conflagration of Atlanta in 1864, as can be seen in this photograph, which shows it (or what is left of it) parked on the tracks close to an exploded ammunition depot. After extensive rebuilding, it continued active service for a couple more decades, and then, over the next eighty years, underwent at least two refurbishings, touring the country for various Civil War commemorations. Today it rests in The Southern Musem, in Kennesaw, just beside the tracks and only yards away from the spot where Andrews and his fellow raiders made off with it on that April morn long ago. (The Texas, following a somewhat parallel fate, now resides inside Atlanta’s Cyclorama.)

The illustration at top was done by myself a number of years ago to hang in my sons’ bedroom.

One of the greatest films of the silent era, Buster Keaton’s The General was inspired by and (very) loosely based on the events of the Andrews Raid. That film in turn inspired the iconic 1972 poster art shown above, by master designer/illustrator David Lance Goines. Disney’s 1956 film version of the adventure is quite faithful to the actual events, and also a must-see. Here’s a great clip, featuring Slim Pickens as Texas engineer Peter Bracken. (Note the bacon frying on the the firebox door.)

Allegri's Miserere from Memory

1770 A.D. Rome. The Sistine Chapel. It is Wednesday in Holy Week. Several hours before dawn, worshippers assemble in the famous chapel, adorned with the legendary frescoes of Michelangelo, for the Tenebrae service. Among them are an Austrian gentleman (the unique nature of this particular service draws visitors from all over Europe) and his teenage son. The service itself consists of a ritual extinguishing of candles, accompanied by readings, prayers, and musical settings of appointed texts. Most notable among these latter is a setting of Psalm 51 (Miserere mei, Deus - Have mercy upon me, O God) composed a century-and-a-half prior by Gregorio Allegri. An aura of mystique surrounds this musical work, reported to be an exceptionally beautiful and intricately polyphonic interplay between two choirs, totaling nine separate voices. So highly is it prized by the Roman Church, that transcribing or performing the music elsewhere is forbidden under the threat of excommunication.

The service proceeds. The glorious Miserere is sung, to the enraptured delight of all present, especially those guests who are hearing it for the first time. As the service concludes, a final lit candle is briefly hidden away under the altar and then reproduced, providing just enough light for the worshippers to find the exit. As they file out silently, the Austrian gentleman looks down with upraised eyebrows toward his son. In the dim light, the son returns his father's questioning glance with a precocious grin and a wink of the eye. Later in the day, back in their quarters elsewhere in the city, the boy takes pen to paper and transcribes, from memory, Allegri’s Miserere from beginning to end. The pair return again to the chapel for the Good Friday Tenebrae Service, the only other time in the whole year when the piece is performed. This second hearing furnishes opportunity for the boy to make the few additional mental notes he needs in order to perfect the transcription.

The father and son are, of course, Leopold and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who was fourteen at the time. During their subsequent travels, they shared the transcription with a British historian, who took a copy home with him to London and published it the following year. When it became known who was responsible, the Pope, rather than excommunicating Mozart, instead heaped laudations upon the boy for his impish genius. The ban was lifted, and today Allegri’s Miserere is among the most highly regarded of a cappella choral works.

The Secret of Kells

Today being St. Patrick’s Day, I’m reminded of a plug I meant to give for a movie I saw for the first time a few weeks ago. The Secret of Kells is a delightfully animated film which involves a fictional story (populated by some quasi-historical characters) about the creation (and preservation) of the famed Book of Kells. The animation style is refreshingly and uniquely stylized in a way that pays homage to the artistry of the text around which it revolves.

As a rather interesting aside which I was unaware of prior to watching the film, a tall central siege tower, as is prominently featured in the movie, was indeed a feature of the Abbey of Kells, and possibly of other Celtic monasteries of the period. As my pastor pointed out to me in a conversation about the film, this fact lends a new dimension to these lines from the well-known Irish hymn Be Thou My Vision.

Be thou my breastplate, sword for the fight;
Be thou my dignity, thou my delight;
Thou my soul’s shelter, thou my high tower:
Raise thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Antonio Gotto: A Centenary Tribute

One hundred years ago today my great-great grandfather Antonio Gotto passed away, at age 103. Aside from a few additional family anecdotes that have been handed down, his obituary provides virtually all of the knowledge that my family has retained about our fascinating ancestor and his apparently colorful life and experiences. (Due to his extreme old age, his death was a matter of significant local interest, and his obituary, given below, appeared on the front page of the evening paper.)

The Nashville Banner, Wednesday Evening, March 13, 1912

Antonio Gotto, a stone mason by trade, and probably the oldest citizen of Davidson County, died at 9:45 o’clock this morning near Una [then a suburb of Nashville, today a community east of Murfreesboro Road, just south of Nashville Int’l Airport].

Mr. Gotto was a man of wide information and experience and he stood high among those who knew him, having the respect of all. He came to the United States from his native town, Genoa, Italy, while a young man, and entered upon his trade in this country. He was one of the skilled workmen employed on the present State Capitol, and he also worked on all the culverts and other similar work on the Nashville, Chattanooga and St. Louis Railway. He continued active work until about ten years ago, when he was forced to retire because of his advanced age and the ailments resulting therefrom.

Mr. Gotto had traveled not alone in this country but in Central America as well. While in the latter country in 1860 he witnessed the execution of William Walker by the Honduran Government.

January 8, 1912, Mr. Gotto was 103 years of age. His wife preceded him to the grave four or five years ago. Several children were born to Mr. and Mrs. Gotto, the sons being Willard, George, Ed, Nathan, and Joe [my great-grandfather], and the daughters, Alice Mrs. Eugene Gresham, Mary, Mrs. George Fox, Maggie and Mrs. Arthur Ridley.

Mr. Gotto was a citizen of Davidson Country for more than half a century, living at the home place near Una for fifty years. As an evidence of his activity even during his latter years, it is of interest to note the fact that Mr. Gotto, at the age of 94 walked from his home to Nashville and on to Belle Meade, and then back home. [That distance would be well over 30 miles, altogether.]

Mr. Gotto’s last illness lasted about two or three weeks, during which time those who watched at his bedside feared he would never survive his final illness. The death of this well-known citizen this morning showed that their fears were well founded.

In addition to a couple of photographic portraits of Antonio, my mother has a large (about 18" x 12") photograph of the old “Gotto home place” which was apparently taken sometime around the turn of the 20th century. The house was demolished in 1999, but I got permission to retrieve a few relics, including a couple of the smaller logs from the cabin portion, and two of the unique stained-glass window frames that can be seen here. I turned one into a mirror for my grandmother, and the other hangs in the front foyer of my home.

The King of Western Swing and the Duke of Lancaster

Today we celebrate the legacies of two vastly different men, born on the same date, centuries apart.

Bob Wills was born on this day in 1905, in rural Texas. (His birthday, incidentally, falls on the anniversary of the Fall of the Alamo, an association of which he was no doubt especially proud.) As the fiddle-playing, cigar-chomping, jive-talking frontman for his group The Texas Playboys, Bob pioneered what was eventually dubbed Western Swing: an innovative combination of country and western and big band jazz. The group was not only exceedingly popular, at times out-selling more mainstream acts such as Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey as they performed at large dance events all across the southern and western U.S., they were ahead of their time in a number of respects as well, most notably for their prominent use of amplified electric guitars (and mandolins). (The group’s sole appearance at the Grand Ole Opry, in 1944, caused a legendary scandal when they defied that organization’s ban on drum kits.) Some of the band’s greatest hits include: Maiden’s Prayer, New San Antonio Rose, Take Me Back to Tulsa, Home in San Antone, Faded Love, Bubbles in My Beer, and Basin Street Blues.

John of Gaunt was born March 6, 1340, the third surviving son of powerful British monarch Edward III. Though he never wore the crown himself, he nonetheless cast a very long shadow (literally as well as figuratively: the man was apparently about 6' 7" tall) over England and her subsequent history. His vast holdings made him the richest man in England during his time, and his colorful life included 3 marriages, an ultimately unsuccessful bid for the thrones of the Spanish kingdoms of Castile and Leon (claimed through his second wife), prosecution of several military campaigns in France, de facto leadership of England for several years (during a time when both his father and older brother, Edward, The Black Prince, were too ill to rule), patronage of Geoffrey Chaucer, and support for the proto-Reformer John Wycliffe. After his death, his son, Henry Bolingbroke deposed (and possibly murdered) John’s nephew Richard II to become King Henry IV. All subsequent English monarchs, down to the present day, are descendants of John of Gaunt.

In Shakespeare’s play Richard II, the dying John of Gaunt speaks these lines in an oft-quoted patriotic tribute to England:

This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,. . .

Downton Abbey Paper Dolls from Vulture

Dang, I wish I had thought of this. Of course, I've only managed to see the first episode from Season One, but these are hilarious!