Upstate Outpost

Thanksgiving with Gaudi

2011-12-18T10:30:00.000-05:00

Themost visited tourist site in Barcelona is the unfinished cathedraldesigned by Antoni Gaudi, the SagradaFamilia. We visited it, of course, the day we arrived by “Ave”high speed train from Madrid, but that's another story. Noteto architecture fans– the hyperlinks in this article amplify the story greatly, take a look.

Weset out on foot on a pleasantly cool, sunny Thanksgiving morning fromthe lovely Hotel Constanzaat Calle Bruc, 33 where we stayed the three days we were inBarcelona. Fortified with Cafe Solo (aka the best expresso you willever taste) we strolled slowly up Passeigde Gracia through the heart of the Eixampledistrict. This is one of the major avenues in the city. To my eyeit seems a more beautiful, cleaner, classier version of NYC's 5^thAvenue. It is lined with plane trees, ornate benches and art nouveaustreet lights. At this time of the morning the street was busy withextremely well-dressed pedestrians on the way to work. The sidewalksare even paved with beautiful art nouveau tiles.

Inshort order we came to the so-called “Block of Discord.” Thisentire district is filled with beautiful late 19^thCentury architecture, but this block is special because it includestwo famous modernista buildings, CasaAmatller and CasaLleo Morera. It's called the block of discord because of the waythe modernista buildings contrast with their more sober neighbors andwith Gaudi's wilder, tile-covered CasaBatllo. CasaBatlló is a complete redesign of an existing 1877 building done byGaudi and his collaborators in 1904 – 1906. Thelocal name for the building is Casadels ossos(House of Bones), as the facade has a something of a skeletal,organic quality with a dragon scale roof.

Westopped for a while to admire the beauty of the place. We decided towalk a bit further up the avenue and tour Gaudi's CasaMila, then return to tour Casa Batllo.

CasaMilà,better known as LaPedrera (meaning the 'The Quarry'), was designed and built by Gaudibetween 1905 and 1910 for a wealthy family who lived on the groundfloor and rented out large apartments on the upper floors. Thefacade and roof are famous for the undulating, organic look. Thecomplementary wrought iron balconies and windows were designed byJosepMaria Jujol,who also created the interior plaster ceilings.

Architecturally,La Pedrera is considered an innovative work for its early use ofstructural steel and its self-supporting curtain walls. Otherinnovative elements were the construction of underground car parkingand separate lifts and stairs for the owners and their servants. Thebuilding is currently owned and operated by CatalunyaCaixa,a private educational foundation. The building tour starts with theincredible roof, moves down to an interesting Gaudi museum in thearched attic, then finishes in a restored apartment with itsoriginal art nouveau interior and furnishings. We were there forhours.

Outsideagain in the now warm mid-day sun, we paused across the street soMerry could take a couple of photographs of the facade. Awell-dressed woman approached us.

“Esbeautiful, si, no?”

Westruck up a conversation with her in Spanglish. She enquired whetherwe had toured Casa Batllo yet. When she found out that was where wewere headed, she was adamant that we should not pay to tour thebuilding. We understood her to say that the tour was lessinteresting than at Casa Mila. Further she insisted we could get avery good view of the back of the building with its intricate tiles,totally for free.

“For,free?”

“Si. Just turn right down the street right before the building, go intothe big magazine, and … “

Waita minute, magazine? After thinking about it and being sure shecouldn't think of any other word, I realized she was saying “magasin”– French for store. OK, so we turn down a side street, go into astore take the escalator to the second floor, remembering that inEurope the ground floor is floor 0, then wander through the aisles tothe back, open a door and … well, we would have to see forourselves.

Wewere a bit doubtful, but what the heck. We thanked the nice woman,and headed down the street. A department store existed. We foundthe right floor, then a fire door leading out onto a low roof. Welooked around, no one was watching. Merry, always the brave one,pushed the door open, No alarm. Whew.

Theroof outside is set up as the employees' smoking area with chairs andvending machines. The view of Casa Botlla is wonderful. Judge foryourself.

Fighting Fascism at the Museo Reina Sofia

2011-12-17T11:36:00.001-05:00

Byaccident we approached the museum from the rear entrance between the2005 glass and steel additions and the 18^th CenturySabatini building. As a result we found ourselves in a soaringcourtyard with a giant whimsical sculpture in the center. We wentimmediately to the open plaza on the top floor and looked over thecity of Madrid. We loved it. The Reina Sofia already had ourhearts.

Aboveall the other art that can be seen in Madrid, I wanted to seePicasso's Guernica. I had seen it sometime in the early 1970sat the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Picasso gave MOMA thepainting for safe keeping in 1938. When I saw it, I was somewhatunderwhelmed. It seemed poorly displayed, out of place and did notcreate the intense impact I expected.

Picassopainted Guernica in 1937 for the Spanish Pavilion of theWorld's Fair in Paris. At that time the Spanish Civil War wasraging. The Spanish monarchy was dissolved in 1932 and an electedrepublican government established. The 1936 election swept aleft-wing coalition, called the Popular Front, into power. Right-wing Nationalist forces attempted a failed coup d'etat in July1936.

Ledby General Francisco Franco, the Nationalist forces didn't give up.Open civil war broke out. The Spanish Civil War immediately becamethe symbol of the struggle between authoritarianism and progressivedemocracy. The war lasted until Franco's victory in April 1939,leaving up to half a million dead, many of them civilians. Francoobtained military support from Fascist Italy and Fascist Germany. The Popular Front received aide from the Soviet Union and France aswell as many volunteer International Brigades.

Duringthose times a life or death struggle raged throughout Europe betweenthose who believed the state should be used to redistribute wealthand those who believed the state should defend the status quo. GiantRussia executed its monarchs, rejected its traditional ruling classand transformed into the Communist Soviet Union. Vested economicinterests in the rest of Europe were more than a little concerned bythis development. In the countries that had suffered the most fromWorld War I, a new political force emerged that promised to solve thethreat to stability posed by the communists and at the same timeprovide a modern social welfare state, Fascism.

InGermany and Italy Fascism proved quite popular and swept into power.Hitler and Mussolini quickly built massive military machines theyjustified by constantly referring to the threat of communism. Inrepublican Spain, the Civil War became the focus of this battle forthe soul of Europe.

OnApril 26, 1937 Franco arranged an air attack on a small Basque townto be carried out by his German and Italian allies. That town,Guernica, had no military significance. The Basques generallyopposed Franco, and he wanted to show them how ruthless he could be. Carpet bombing totally destroyed the town and killed 1000 or morecivilians. The era of total war had begun.

Atthe time of the bombing Picasso had already made plans for adifferent painting for the World's Fair. When he realized theenormity of what had happened in his country, he decided to takeGuernica as his subject. Picasso said of the painting, “I clearlyexpress my abhorrence of the military caste which has sunk Spain inan ocean of pain and death.” With Franco's victory, Picasso vowednever to set foot in his native Spain as long as Franco ruled.

Afterthe Paris Exposition, Picasso arranged for Guernica to be heldby the Museum of Modern Art but specified that it be returned toSpain should a democratic republic ever be established. The paintingwas finally returned to Spain in 1981 and hung at the Prado. In 1992it was moved to its current home at the Museo Reina Sofia where ithangs in a special gallery. Adjourning galleries show about twodozen preparatory works and a series of photographs showing the muralas it was being painted.

Weslowly wandered through the Reina Sofia taking in the astoundingcollection of 20^th Century Spanish art. Gradually thegalleries filled with groups of school children. This museum hasperhaps the finest collection of surrealism anywhere in the world, sothe kids were quite well amused. Each class of about 25 kids wereaccompanied by a teacher who worked hard to keep them informed aboutwhat they were seeing and moving along.

Finally,we reached the painting I had come all this way to see again. Theroom is very large and dimly lit. The mural hangs alone on one wholewall. My first thought was how stark, how simply powerful it looked. Then to my initial dismay, a whole class of 8-year-olds filed intothe gallery, briefly obstructing my view. Their teacher organizedthem on the floor about six feet from the painting. They quickly satand quieted down.

Forthe next fifteen minutes their young teacher quietly spoke with thekids, gesturing occasionally at the painting. He spoke so softly Icouldn't really hear him. The kids paid absolute attention. Thegallery had become a side chapel in some great cathedral. The kidswere in total awe.

AlthoughI couldn't understand him, I knew the teacher was explaining thehistory of the Spanish Civil War, of Franco's authoritarian regimeand of Fascism.

Ahidden scar in the Spanish psyche was left by the decades of Franco'sauthoritarian rule. By now the elected government has done its bestto remove all official recognition of Franco. Most governmentbuildings and streets named for him have resumed their originalnames. The last statue of Franco in Spain was torn down in 2008.

Thosewho suffered under Franco live on, but do not recover. They hide thescar, but it will be with them for the rest of their lives. The onlyhope for the future is those kids on the floor in the Reina Sofia. Ifelt privileged to be present as they learned to live as free people.

Pickpockets

2011-12-11T09:50:00.001-05:00

Merryand I arrived at the Madrid airport extremely bleary after a flightdelay of four hours. We left home the day before at 9 am. Now itwas noon the next day. Accounting for the time difference, we hadbeen on the move almost non-stop for 21 hours with little sleep.

To getinto the city from the airport we decided to ride the Metro. Thisinvolved a long walk through the airport, then two transfers betweensubway lines. We packed light but there were stairs and longhallways everywhere. At the end of the last transfer, a strangerappeared out of nowhere and tried to help me carry my suitcase down ashort flight of a stairs. I managed to get him to let go just as atrain pulled in. We hopped on at the last minute and found ourselvesin a crush of passengers. When we got off at our station Merdiscovered her backpack had been opened. A handbag bought for thetrip but fortunately empty was stollen and her earring bag wasmissing.

Weoriented ourselves and trudged to our hotel a bit shaken. Exhaustedbut safe we felt lucky to have carried all our money, credit cardsand passports in our money belts. We reported the incident to thehotel desk, but they simply assured us we were lucky not to have lostmore. We had planned to ride the Metro frequently in Madrid, butthis episode made us change our minds.

A fewdays later we were walking in Barcelona in a nice neighborhood nearthe SagradaFamillia. Suddenly we both realized our backs were wet. Mypants and Mer's jacket were splattered all over with coffee. A guyrushed up to us with a handful of napkins and started to clean offthe mess. He tried very hard to get us to go into his apartmentwhere he claimed he would help us more. We both were aware enough torealize this was a scam. We pulled away. An older gentleman walkedup and stopped to see what was happening. The first guy quicklydisappeared. We walked around for the next few hours in spottedclothes that smelled strongly of coffee and creamora.

The deskclerk at our hotel told us this happens all the time. It turns outthat throwing coffee, catsup or yogurt on clothes is a commonscam. He suggested our best defense would have been to havethanked the guy for wanting to help and asked to take his picture.

We knewbefore making this trip that pickpockets and sneak thieves are commonin Spain's large cities. We lost very little, but the psychologicalimpact lasted throughout the trip. We always carried our valuablesin money belts. We avoided crowds when possible and were always onguard. We had no further trouble. Everyone we met told us storiesof their personal experiences with pickpockets, many of which werefar worse than ours.

As I seeit, the problem with the tactics used by sneak thieves is thereliance on the natural willingness people have to trust helpfulstrangers. When someone offers to help, my natural impulse is to bemoved and thankful. This moment of relaxation is all a pickpocketneeds to steal your wallet. As a consequence, in areas wherepickpockets operate, a traveler needs to train themselves not totrust people who appear to be trying to be helpful. Is thatseemingly nice guy who just offered to take your picture going tosteal the camera?

I liketo think I'm not naïve. I know there is a lot of poverty in theworld. When I travel I know a certain portion of the people Iencounter see me as nothing but an opportunity to make easy money. Nonetheless, pickpockets violate a trust that people ought to be ableto count on no matter where they are in the world. Without thattrust, travel is less enriching and more stressful. When we guard ourselves from open contact with the people in the country we visit,we miss the best part of the trip.

In thenext few blog entries, I will share the stories of how we broke outof this distrust of strangers and found real adventure in Spain. Stay tuned.

Cotton mill robots

2011-11-06T16:40:00.001-05:00

Overthe course of his 15 years working for Hanesbrands at their Parkdalecotton mill the claimant I was questioning had done virtually everyjob in the factory that a guy with only a high school education couldget: laborer, machine operator and finally machine mechanic.

“Exceptfor the front end, Judge, you know where they gin the raw cotton.”

“Whydidn't you ever work the gin end?”

“It's just too dirty,you know, dust, seeds and sticks, cotton fiber everywhere.”

Ihad already established that he and his wife moved up to Central NewYork from eastern Georgia so they could get help from his wife'sfamily while they figured out what to do next. His wife was workingas a home health aide, not making much, but they were scraping by.His back gave out on him at age 45 from a combination of bad genesand hard physical labor.

“Sohow much would you have to lift when you were a machine tender, backwhen you first worked at Hanes?”

“Wellyou see, the cotton would be run through the first machines thenwound onto a roll that would get taken off to the next set ofmachines. Those rolls probably weigh about 100 pounds each.”

“Wouldyou have to lift one of those rolls yourself?”

“Sortof, we would slide them out of the machine then heft them onto acart, so yeah, I had to lift them a bit.”

“OK, how oftendid you do this?”

“Allday, over and over. You might not know it, Judge, but we worked 12hour shifts at that mill, three days on, then one off, then two on,one off, then three again. About once a month we got a straight weekoff but the next week we had to work seven days straight, then backto the same schedule all over again.”

“Wasit seasonal work? Did you work more hours during the cottonharvest?”

“No,that was the schedule year-round. The company has a big warehousefull of cotton modules, so there was always work. It is the thirdlargest yarn factory in the world. It can put out 1.5 million poundsof cotton yarn every 12 hour shift.”

[Incase you don't know about cotton modules, you can take a look at apost I wrote about how cotton modules are made a few years back. Youcan find that article here.]

“Isee, so what job did you do next?”

“Iran a bunch of carding machines for a few years, then ran thespinning machines.”

“Werethose machine operator jobs as hard?”

“No,that was pretty easy work, actually. There wasn't any lifting tospeak of. You just have to watch the machines to be sure they don'tjam up or anything. If that happens then you turn off the machine,climb in and try to unjam it. If the operator can't clear the jam,you call a mechanic.”

“OK,so what was the hardest part of your machine operator jobs?”

“I'dsay cleaning the machines after the shift. You would have to climball over them dragging an air hose to blow off all the cotton lintand dust. So there was a real lot of climbing.”

“Wasdragging that air hose heavy?”

“No,not unless one of those stupid robots ran over the hose.”

“Excuseme sir, did you say robots?”

“Yeah,see Fruit of the Loom got them first. They found out pretty quickthat they didn't work all that well, so they got rid of them byselling them to Hanes. Let me tell you Judge, those robots arereally stupid.”

“Sir,excuse me, but even though it doesn't have much to do with your case,would you mind telling me a bit more about the robots?”

“Sure,see they use them now to do the heavy lifting of the fiber rolls andmove the rolls around the plant. They are sort of like big boxes onwheels. They run around the mill following magnetic tape on thefloor. They've got some sensors to keep them from running intoanything or anybody, but the two on the side point out, and the twoin the front point in. That leaves two big blind spots. Believe me,they run into things. I heard a woman got caught between two thatwhere running in opposite directions. They broke three of her ribs.”

“Sothese robots would run around the mill and sometimes your air hosewould get caught under them, is that right?”

“Yeah,when that happened and I would pull on the hose, it felt like I washauling on 1000 pounds. Not only that, but they would go off thetape and run into the machines or the walls. Some of the guysfigured that all the fiber on the floor was messing them up. If factsomeone discovered that they would follow a polyester ribbon just aswell as the magnetic tape. One day at the end of the shift, somehowall the robots ended up in the ladies room.”

Iresumed the hearing as soon as we all stopped laughing.

My surprise

2011-09-05T15:20:00.000-04:00

“Don'tplan anything for Saturday morning, I've got a surprise for you.”

Therest of the week Merry taunted me, challenging me to guess. The onlyclues she would give were that we were going to nearby Tully, NY, Iwas to wear hiking clothes and my water shoes. I was totallymystified.

Soon Saturday morning I put on my hiking clothes and got in the car. After a stop for coffee we heading up into the hills west of Tully ona back road. The mystery did not get any clearer until we finallyturned into a driveway marked WoodmanseeLlamas.

NowI got it. About a month ago I did quite a bit of research on llamasand other camilids for a short story I was writing. We even went tothe Burnet Park zoo to see their small herd of guanaco, the presumedwild ancestor of the llama. Then last Tuesday we strolled throughthe small animal barn at the NY State Fair and spent some time withthe llamas on display there. In retrospect I remember Merryremarking that she wondered what it would be like to get to knowllamas a bit better.

Johnand Dawn Bishop own Woodmansee Farms. The farm is situated on a verysteep hillside. It's mostly second-growth woods. They have threesmall barns, one for storage, one for the “boys” and one for the“girls.” As I approached the nearest split rail fence, abouthalf a dozen “girls” trotted over to check me out. Llamas are anodd mixture of skitter and curiosity. Did I have food? No? Thenlet's run away. But maybe he does have food. Let's check him outagain. And so on. A llama face tells you instantly it's a friendlybeast.

Thenext barn houses the seven male trekking llamas. John was in withthe animals, getting them harnessed up. The halter is just a simpleset a straps around the nose and back of the head with a ring underthe chin where a lead rope can be clipped. As he worked he explainedhow they had gotten interested in llamas. He brought out Zeus, theirlargest male, about 400 pounds. John told us a good trekking llamacan easily carry a third of its weight. Llamas are human-scale. Theback of a llama comes about to the waist of an adult human. The longneck means their head sits just about as far from the ground as minedoes. Llamas look out at the world from roughly the same vantagepoint we humans have, but they have bigger eyes and ears.

Whenwe were all gathered, Dawn brought two animals out to fit them withpacks. The frame looks a bit like a small horse saddle. Once thatis cinched tightly, cloth saddlebags are hung from each side – inthis case carrying snacks. Dawn introduced me to Morrie, a whitellama with a brown back now covered by saddlebags. Merry got anall-brown llama with the other packs. Once everyone had their ownllama, we were off.

Walkingwith a llama is pretty easy and quite peaceful. They are generallycompliant. The biggest challenge is that they see the trail as allama salad bar. They eat a surprising variety of plants: raspberryand blackberry leaves, almost all tree leaves, any grass, most ferns,and most flowers (wisely avoiding joe-pye weed and goldenrod). Agentle tug was all it took to get them to move on. They walksteadily and carefully. Their feet have soft pads on the bottom withtwo sharp toenails that serve as protection. They barely leavetracks, even in wet ground. I was surprised to find out that theydon't like to get their feet muddy.

Afterwalking down hill for about half a mile we came to the upper reachesof Onondaga Creek. At the top of beautiful Bishop's Falls we stoppedfor a snack: alfalfa for the llamas, apples, pastries and Gatoradefor the people. While we relaxed, we got to hear the llamas “hum,”a fairly quiet noise. Dawn convinced Morrie to show us his teeth. Llama have a triangular row of chisel-like lower teeth in the frontof their mouth but no upper teeth. They grasp and cut off plantswith their front teeth then slowly grind them between the plates oftheir gums. We repacked the saddlebags, took a last look at thefalls, crossed the creek a couple of times, then slowly worked ourway back up the hill to the farm.

Outsidethe barn we unloaded the packs, then turned the animals out topasture. They walked away and started grazing without looking back.

Justbefore we left, Dawn wanted to show us how a llama will take grainfrom your hand. She gave Merry and me each a handful of llama chowand we headed to the fence. The females came over and inspected us. The bravest one came up to my outstretched palm. Using her lips as asoft spatula the grain quickly disappeared. Two other females cameup to Merry and before anyone could react, one snapped her head backand tried to spit on her rival. Mer was in the line of fire and wasaccidently hit on the arm. We watched from a safe distance as theydid it again, putting their heads back and wetly snorting.

Allin all it was a fun outing. Not what I'd exactly call a trek, but avery pleasant walk in the woods with an interesting animal companion.For more on the Woodmansee llamas, check out this article from Lifein the Finger Lakes, which is where Merry first discovered them.

Joli is gone

2011-08-21T10:57:00.000-04:00

Our sweet dog, Joli, departed her long and happy life this morning.

She was our constant companion these last 14 years. She was a pure-bred Border Collie, born in eastern Pennsylvania. Her mother was owned by the sister of a close friend. When we first saw her at six weeks old she was running with the pack of her brothers and sisters and was called “Tulip.” We knew she was the one: sweet, independent and full of life.

She came to live with us in the spring of 1997. She was happy to be with us where ever we lived, first in Oneida, then Syracuse, then St. Louis and finally back to Syracuse again. She loved to travel and was never a problem in any of the many motels, B&Bs and campgrounds she visited. She loved people, especially little kids. She was easy to teach and became a champ at dog agility. She had a good effect on the other dogs she met, kind, inquisitive but never pushy. After overcoming an early fear of water, she loved to swim. She was a perfect canoe dog, traveling many miles in our boats without complaint. At Rap-Shaw, our camp in the Adirondacks, she insisted of spending as much time at the beach as possible.

I took her for two walks a day, one at 4 am and one at 4 pm, every day, without fail in all weather. That adds up to over 10,000 interesting walks in the last 14 years. She would never be seen without a stick in her mouth.

Yesterday at about 2 am Joli had some kind of an event. We think it was a stroke. After a while we were able to get her to settle down, but she was much reduced. Her hearing was effected and she was left with a neurological problem that made her constantly dizzy. After a thorough physical, the vet told us there was a chance she would recover. We decided to give her a chance. She had become dangerously dehydrated so they gave her a quart of solution under the skin. They told us to give her a motion sickness drug, and feed her bland food. We brought her home, and she slept comfortably most of the day. She happily ate her hamburger mixed with rice. We went for a little walk in the evening and lay in the grass with her for awhile. We had hopes she was recovering.

Early this morning, it happened again. This time she could not stand and had a hard time recognizing us. We knew it was time. We took her to the emergency vet to have her euthanized.

The loss we feel is profound.

Ireland 2011

2011-06-22T19:18:00.003-04:00

Ireland May - June 2011 organized by Champlain College, Dublin

Here's an internet enhanced review of our recent trip to Ireland. I haven't included pictures here because Merry has posted a very nice selection on her blog that can be found at http://merryatsyracuse.blogspot.com/. Be sure to check that out. It includes some awesome shots.

DAY 1—FRIDAY MAY 27 – Travel from Syracuse to Dublin
We began our journey by taking Century taxi to airport at noon; cheaper and easier than long-term airport parking. Left Syracuse at 2:44 pm on Jet Blue, arrived 3:57 pm at NYC Kennedy. Spent quite a bit of time trying to find International terminal due to the complete absence of any directional signs. Finally figured out how to ride the AirTrain to the right location. Along the way we had good views of the still amazing Saarinen TWA terminal. Through security again, then had dinner at Tigin, a chain Irish restaurant where I had my first pint of Guinness of the trip. We were seated facing a TV inexplicably tuned to cage boxing, so we left right after eating. Sat around quite awhile and finally left JFK a bit after 9:50 pm on Aer Lingus, stalled almost an hour on runway waiting for take-off. It was a typical red-eye flight on which we got very little sleep and finally arrived at Dublin at 9:50 am local time (about a six hour flight plus a five hour time change).

DAY 2—SATURDAY MAY 28 - Dublin

We were bleary eyed when we cleared immigration and customs and finally made our way out of the Arrivals Hall in the very modern Dublin airport. We were met by Dr. Stephen Robinson, Director of Champlain College, Dublin. We also met up with Paddi Hurley who was on our flight and her sister, Meghan, who arrived earlier. Rounding out our group was Leslie Carew, temporarily the victim of lost luggage. Stephen shepherded us all onto a taxi and we were off to the Augustine Apartments in central Dublin. There was a mix-up and our room was not ready, so we dropped our bags and stumbled up the hill to the early medieval St. Audoen's Church and gardens, then ate a nice late lunch at nearby Noto Cafe before returning to move into our apartment. After checking out our digs, we rendezvoused with the whole group and followed Stephen on a brisk walk through the Temple Bar district to Trinity College, where we were given a short college tour by a grad student in full undergraduate costume, gown and tweeds, then saw the Book of Kells and the Old Library. After the tour, Mer & I walked around the grounds of the Dublin Castle. The weather was quite brisk so we revived with a perfect pint of Guinness at The Stag's Head before we met for a group dinner at Odessa. We were quite worn out when we fell into bed that night.

DAY 3—SUNDAY MAY 29 – Boyne Valley
The group boarded our coach and headed to the historic Boyne Valley, about 40 km north of the Dublin. Our guide for the day was Dr. Kelli Maoileoin, an archeologist and faculty member of Champlain College, Dublin. Our first stop was Loughcrew, a megalithic passage tomb dating back to about 3,000 B.C. We arrived a bit too early, so we went into the nearby village of Oldcastle for coffee at Caffrey's Bar on the square, then picked up the key to the tomb (it's locked to prevent vandalism). The misty day cleared but the wind picked up as we made our way to the top of an open steep hill to a number of tombs. Kelli gave a talk at a ruined tomb then took small groups on tours of the intact main tomb. Lunch was a sort of backyard barbeque at Loughcrew Gardens with a walk through the grounds and garden afterwards. Back on the coach we heard the first of many cultural enrichment stories from our terrific coach driver, Kieran O'Brien of Tony Doyle Coaches. Kelli then gave us a guided walking tour the Hill of Tara, a sacred site for ancient Irish religion and home to medieval Irish kings. Kelli's ability to get us to imagine early Irish history was truly impressive. Back in Dublin we scattered for dinner. Merry & I had good Italian food complete with live music at Toscana right across from the Castle on Dame St., then an early night to catch up on lost sleep.

DAY 4—MONDAY MAY 30 – Dublin

After a continental breakfast delivered to our apartments, the group started the day with a walking tour of historic Dublin guided by local expert Pat Liddy. The tour included a Medieval city gate and a Viking site as well as a walk through beautiful City Hall and Dublin Castle. Mer & I grabbed a cup of coffee then wandered through Merrion Square (1752) where we saw the wonderful Oscar Wilde statue across the street from where he once lived. Then we headed to the Champlain College, Dublin Academic Centre for sandwiches and a lecture on the political history of the Republic of Ireland by Dr. Anthony O’Halloran, a faculty member. We walked through St. Stephen's Green (1663) on the way to our guided tour of Dáil Éireann (Irish Parliament). Evening dinner and entertainment was at the Irish House Party, a traditional Irish music and dancing show. Really a fun day.

DAY 5—TUESDAY MAY 31 – Westport, County Mayo

A trip to Ireland would not be complete without visiting the West Coast area, the home of traditional music, the Gaeltacht (Irish-speaking) areas, and gorgeous scenery. We headed out of Dublin by coach with Kieran at the wheel. Stephen gave a running commentary on the sights (focusing on geology and especially peat), and Kieran told stories. We stopped for “carvery” lunch at the Abbey Hotel in Roscommon. The scenery became more and more beautiful as we entered County Mayo heading for our overnight stop in Westport. Westport is a little tourist town filled with the classic brightly-coloured pubs, cafes and shops. We wandered through town and warmed up with a cup of hot chocolate before returning to our very nice lodgings at the Castlecourt Hotel. We ate a simple group dinner in the hotel restaurant. After dinner Merry went for a walk along a converted railroad bed then stopped into the hotel pub where a country and western band was entertaining a group composed mostly of seniors on holiday break. Many of our fellow tourists headed into town to the pubs. We hit the sack early to try to finally overcome our jet lag.

DAY 6—WEDNESDAY JUNE 1 - Westport to Galway

We had a full cooked Irish breakfast in the hotel complete with eggs, sausages, Irish bacon, white and black pudding, brown bread and jam. Whew! Mer took the sensible route with Irish oatmeal. We boarded the coach and stopped at the foot of Croagh Patrick, the traditional Irish Catholic mountain pilgrimage site. A strong wind was blowing off the ocean as we visited the monument to the victims of the Great Famine (1845 - 1852), seen here as a key event in the Irish history of emigration. Unfortunately, the mountain was in the clouds, but the wild scenery was wonderful. We then drove through the increasingly amazing scenery of Connemara with its steep mountains, small villages and fiord. It was late morning when we arrived at the amazing Kylemore Abbey. The steep slopes all around here were literally carpeted in blooming pink azaleas. Mer and I headed straIght to the partly-restored Victorian Walled garden – a real highlight of the trip for us - then toured the castle, but skipped the Abbey itself. Lunch was good soup and a sad sandwich at the gift shop - restaurant. Then it was back on the coach continuing south. Suddenly we turned off the main road and took a very narrow road hemmed in by stone walls into the mountains. Sheep wandered in the road and we stopped for a group photo in the rugged country. A bit further on we stopped at the Joyce Country Sheepdog Demonstration. This was the very best border collie demonstration possible. Joe Joyce is the real thing. He is great with both his beautiful dogs and his sheep. He described his use of collies in sheep farming, demonstrated three styles of herding plus hand sheared one of his blackface sheep. We didn't want to leave but had to get to our overnight stop, the Galway Western Hotel. When we asked for a recommendation for oriental food, the desk clerk directed us to the Asian Tea House. It was an excellent choice and a nice break from meat & potatoes. We walked around to the river and downtown of the City but were definitely under-whelmed.

DAY 7—THURSDAY JUNE 2 – The Burren, Cliffs of Moher and Doolin

Another full Irish breakfast gave us the energy for the day's tour of the Burren, a starkly beautiful limestone plateau with an extensive megalithic history. Our first stop of the day was Corcomroe Abbey, an early 13^th Century church now an interesting ruin. Then as we climbed onto the Burren itself we paused at a “Fairy Fort.” These are actually ancient earth-bermed fortified farmsteads, but are the source of long-standing local superstition. Then up onto the hilltop pavement barrens where we stopped at Poulnabrone Dolmen, a neolithic portal tomb and then at Caherconnel Stone Fort, an early medieval fortified village. We had a late lunch at Vaughan’s Pub in Kilfenora where I tried the traditional bacon and cabbage dinner washed down with Cidona, a popular apple soft drink. Vaughn's is famous, sort of, because it was featured in an episode of “Father Ted,” the famous Irish TV send-up of rural priests. While in Kilfenora we checked out some important high crosses at the village church then headed on to the world famous Cliffs of Moher. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and the cliffs were quite dramatic, and chock full of pelagic birds. After we checked in at the Hotel Doolin Mer & I wandered down the road to McGann's Pub that we believe is still owned by a relative of Mike St. Leger, a lawyer from Central NY we have known for a long time. We asked the barman if we could speak to Mr. McGann and were told he no longer operated the pub but that we could stop by his house in town. We sat at the comfortable old pub instead and relaxed in the late afternoon. A little later the group gathered across the road for dinner at McDermott’s Pub. Most of our group stayed on after dinner to hear the music, but we headed back to the hotel. Doolin is known far and wide as the home of traditional Irish music.

DAY 8—FRIDAY JUNE 3 – back to Dublin

We both woke up early, so we went out walking down to the shore in the misty/sunny morning. The tide was in so the waves crashed high against the cliffs and over the harbor breakwater. After another Irish breakfast in the hotel, we boarded the bus for the trip back to Dublin. Back past the cliffs, we were amazed by the legendary Lahinch Golf course then stopped awhile at Lahinch beach to watch the surfers. Two of our intrepid members changed into swim gear to take a short dip on the east side of the Atlantic. We departed the west coast via the Limerick - Dublin motorway. About halfway back we detoured to stop at Moneygall, where President Obama claims remote ancestry. The main street was ranked by alternating American and Irish flags. All the houses were freshly painted thanks to a major Irish paint manufacturer. We poked our heads into the Hayes Pub where Obama had a pint only a week earlier. The locals only seemed slightly annoyed to be interrupted by American tourists. Then it was on to another carvery lunch break at Racket Hall Country House in nearby Roscrea. We were quite weary but happy when we finally arrived back at the Augustine Apartments and moved in again. Some of our group hurried to catch the last tour of either the Guinness Brewery or Kilmainham Gaol. We wanted to see a bit more of Dublin and the afternoon was sunny and warm so we opted to catch the open top Dublin Bus Tour. We stopped at the Garden of Remembrance, where Queen Elizabeth had so famously laid a wreath only two weeks earlier to mark the end of British opposition to the existence of the Irish Republic. After circling the city we hopped off where we got on, crossed the River Liffey for a light dinner at O'Shea's Pub near the apartments.

DAY 9—SATURDAY JUNE 4 - Belfast

After a continental breakfast at the apartments we boarded the bus again for the two hour drive to Belfast, Northern Ireland. We were dropped off and the group boarded Black Taxis for a remarkable tour of the divided city. Each taxi driver is a tour guide. We stopped at murals in both Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods. The messages are chilling. As we drive the streets of the neighborhoods the taxi men told us what it was like to drive in Belfast during the Troubles from 1969 to the recent past. The highlight of the tour were the two stops on both sides of the West Belfast Peace Wall. It may be impossible to really understand contemporary Ireland without doing this tour. The taxis dropped us off back in downtown Belfast where we had lunch in the “snugs” at the incredible fully restored Victorian Crown Bar. We had time to ponder what we had seen on the return trip to Dublin. That evening we had a final group dinner and evening outing at Salamanca Tapas Bar. Sharing Tapas seemed like a fine and friendly way to end the trip. We took group photos on the steps of the City Hall across the street then returned to the apartments to pack for home.

DAY 10—SUNDAY JUNE 5 – Travel back from Dublin to Syracuse

Kieran picked us up for one last ride at 7:30 am. He took us on a quick tour of the Dublin Docklands before taking the new tunnel out of the city to the airport. We saw our trip mates slowly disperse as we made our way through the endless queues: first to check in with Aer Lingus, then through security, then through US customs and immigration (yes you do that in Ireland, not when you get back to the States), then security again (shoes off this time). The whole check-in process took a full two hours. We left on Aer Lingus at 11:25 am after waiting for a bunch of people held up at check-in. Despite the delay taking off, we arrived at NYC Kennedy on schedule at 1:15 pm. We said goodbye to Paddi, on the same flight with us again, at the gate. We ate a unimpressive hamburger in the terminal then waited for our Jet Blue 4:59 pm flight. We arrived in Syracuse at 6:10 pm and took a cab home. Joli, our dog, was overjoyed to see us, as we were her. We went right to bed and dreamed of this wonderful trip.

Reclining on the High Line

2011-04-02T12:56:00.000-04:00

We were in New York City just for Friday last week. Our object was to attend two events related to the 100^th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire (see post of 03/20/11 for details). Almost all our time in the City was taken up with these events, but we had a couple of free hours on Friday afternoon. The day was clear and cold. At Merry's suggestion we decided to take a walk on the High Line. http://www.thehighline.org/about/park-information

The High Line is a city park like no other. It sits on an abandoned elevated freight line. Its design includes traits of sculpture, contemporary architecture, urban archeology, gardening, people watching and sightseeing.

For almost a hundred years, from 1847 until 1934, freight train lines ran down the center of Tenth Avenue to serve the factories and meat-packing industry on Manhattan's west side. The street level railroad was the source of numerous collisions and many fatalities. Finally during the 1930s the High Line was built, lifting freight traffic 30 feet into the air. Numerous sidings made it possible to run freight cars directly into the upper floors of the factory buildings. This system worked well for a time, but as trucking increased, rail traffic faded. The southern-most section of the High Line was demolished as it went out of use. The last train carrying a load of turkeys used the High Line in 1980.

The elevated track system sat abandoned for the next 20 years. Some property owners lobbied to have it demolished. An effort to restart rail traffic failed. In typical New York fashion, people from the neighborhood figured out ways to access the structure and began to use it as a private walkway. The structure was slated for demolition in 1999 when two neighborhood activists, Joshua David and Robert Hammond, formed “Friends of the High Line” to lobby to save the structure as open space.

The City gave it's support in 2002. CSX donated the structure south of 30th Street to Gansevoort Street in 2005. Construction on the park began in 2006. The first section, from just outside the West Village to West 20th Street, opened in June 2009. The second section, from West 20th Street to West 30th Street, is scheduled to open later this spring.

The experience of walking on the High Line is unique. It's a platform for viewing the city. It's a sculpture in itself. It incorporates extensive gardens and innovative art installations. It has numerous well-designed public spaces, like the wooden recliners on railroad wheels that were so attractive to me on the cold early spring day we visited.

If you have an hour or so and want to take a walk in NYC, try the High Line. You'll be glad you did.

Triangle

2011-03-20T17:48:00.000-04:00

This coming Friday, March 25, 2011, is the 100^th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. At noon Friday, Merry and I will be standing on Greene Street in front of the original factory building just off Washington Square in New York City as the names of the 146 people who died in the fire are read. It's a moving ceremony. A ladder truck from the NYFD is positioned with its ladder extended just short of the upper floors where the fire occurred. In those days the height of the buildings had outstripped the available rescue equipment. A fire bell chimes after each name. The pile of memorial flowers on the sidewalk, each bearing a victim's name, slowly grows.

We remember the Triangle Fire not just because it was a horrible and preventable disaster. For me the Fire marks the moment the tide turned in favor of real labor reform in this country. Just the year before the Fire, the Supreme Court of the United States struck down the original New York Workers' Compensation Law as unconstitutional because it forced businesses to buy insurance to provide health care and partial replacement wages for workers injured at work. Employers didn't want to reduce their enormous profits even a little, and the Court agreed. Sound familiar?

The Triangle Fire broke out on a fine early spring Saturday. Many New Yorkers were out for an afternoon walk in Greenwich Village. As a result many witnesses saw the desperate young women throw themselves from windows ten stories high to die on the pavement rather than be consumed by the flames. Escape routes were limited. The single fire escape malfunctioned. Some made it to the roof and jumped to an adjourning building. Some got down the stairs, but some stairwells were locked by the owners to supposedly prevent the workers from stealing materials.

One of those eye witnesses was a woman named Frances Perkins, then a sociology professor at Adelphi. After the fire Perkins literally devoted the rest of her life to labor reform. New York soon passed a new Workers' Compensation Law and in 1918 Perkins was appointed to the NY Industrial Commission, the agency charged with finding a way to operate the new Workers' Compensation system. In 1926 she was appointed its chair by the new governor, Franklin D. Roosevelt. In this role she moved New York to the forefront of labor reform, expanding factory safety investigations, lowering the work week to 48 hours, introducing the minimum wage and arguing for the institution of unemployment insurance.

When FDR became president he appointed Perkins his Secretary of Labor, making her the first woman to ever hold a cabinet position. Perhaps her greatest achievement was serving as chair of the Committee on Economic Security whose final report resulted in the Social Security Act of 1935.

To be sure, these accomplishments were made possible by the growth of the labor movement and their unceasing demands for better working conditions. No one disputes that the labor movement received a boost immediately after the fire. Something of the spirit of that age can be caught in remembering how a leader of the International Ladies Garment Workers' Union, Rose Schneiderman, addressed a crowd of 3500 leading citizens who attended a memorial service for the Triangle workers held at the Metropolitan Opera House:

I can't talk fellowship to you who are gathered here. Too much blood has been spilled. I know from my experience it is up to the working people to save themselves. The only way they can save themselves is by a strong working-class movement.

Despite what some would have you believe, that working-class movement goes on today. The ILGWU now calls itself Unite Here! It's one of the prime sponsors of Friday's memorial. If you are in NYC, I urge you to attend. For more information about the NYC events check out http://rememberthetrianglefire.org/

If you are not able to be in NYC, the above link also provides some information on commemorations across the country. In Syracuse there will be a reading of the names at 4:45 pm at the UAW 624 Union Hall at 714 W. Manlius St. in East Syracuse (near the Wegman's on James Street).

Friday evening Merry and I will be at the NYC Fire Museum to support the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire Memorial scholarship program that provides small stipends for college students whose families have been affected by a workplace injury. http://www.trianglememorial.org/ I'm proud to have been involved in helping start this group ten years ago. It does good work.

I'm sure labor reform would have eventually come to New York and America had the Triangle Fire not occurred. But it did happen. People were moved and mobilized. Our country is stronger today because they were moved to demand real economic justice. That work continues.

Oneida Community: a bibliographical essay

2011-03-05T13:19:00.000-05:00

Several readers have asked me to collect all my Oneida Community writings in one easily accessible place. I've finally done that by setting up a new blog: oneidacommunity.blogspot.com. It also has material not found on this blog. OC fans are invited to take a look. From now on my OC writings will be found there, and only non-OC material will be posted here.

There is an enormous literature devoted to the Oneida Community. A very large number of primary sources exist including the writings of John Humphrey Noyes, the many publications of the OC and the extensive writings of other Community members and descendants. A sizable library of secondary sources also exists. Analysis of the Community began while the Community was still flourishing and continues today. So far as I know, there is no truly complete bibliography of all the Oneida material.

Many folks don't know that the main building from Community days still exists and is open for visits. Not only are there excellent guided tours but overnight accommodations are also available. http://www.oneidacommunity.org/ There is nothing like a visit to the Mansion House to evoke the spirit of the OC. There is also an interesting recent blog by two current residents of the Mansion House that contains a treasure trove of Community tidbits in computer friendly form: http://tontine255.wordpress.com/about/

The only reliable single volume currently in print is Spencer Klaw, Without Sin: The Life and Death of the Oneida Community (1993). Scholars and Community descendants alike have quibbles about Klaw's emphasis on social relations over other aspects of OC, but his book remains the most accessible over-all account.

I also recommend Maren Lockwood Carden, Oneida: Utopian Community to Modern Corporation, (1969, reissued 1998). This slim volume places OC in context better than other accounts and also shows the long-term effects of the OC on its business successor, Oneida Ltd., which was at the time still directed by OC descendants. As part of her research Carden interviewed many OC descendants. Her notes of those interviews are part of the OC Collection at Syracuse University.

After the Community days, a vast archive of OC writings was collected by George Wallingford Noyes, JHN's nephew. He sorted and organized this material with the plan of publishing the authoritative account of the OC. He managed to complete and publish only the first two volumes of his planned six volume work. Both are full of wonderful detail. The Religious Experience of John Humphrey Noyes (1923) deals with Noyes early life emphasizing the development of his religious ideas. John Humphrey Noyes: The Putney Community (1931) deals with the development of the central social practices of the OC such as complex marriage, communal ownership and mutual criticism. After GW Noyes died in 1941 some undetermined portion of this family archive was destroyed by descendants who feared the material, if made public, would somehow cause serious economic harm to Oneida, Ltd.

Fortunately, while GW Noyes was still alive, he allowed Robert Allerton Parker to have unlimited access to the family archive. Parker used these materials to produce the only “authorized” biography of JHN, A Yankee Saint: John Humphrey Noyes and the Oneida Community (1935). The remains of the family archive was finally collected at Syracuse University. GW Noyes' notes and outline for the unfinished volumes can be found there. In addition Lawrence Foster carefully reviewed the remaining manuscript material and produced an excellent selection, Free Love in Utopia: John Humphrey Noyes and the Origin of the Oneida Community (2001).

There are four very evocative books that portray everyday life in the OC and immediately after the break-up. All four are worth reading. Pierrepont B. Noyes, My Father’s House: An Oneida Boyhood (1937), Corinna Ackley Noyes, The Days of My Youth (1960), Harriet M. Worden, Old Mansion House Memories, By One Brought Up In It (1950) and Jane Kinsley Rich, ed., A Lasting Spring: Jessie Catherine Kinsley, Daughter of the Oneida Community (1983).

An even more intimate view of daily life can be found in the two published Community diaries, both edited by Robert Fogarty. I feel the introductory material to these books by Prof. Fogarty is some of the most lucid analysis of the OC in print. Both diaries concern the effects of living in a complex marriage. The diary of Tirzah Miller, Desire & Duty at Oneida: Tirzah Miller’s Intimate Memoir (2002) shows how one woman totally embraced complex marriage. The diary of Victor Hawley, Special Love/Special Sex: an Oneida Community Diary (1994) shows a man in anguish over his “special love” for one woman and how it ultimately led the two of them to leave OC.

Also worth mention are the three books by Constance Noyes Robertson, JHN's granddaughter and wife of the then president of Oneida Ltd. Late in her life, she compiled, edited, and wrote commentary on OC materials gleaned from a wide variety of published sources. Her books are highly readable and do provide a good, if somewhat unreliable, introduction. Oneida Community: An Autobiography, 1851-1876 (1970); Oneida Community: The Breakup, 1876-1881 (1972); and Oneida Community Profiles (1977). Most scholars, myself included, believe these books to be primarily intended to protect the respectability of the OC legacy rather than accurately tell the entire story.

The bulk of the Oneida Community manuscript material is now held by the Syracuse University Library. SU has made digital copies of many of the OC books and publications available on-line along with 140 historic photographs. http://library.syr.edu/digital/guides/o/OneidaCommunityCollection/ In addition SU has catalogued the many thousands of pages of manuscript material they hold in their rare book collection. http://library.syr.edu/digital/guides/o/oneida_comm.htm. SU holds a separate collection of the papers passed down to P. Geoffrey Noyes including not only family documents relating to the OC but also a large collection of writings related to the founding and growth of Oneida Ltd. http://library.syr.edu/digital/guides/n/noyes_pg.htm Another interesting source of seldom tapped manuscript material is the Rupert Nash papers held by Stanford University. http://www.oac.cdlib.org/findaid/ark:/13030/tf4w100433

For further research, I recommend the excellent selected annotated bibliography by Marlyn Klee at http://www.communalstudies.info/bibliographies.shtml.

The Battle-Axe Letter

2011-02-28T17:01:00.000-05:00

John Humphrey Noyes fell in love with Abigail Merwin early in 1834. He met her at the Perfectionist Free Church of New Haven. She was the first person to publicly ally herself with him after he made his public confession of salvation from sin. She was thirty, he twenty-two. She had dark hair and eyes. She was reportedly beautiful. From February 1834 until May 1834 they met often to discuss how to launch a Perfectionist preaching campaign.

Soon after Noyes left New Haven for New York City in the spring of 1834, Merwin began to have doubts about him and eventually broke off their relationship. Noyes was crushed, but he continued his preaching. He wrote constantly and joined with James Boyle in publishing a little magazine, The Perfectionist. Then in January 1837 he learned Abigail Merwin had married and moved to Ithaca, NY. Noyes immediately followed, apparently intending to somehow win her back.

Noyes quickly discovered he was not going to be successful. In the midst of intense emotional turmoil about losing the person he felt destined to love, Noyes suppressed his personal sense of loss and focused instead on the guiding principal of his life, creating a Perfectionist heaven on earth. He later wrote, “I well remember the spiritual lift by which I rose and reached the great idea of a universal marriage, and I wrote the letter to Harrison immediately after that lift.”

The letter to his friend David Harrison was sent from Ithaca on January 15, 1837. In this letter he states the basis for his claim to be the one true leader of the Perfectionists. At the end of the letter Noyes proclaims his belief that in heaven there will be no marriage.

“When the will of God is done on earth as it is in heaven there will be no marriage. Exclusiveness, jealousy, quarreling have no place at the marriage supper of the Lamb. God has placed a wall of partition between man and woman during the apostasy for good reasons; this partition will be broken down in the resurrection for equally good reasons. But woe to him who abolishes the law of the apostasy before he stands in the holiness of the resurrection! I call a certain woman my wife. She is yours, she is Christ's, and in him she is the bride of all saints. She is now in the hands of a stranger, and according to my promise to her, I rejoice. My claim upon her cuts directly across the marriage covenant of this world, and God knows the end.”

The letter apparently had a strong impact on Harrison who lent it to a friend, Simon Lovett. Lovett then showed the letter to one Elizabeth Hawley, a young Perfectionist firebrand, who insisted upon having it sent to a Perfectionist preacher, Theophilus R. Gates of Philadelphia. She threatened, if denied, to leave Lovett's house immediately on foot for New Haven during a terrific thunderstorm. The letter was sent.

Gates was no friend to Noyes, but he was just starting his own religiously based campaign against marriage and was looking for allies. By August 1837 Noyes' letter was on the cover of the second number of Gate's broadsheet, “The Battle-Axe and Weapons of War.” Although published anonymously, Noyes quickly admitted he was the author of the letter to avoid suspicion being placed on others. He later admitted he felt that God intended his private thoughts to be made public because thereafter he felt that he was called to defend and ultimately carry out the doctrine of communism in love.

All of the above is well-known Community history, most of it provided by Noyes himself. To truly understand the spirit of the times, and just how far people were willing to go in pursuit of a Perfectionist heaven on earth, we need to take a closer look at Theophilus Gates.

Gates was born on Jan. 12, 1787, in Hartland, in northeastern Connecticut. He initially worked as an itinerate school teacher but by 1810 Gates turned to preaching. Like many others he was swept up in the spirit of revivalism sweeping the country. Gates believed the Bible predicted “a brotherhood of all persons, united by the ecstasies of love and sympathy.” His basic belief in the power of free love would not have been out of place in a hippie commune of the 1970s.

By 1837 Gates had been converted to Perfectionism and had moved to Philadelphia. He had come to believe that in the end days that were fast approaching it was necessary to break down many mistaken human social practices, especially the concept of marriage and the concept of falling in love which he called “an enchantment of the devil."

In place of marriage Gates preached a totally spontaneous and flexible sexual arrangement between men and women. By 1840 Gates and a few followers moved west of Philadelphia to rural northern Chester County near Pottstown where they took up residence in Schenkel's Valley, an area they renamed “Free Love Valley.” There were only a small number of so-called “Battle-Axers.” They had no set codes of conduct, no formal liturgy, and there doesn't seem to have been a set time or location for their meetings. Anecdotal records reveal that group nudity, emulating the pure state of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, played an important role in a Battle-Axe service. Often services ended by a nude procession to a near-by pond followed by what could only be described as an orgy.

It didn't take long for this behavior to attract attention. Four members were arrested for fornication and adultery at the beginning of 1843. Three were convicted and sent to prison. During these proceedings Battle-Axe followers chose to disrupt the Schenkel Church during the Sunday service by marching nude down the main aisle waving their arms and crying out against the established order.

When Gates died in 1846, the sect continued with Hannah Williamson as their leader. Hannah and her followers were often thrown out of camp meetings and church services for their disruptive tactics. She eventually left the area in the late 1850s to spread the word of free love in the wild west. So ends the era of the Battle-Axes.

So far as I know, Noyes never gave any direct indication he knew about the Battle-Axes, but he must have; the world of Perfectionism was just not that large. Noyes did often criticize “Free Love” as wrong-headed in asserting that an inspired sexual pairing, no matter how Godly, could replace marriage. He felt only a communal marriage was indicated by scriptures, although he did admit he could see how the celibacy of the Shakers might derive from the same scriptures.

Now that Noyes had announced his belief in Bible Communism and especially in communal marriage, there remained the question of how exactly his ideas might be made concrete. That is the story of the Putney Community, and that is where I will turn next.

Bible Communism

2011-02-21T19:57:00.000-05:00

During the period between 1832 and 1838 John Humphrey Noyes traveled the northeast. He met and argued with other Perfectionists. He wrote exhaustively. He read the Bible daily.

He slowly became convinced that all other Perfectionists and indeed all other millenarians misunderstood the Biblical prophesy of the coming end times in one crucial way. They believed on Judgment day that the righteous would be lifted up into heaven. During the period leading up to Judgment the righteous need to pray and strive to live a moral life. Other than that they simply need to wait for the appointed time.

Noyes did not believe in waiting. His Bible study convinced him that the millennial process was to be gradual. In his view, Perfectionists who had experienced salvation from sin could and should begin to immediately live a life identical to life in heaven. This example of a perfect life would be an inspiration to others. Once all sinless persons adopted a heavenly life-style, heaven would be the reality on a transformed earth. Here's how Noyes describes the process:

“It is clear from the New Testament descriptions that the New Jerusalem is not a city to be hereafter instituted, but one long ago established, the place into which the primitive saints passed either by death or by change at the second coming, and where they met the Father, Son and holy angels. This organization is to be revealed ultimately in this world. Its distinctive character when revealed will not be changed. It will still be the home of angels and just men made perfect, entirely exempt from sin and death. Yet it does not appear that it will at once embrace the whole population of the world. On the contrary John represents it as a city standing in the midst of nations, assessable to them and shedding its healing influence over them, but not including them within its walls.”

Even though Noyes was an inspired and even mystical thinker, he was a realist. He believed it would take many years for the Perfectionist “heaven on earth” to grow and be accepted. When pressed to estimate the time this process would take he opined it would take less than 300 to 400 years. He felt certain, however, that once he understood what life would be like in heaven, he could convince his most inspired followers to begin living that life.

The New Testament became his guide. He clearly understood that the one thing God required of all believers was selflessness. It is individual egoism that leads to sin and all the vices. To live a life free of sin required that the ego be sacrificed. Noyes is squarely in the Protestant main-stream in seeing the essential message of the New Testament as an argument against personal ego and in favor of love of mankind. Where he goes with that belief is what sets him apart.

He carefully studied the practical advice in the writings of Jesus' Apostles as well as the teachings of Paul to the early Christian churches. Here he discovers what he called “Bible Communism.” We must remember that when Noyes composed his early writings, Karl Marx was unknown in America and had not yet published the Communist Manifesto (1848). The word “Communism” would not assume its full contemporary connotation for almost a century. For Noyes “Bible Communism” meant totally renouncing all claims of ownership, both over things and over people.

Noyes' argument is spelled out in the early publications of the Oneida Community roughly as follows:

"We hold - 1, That all the systems of property-getting in vogue in the world, are forms of what is vulgarly called the 'grab-game,' i.e., the game in which the prizes are not distributed by any rules of wisdom and justice, but are seized by the strongest and craftiest and that the laws of the world simply give rules, more or less civilized, for the conduct of this game.”

“The Association believes that in the kingdom of heaven 'every man will be rewarded according to his works' with far greater exactness than is done in the kingdoms of this world; but it does not believe that money is the currency in which rewards are to be distributed and accounts balanced. Its idea is that love is the appropriate reward of labor; that in a just spiritual medium, every individual, by the fixed laws of attraction, will draw around him an amount of love exactly proportioned to his intrinsic value and efficiency, and thus that all accounts will be punctually and justly balanced without the complicated and cumbersome machinery of book-keeping.”

Noyes believed the first step to ending egoism is an end to private property. He saw all proper ownership as communal co-ownership with God. He believed that abolition of private property and establishment of totally communal property would abolish “the curse of excessive labor.” He went further, however, and held that an end to egoism, if allowed its full scope, would not only abolish private property but also abolish property in persons. He believed St. Paul expressly placed property in goods and property in persons in the same category, and spoke of them together as being abolished by the coming of the Kingdom of God.

For Noyes ownership of persons only incidentally included the institution of slavery. His primary concern was with the institution of marriage. Noyes found adequate Biblical evidence that in the Kingdom of God marriage does not exist, but his search of the Bible revealed no evidence that sex and procreation does not exist in heaven. Because of this fact, he believed a new relationship of men and women is required, totally free of ownership and of what Noyes would later term the “special love” of just one person for one other. Furthermore, he knew first-hand that exclusiveness in marriage poses unfair challenges to women, chief among which was “the curse of excessive childbearing.”

In short he believed the practical object of Perfectionism was “to break up the worldly social system and establish true sexual and industrial relations.” Here's Noyes' summary of the project of the Oneida Perfectionists:

“We can now see our way to victory over death. Reconciliation with God opens the way for reconciliation of the sexes. Reconciliation of the sexes excludes shame, and opens the way for Bible Communism. Bible Communism increases strength, diminishes work, and makes work attractive. Thus the antecedents of death are removed. First we abolish sin, then shame, then the curse on woman of exhausting childbearing, then the curse on man of excessive labor, and so we arrive regularly at the tree of life.”

The story of how Bible Communism became a reality for nearly half a century began with a small band of followers in Putney, VT in about 1840 and continued at Oneida, NY after 1848 until about 1880. As will be seen, there were ample examples of how one might abolish private property. There were few examples of how to abolish marriage. For that reason, I will take a closer look at the argument for abolishing marriage in my next posts.

Perfectionism

2011-02-06T15:59:00.000-05:00

John Humphrey Noyes was an intensely intellectual person living in a time when almost all moral discourse was framed in religious terms. It is not surprising, therefore, when Noyes thought about the social and personal upheavals of his time he did so in a religious framework. I assume he got the fundamentals of his religious education when attending Dartmouth College (Class of 1830). In the period before the civil war, a college education was basically a religious education. Any “philosophical” education was conducted personally by the college president and was designed to indoctrinate students with the basics of that distinguished clergyman's personal religious outlook.

Like most old New England colleges, Dartmouth was founded by a Congregational minister (Eleazer Wheelock) and remained firmly a Congregational institution when Noyes was there. At the core of the Congregational faith was a belief in the essential sinfulness of all humans and in salvation by grace alone. Perhaps the most eloquent expression of this belief can be found in Jonathan Edwards' 1741 sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, http://www.biblebb.com/files/edwards/je-sinners.htm

Put simply, this doctrine holds it is impossible for humans not to sin. Even though a person may know God's laws and faithfully try to do what is right, failure is inevitable. Despite this fact, God still judges certain persons worthy of salvation and sends them to heaven after death. Others will be damned. The choice is God's alone and cannot be known during a person's life. In this view, the intention and effort to always do what is right is no guarantee of salvation. The believer must work hard to do good all his or her life, aware of the inevitability of committing some sin, with no sense of whether he or she will be saved in the end. The role of the Church is to guide the faithful, hopefully maximizing their chances of salvation.

This issue received a new formulation in the 18^th century by the German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724 - 1804). Kant called the Christian belief in original sin a “moral puzzle.” He held that a fundamental principle of all morality is that “ought” implies “can.” Kant did not believe it made sense to claim we have a moral obligation to act in a certain way if, in the practical world, it is impossible to perform such acts. In his view, valid moral rules cannot require more than we are able to give.

John Wesley (1703-1791), founder of the Methodist Church, also believed that God's laws for living a moral life could not require behavior that is not attainable. He preached that any human being, who truly devoted him or her self to live a moral life, could live a “perfect” life without sin. He spells out this view in some detail in A Plain Account of Christian Perfectionism (1725). He recognized the reality that humans dwell in a corruptible body marked by a thousand defects arising from ignorance, infirmities, and so on. In his view, a truly devout person who loves God with all one's heart, soul, and mind has the ability to live without deliberate sin.

In Wesley's formulation, achieving the state of “perfection” is accomplished by a religious conversion experience followed by a revelation of personal salvation. During conversion a person is freed from the outward sins he or she committed in the past. Salvation allows the believer to transcend the inner limitations of original sin. He exhorted his followers that salvation from sin is not the end of their spiritual search, but the beginning. Once saved, a person still has to strive daily to live a good life.

In 18^th century England and in early 19^th century New England Wesley's views were seen as heresy. It is easy to see why. So long as salvation from sin could only be achieved within the framework of an established church, the existing social order was not threatened. The Church, be it Catholic, Anglican, or Congregational, could largely control society so long as all moral authority emanated from the pulpit. If individuals outside of the church were allowed to believe that personal salvation can be achieved without Church guidance, chaos would reign.

By the time John Humphrey Noyes was attending Yale Theological Seminary the term “perfectionism” was shorthand for a sort of Wesleyan belief in personal salvation from sin. On February 20, 1834, when he stood up in the Free Church of New Haven and declared his personal revelation that he was free of sin, he was actually publicly taking sides against the established religious order. It is little wonder, then, that he quickly lost his license as a Congregational minister.

The interesting question for me is what happens next. The act of taking a public stand against established religion, threw Noyes into an emotional turmoil. His account of his life in the time following his departure from Yale sounds like a description of a nervous breakdown. He moved briefly to New York City and wrestled with what he had done. I'm sure he considered returning to Vermont to work at his father's successful dry goods store or to practice law. In the end he realized he had to share his revelation. He spent the next four years he eked out a meager living as an itinerant perfectionist preacher traveling throughout the settled parts of the northeast from New York City to Vermont.

His efforts to make sense of Kant's “moral puzzle” drove him deeper and deeper into scriptural interpretation. Like many other perfectionists he believed the final days were destined to occur within his lifetime. This belief added urgency to his effort to understand how greater personal moral perfection could be practically achieved. He published his thoughts on these issues in the little religious newspapers he edited, first in The Perfectionist and later The Witness. By 1838 he had collected a small following and his ideas had matured. He returned to his home town of Putney, Vermont, married Harriet Holton, one of his followers, and commenced the process of founding his own religious society.

He had an outline of how to create “heaven on earth.” He was determined.

Millenarianism

2011-01-30T13:32:00.000-05:00

It is impossible to understand the Oneida Community without a firm grasp of its core theology. In the next few posts I will explore some key concepts, then return to the story of how exactly John Humphrey Noyes came to found the Oneida Community.

One of the central functions of any system of religious belief to make sense out of the fact that human beings are mortal. This branch of theology is called “eschatology.” Christian eschatology holds that after death an individual's life is judged by God. If the person led a good and holy life in accordance with the dictates of scripture, they are sent to heaven. If not, they go to hell. The Bible contains many passages that discuss life after death, especially the books of Isaiah and Daniel in the Old Testament and the book of Revelation in the New Testament. What sets Christian eschatology apart is its view of time. Christians believe that time is an arrow always speeding toward the destruction of the corrupt physical world and the creation of heaven on earth.

To be sure, various branches of Christian theology have significantly differing views on the details, but all roughly agree on these basics: 1) when a person dies their life is judged by God and they are dispatched to an intermediate state of being, i.e. Heaven or Hell; 2) a time will come when Jesus will return to earth in some form; 3) following the return of Jesus, according to prophecies in the Book of Revelation, the kingdom of God on Earth will last a thousand years, i.e. a millennium; 4) following this thousand years of peace, the world as we know it will come to an end in a Last Judgment where the dead will be resurrected, evil will be banished and a new heaven and new earth under God's command will be created.

Christian time, then, is lineal. It begins with the creation of the Universe by God and ends with the creation of a new Universe free from the corrupting influences of sin. The milestones along the way are the miraculous birth and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the second coming of Christ, the Last Judgment and finally the creation of the Kingdom of God.

Historically, the various elements of Christian eschatology have waxed and waned in importance. During Roman times, there was a great debate over the meaning of the Biblical passages that establish the outlines of Christian belief. Tertullian and a host of other thinkers in the early Christian churches attempted to understand the Biblical prophesies in the context their own time. For those who want to know more about this discussion see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millennialism.

One artifact of this early Christian debate was the idea that the dates of the key elements could be calculated from scriptural sources. Specifically, some thinkers advanced the idea that the fall of Jerusalem to the Romans in 70 A.D. in some way marked the beginning of the millennium of Christ's rule on earth. As I pointed out in an earlier post [on 12/18/10], this view was current when John Humphrey Noyes attended Yale Theological School in the 1832 and he found it to be persuasive. Indeed, in his autobiography Noyes admits that for a time he was enamored by the teachings of the “Millerites” on this subject.

In 1832 a Central New York farmer and lay preacher named William Miller began to widely publish the claim that he had discovered Biblical sources which made it possible to accurately calculate the Second Coming and the time of the final judgment. The time was near. Over the next ten years Miller gathered a substantial following as a result of extensive publishing, revivals and tent-meetings. Pressed to release his calculations, he told his followers that judgment day would occur on October 22, 1844. On that day an estimated 100,000 people across New York and New England sold their possessions, dressed in white and stood on hillsides near their homes (including in Syracuse) to await the rapture that never occurred. The “Great Disappointment” caused Miller to stop preaching, but his followers went on to found a number of “Adventist” churches, some of which flourish to this day. See, http://www.fact-index.com/m/mi/millerites.html

Why, we might ask, in the period from 1825 – 1845 were so many people in America convinced that the end times were at hand? Whitney Cross, in his amazing book The Burned-over District, proposes an intriguing answer – American optimism. To be sure, there were major social changes happening as the western frontier opened. Masses of people joined the exodus to the growing urban areas or to new territory out west. The established churches seemed to many to be out of step with the changing times. Newer congregations, primarily Methodists, sent out circuit riding missionaries preaching personal salvation through good works. A wave of religious revivals crossed the land, centered in upstate New York. “Just as the American political system would lead the world to equality and justice, so would American revivals inaugurate the thousand years of Christ's reign on earth before the Second Coming and the end of the world.” (p. 79)

In this context, where all things seemed possible, including creating heaven on earth, John Humphrey Noyes started to gather a small group of believers.

Little Venice

2011-01-16T15:48:00.000-05:00

Should you by some wild chance find yourself with a little time on your hands in downtown Binghamton, NY, I have two suggestions. First, take a little stroll around the city center and look at the historic architecture. There certainly are a good number of beautiful buildings illustrating a variety of styles. There is an iconic 1930's Federal Courthouse, the still beautiful 1905 beaux-arts Security Mutual building, the 1898 neo-classical County Courthouse and the complementary 1897 Municipal Building across the street, now reborn as the Grand Royale Hotel. All of these are definitely worth a look. Unfortunately, the overall impression of the downtown is of a struggling, economically starved relic of a bygone era. In fact, all our Upstate NY cities fit that description to some extent. That fact doesn't mean they don't contain some real gems if you are willing to look closely for them.

Now head for the recently upgraded art deco bus station, complete with classic running Greyhound neon sign. The bus station is on the corner of Chenango and Henry Streets. Only half a block further along, right next to the bus station parking lot at 111 Chenango St. you find Little Venice. http://www.littlevenicerestaurant.com/

The same Italian family has run this restaurant since 1946. It's had three prior locations all nearby in downtown, all victims of redevelopment. It's been at the current location since 1969. When you enter through the front door you find yourself in a modest size room with a bar. This is the original. Down a long dim hall on the right you reach the large main dining room with an attached smaller private room. Locals often enter the dining room directly from the parking lot in the back. Cozy booths line the walls, and boy-o-boy what walls.

Every square inch of the walls is covered by original art, mostly oil paintings from the early 20^th and later 19^th centuries. The placemat claims that some are “old masters” but I think they are using that term loosely. The subject matter is incredibly varied. The only theme I could discern was “people laughing.” There are hokey-jokey paintings hung right next to formal portraits from the 17^th century. We sat beneath a tableaux of two stuffed quail in a natural setting preserved under a glass dome. Such bird taxidermy art was once quite popular but seldom seen today.

To find the bathrooms you need to take a tour of the entire premises: back down the hall to the front door, the whole way around the bar in the front room and then to the back on the left. This little excursion allowed me to get a better look at the art and to review the celebrity wall in the hallway with signed pictures of Ernest Borgnine next to Liberace next to pictures of many formerly famous people I didn't recognize. Perfect.

The place seems to always be bustling. It's not really fit for a romantic get away, if that's what you have in mind. The food and the service were great when we visited last week. I have some simple advice on the food – eat the pasta. Amazingly all the pasta dough is made fresh daily. The pasta you eat will be rolled and cut after you order it. That's fresh, so fresh you may not recognize it. Gluten-free pasta is also available. I had ravioli that was amazing. The manicotti is actually made with a crepe, not pasta. I'm going to try that next time. Merry had capellini that she pronounced wonderful. On top of this you should order the original Little Venice “sweet” sauce and a meat “log” [not a ball]. The sauce is definitely sweeter than any I have had before. We both liked it a lot. We're still debating what makes it so sweet. Caramelized onions? Brown sugar? Pears? Only the family knows, and they aren't telling.

We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly and I know you will too.

The Conversion of John Humphrey Noyes

2010-12-18T21:43:00.000-05:00

Early on I realized that if I wanted to understand the Oneida Community I had to learn what I could about its visionary leader, John Humphrey Noyes. Older community descendants that I met generally had a favorable impression of him. I assumed their impressions were mostly influenced by their parents, but their parents' generation, if they had known him, had known him only as young children. Some of their grandparents knew Noyes quite well, but the details of that knowledge seemed to me not to have been well preserved.

At the top of the main staircase in the Mansion House hang two portraits in oils: JHN and Harriet Holton, whom he married in 1838, ten years before the Oneida Community was founded. They stare out impassively, formally, not revealing much of themselves.

How then can anyone today understand the character of John Humphrey Noyes? He left an extensive record of his religious beliefs: books, articles, tracts, and pamphlets. He frequently gave lectures and “Home Talks.” As I read through this immense record I kept expecting to encounter something that would clearly reveal his motives or his personality. Noyes wrote about his beliefs in great detail, but he was not often self-reflective. Accordingly, much of what I know of him is conjecture based on his writing and the writings of those who knew him. Today's post focuses on how he came to adopt the core beliefs that ultimately led to the founding of the Oneida Community.

John Humphrey Noyes was born September 3, 1811 in Brattleboro, Vermont. His was a fairly well-to-do family. His father, also named John, owned a general store in Brattleboro called Noyes & Mann and served a term in the US House of Representatives. He was a cousin of Rutherford B. Hayes who would later become President. His mother, Polly Hayes, was sixteen years younger than his father. By all accounts she was a deeply religious woman. She claimed to have prayed before John Humphrey's birth that someday he might become a minister.

Young John H. Noyes apparently did not share his mother's religious devotion. He entered Dartmouth College in 1826 intending to become a lawyer, graduating in 1830. He then apprenticed himself to Larkin G. Mead, Esq. of Chesterfield NH, the husband of Noyes' oldest sister, Mary. As was the custom in those days before the advent of law schools, aspiring lawyers would “read” law for a few years with a practicing lawyer, then start to practice.

The first three decades of the 19^th century was a time of profound social change in America. The population exploded from five to thirty million. The Louisiana Purchase vastly expanded the geographic reach of the nation. The early phases of industrialization began in the northeast. People were on the move. Canals, roads and then railroads crisscrossed the land. Towns and cities grew. Great numbers of people started to migrate west. The course of our relatively new nation had not yet been firmly set. Anything seemed possible.

One result of the uncertainty created by these massive social changes was a new religious fervor. In my view the rise of a new evangelical christianity, generally labeled “perfectionism,” was a response to a new American spirit of optimism and openness to possibility. The dark Congregationalist view of sinners in the hands of an angry God was supplanted by the idea that salvation can be achieved by living a righteous life. Historians call this religious movement, based on the idea of the perfectibility of the individual believer, the Second Great Awakening.

At his mother's urging, Noyes attended a four-day revival meeting in Putney, Vermont, under the ministry of the most famous perfectionist preacher of the time, Charles Grandison Finney. He was just 20 years old when he converted to evangelical Christianity on Sept. 18, 1831. Within the month he had enrolled in the Andover Theological Seminary. Then in August 1832 he transferred to the Yale Theological Seminary, arguably the leading school for religious training in the country. He finished the basic course of study for the ministry in August 1833 and received his license to preach.

While at Yale, Noyes began to question the basic Congregationalist doctrine that everyone is essentially sinful and can only be saved from damnation by the unknowable grace of God. Instead he adopted Finney's view that salvation from sin is accomplished at conversion. Noyes came to believe that God would not expect the impossible from believers, and that the moral perfection God demanded could be accomplished by living a righteous life. Perhaps one of the reasons Noyes adopted this doctrine was the fact that he never could summon up from within himself any genuine feeling of deep guilt or despair that he felt must accompany the reality of original sin.

As part of his Bible studies at Yale, Noyes also reached the conclusion that the second coming of Christ and the final judgment day predicted in the Bible had actually arrived without fanfare in 70 A.D. This conclusion was based on his interpretation of Christ's prediction that the millennium would arrive within one generation. Deriving the date of the millennium from Bible sources was a recurrent theme in revivalist preaching in the early 19^th Century, most famously with the Millerites (the original Seventh Day Adventists). The significance of the belief that the millennium had already occurred was that some part of the population unknowingly had their original sin absolved, and thus they were now spiritually capable of leading lives free from sin.

Noyes had been attending services at the perfectionist-influenced Free Church of New Haven. At the evening service on Feb. 20, 1834 Noyes announced his perfectionist views to the congregation. He confessed that at his conversion he knew he had truly been saved from sin, and that he knew it was possible for persons so converted to lead a life free from sin. In memory of the day Noyes publicly embraced the doctrine of perfectionism, members of the Oneida Community marked February 20 with a celebration called the "high tide of the spirit."

News of Noyes's statements immediately became known throughout the Seminary. In April 1834 he was summoned for questioning. When Noyes would not recant or admit any error, the church authorities revoked his license to preach and expelled him. This prompted Noyes' famous saying, "I have taken away their license to sin and they keep on sinning. They have taken away my license to preach and I keep on preaching."

Between 1834 and 1838 Noyes traveled, preached and wrote extensively. The manner in which he assembled the practical elements of his own version of perfectionism will be the subject of another post.

OC - First Visit

2010-12-11T14:21:00.000-05:00

My first visit to the Oneida Community Mansion House was in June 1988. I had arrived in Central New York only a few weeks earlier to seek my fortune as a small town lawyer. I was thirty nine years old. I tried law practice for two years in Vermont, but it turned out not to be right for me. A close friend, EveAnn Shwartz, was the law partner of Paul V. Noyes. She convinced me (and her partners) that it made sense for me to join their three-person law firm on a part-time basis. I moved to Hamilton to help EveAnn operate the satellite office there. Paul ran the main office in Sherrill with Randy Schaal. The second time I met with Paul, he took me to the Mansion House for lunch.

As we drove through the little city of Sherrill, Paul made occasional obscure references to “the Company,” “the CAC” and “the Community.” Since I am something of a history buff, I had a vague recollection of the Oneida Community as one of the more successful 19^th century religious utopian communities that sprung up everywhere just prior to the Civil War. It had not occurred to me that there would be any remnant of this religious community a hundred and fifty years later or that Community buildings were actually located near-by.

We crossed a little bridge. Paul announced we had entered “Kenwood.” He pointed out a little side street curiously called “The Orchard” and the shingled house where he grew up. A grand brick building that looked as though it had been air lifted in from Harvard was identified as “the Sales Office” of Oneida, Ltd, the famous silverware manufacturer. We turned right into a little lane passing woods on the left and a few houses backed by a golf course on the right. We soon drew up behind a very large brick building and entered by the back door. The large room we entered was mostly empty of furniture except for a couple of round tables and built-in benches along two sides under the windows. Paul tossed his hat and coat on a bench and walked over to some pigeon-holes along the inside wall. He checked his slot in the bank of old-fashioned mail boxes next to the bulletin board. Some living room furniture was arranged around a stone fireplace at the far end of the room. Paul gestured at the formal portrait over the mantel and said, “That's old PB, he saved the company.”

We passed through an arch on the right and crossed a small dining room. A couple of older women sat with their lunch at one of the tables. Paul took me over and introduced me to Betty Wayland-Smith and Barb Smith. I don't exactly remember now everyone he introduced me to that day but I seem to remember also meeting Jane Rich and Prue Wayland-Smith. Over the next few years these four lively Community descendents would prove to be valuable guides to me. The day after Thanksgiving this year (2010) I attended the memorial service of Jane Rich, the last of them to pass away.

We pushed through a swinging door and entered the kitchen. We took cafeteria trays and helped ourselves to a hearty salad bar. Behind a counter a cook pointed out what was on offer that day, simple, basic comfort food. As we ate in an alcove off the main dining room, Paul filled me in on some of the basics. He said he was a direct descendant of the founder, John Humphrey Noyes, or JHN as he familiarly referred to him as though he were still lurking about. After lunch Paul took me on a whirlwind walking tour of the house, winding through halls, past a beautiful library, up a wide staircase, past a glass Victorian “curiosity cabinet” and emerging in the Big Hall still set up for meetings as in the old days.

I was truly amazed. At the time I had no idea I would soon meet another community descendant, Merry Leonard, who is now my wife. I had no idea I would live for a decade in a house in the Orchard built close by the Mansion House grounds by Merry's grandparents. I had no idea I would one day be conducting tours of the Mansion House for visitors, or that I would for a time play a role in the effort to tell the history of the Community. All of this was still in the future.

What I did know on that day was that I had closely encountered an important piece of living American history. This was no re-creation or re-enactment. This was no museum display. Almost nothing was explained. It just was. I was astounded at the potent melding of past and present.

That day marked one of the most important turning points in my life, although I did not realize it at the time. Over time I've learned a lot about the Oneida Community. I'm still deeply fascinated by the sheer audacity of this particular utopian experiment and what it reveals about the human condition.

Over the next months I'll be posting the brief history of what I've learned.

Brainpower

2010-12-04T11:21:00.001-05:00

The culture of Upstate New York is centered in its six largest cities. Five are strung along the Thruway as it cuts west from Albany to Buffalo following the track of the Erie Canal. Albany, the capital, has always benefited from a large number of state employees. Utica benefited from nearby giant Griffiss Air Base, breweries and numerous manufacturing jobs in small factories filled by hard working immigrants, mostly Italian. Syracuse was a transportation hub and center of manufacturing with Carrier air conditioners, Crucible Steel and General Electric. Rochester still remembers the heyday of Kodak. Buffalo has a deep history of manufacturing, shipping and electricity generation. Binghamton, the only major upstate city not on the Thruway, had IBM, Endicott-Johnson shoes as well as a host of other manufacturing giants. At one time Upstate was a very good place for a person with a high-school diploma and a good work ethic.

In the twenty or so years I've lived in central New York all of this manufacturing has been radically scaled back or just shut down. Griffiss Air Base closed in 1995. The cities that were built on manufacturing and transportation now survive on retail, education, prisons, health care and social services. The population has slowly declined as young people look for better opportunities elsewhere. Central cities have generally emptied out. Suburbs sprawl. Almost all the major local retailers moved to malls, only to be displaced by chain stores filled with merchandise made elsewhere. A small core of middle class people continue to live in the better urban neighborhoods, but significant parts of all six cities are steadily deteriorating. A high-school diploma no longer assures steady well-paid work.

All this is not news to anyone living Upstate.

Merry, Joli and I have lived in Strathmore, a stable old residential neighborhood on the west side of Syracuse, since the spring of 1999. Our early 1900s vintage home was inexpensive compared to similar space in the suburbs while being architecturally distinctive. We like our neighborhood a lot. It's only a mile from downtown where I work. On fine days I can easily walk home if I choose to. There is a bus stop right across the street, so we function well with just one car. We have a beautiful park with a big lake only a block way. It's convenient to attend the Symphony, Syracuse Stage and numerous other cultural events. Restaurants are plentiful, dozens within a few minutes drive. We shop at a near-by family-owned grocery and buy local produce at the giant year-round regional farmer's market. High quality health care is nearby. City services such as street cleaning and garbage pick-up are free. Sounds great, right?

Almost all our friends live in the suburbs or in the country. They say they need good schools. They want to avoid poverty and crime. They want their kids to be safe. They spend a lot of time commuting, but they say it's worth it. They get depressed driving through blighted city neighborhoods. I don't blame them at all for these views. Unfortunately, urban flight makes the city's problems worse. With less people there is less money for city services, parks, and schools. As higher earners leave, overall prosperity in the city declines. The city's problems become self-perpetuating.

This pattern exists in all six upstate cities to a greater or lesser degree. Nonetheless some cities seem to be doing quite a bit better than others in holding off and even reversing urban decay. Albany always seems prosperous to me except for the very heart of downtown. Rochester, Syracuse and Buffalo all have partly deserted old downtowns but have thriving center city cultural institutions that seem to be keeping the heart of those cities alive. Binghamton seems to be struggling mightily. Utica has a few remaining bright spots but seems to be sinking.

An interesting snapshot of the health of America's cities was recently published by the financial website Portfolio.com. They used the latest census data to compare the combined education and income of residents age 25 and older for the 200 largest metropolitan areas. They derived a “brainpower” index that allowed ranking based on deviation from the national average, i.e. the top 100 cities were above the national average. Index scores ranged from plus 3.941 for Boulder, Colorado, to minus 2.558 for Merced, California.

I extracted the data for the six Upstate cities. This is the result:

National Grad/Prof College Some college High School No

Rank Index Degree Degree up to Asso. Degree Degree Pop 25+

28 Albany 0.939 14.83% 18.33% 28.89% 28.33% 9.62% 574,255

49 Rochester 0.632 13.05% 18.61% 29.08% 27.90% 11.37% 686,413

72 Syracuse 0.342 12.13% 16.44% 30.28% 30.45% 10.70% 427,645

77 Buffalo 0.299 12.52% 15.69% 29.65% 30.91% 11.23% 771,830

87 Binghamtn 0.096 11.26% 14.66% 31.59% 32.35% 10.13% 166,467

171 Utica -0.909 07.56% 11.24% 32.23% 35.07% 13.90% 201,014

The entire list can be found at http://www.portfolio.com/graphics/BrainiestBastions.pdf

I found it interesting that five of the six Upstate cities ranked above average. Otherwise the index confirms my own impressions. Syracuse and Buffalo are doing a bit better than average probably due to colleges, hospitals and government services, but not nearly as well as Rochester and Albany. Binghamton is pretty close to the national average and Utica falls near the bottom.

When measuring quality of life, brainpower is not everything, but it does measure relative prosperity very well. Upstate has plentiful natural beauty and outdoor recreation. It has productive farmland. It has a rich and interesting cultural heritage. Nonetheless, I find these numbers tell a compelling story.

Joli in the Morning

2010-11-26T07:35:00.000-05:00

It’s morning. Dark. Got to go out.

Toenails click on hardwood as I get him.

I smell his warm breath. I sense he has heard me.

Soft nose poke. Poke. His hand gropes for my head. Ah, he’s awake.

Joli, go lie down. Lie down. I’ll get up in a minute.

I return to my warm spot. I lie down and wait.

I can’t really go back to sleep.

Got to go out. I click over to him again. I stand still and stare. Soft poke. His hand, again.

OK, I’ll get up.

I trot to the top of the stairs and peer out the window to the darkened street. I hear him get out of bed and walk down the hall behind me. He enters the bathroom and turns on the light. I trot in as he sits down. He scratches me behind the ears. I move closer.

Good morning, my dog. Are you the best dog in the world? Come here, my dog.

More head scratches, then a full back scratch as he pees.

I turn around and he scratches right above my tail. Good. Goood. I wiggle my butt back and forth so he gets all the right spots.

Got to go out. I trot back to the top of the stairs. I hear him putting on his clothes.

I go back to check. He’s putting on his shoes. Got to go out.

Soft whine.

OK, I’m coming.

I run to the stairs and down. He follows. He turns on the lights, puts on his coat and stands by the stairs. I run up two steps to the landing and give him my head so he can fasten my leash. I jump down and race him to the door. He opens the door and we are out in the cold.

The morning smells and the fresh air bring me to full alertness. I raise my tail and trot to the sidewalk ahead of him. I smell Shepard tracks in the snow at the sidewalk. Male. Old.

Paw prints in the snow. Is it a cat? A skunk? I sniff carefully. I female dog I don’t recognize. I pee on the track.

I trot leisurely up the street. Is that a stick in the snow over there? I check. Yes. I grab it and tug it out. A stick. My stick. I show it to him.

Got a stick? Give me that stick.

He pretends to chase me. I pretend to run away. Small play growl. We trot up the street as he pretends to grab my stick.

He can’t get it. I run ahead with my stick. At the corner is a fireplug. A lot of dog sign here. I smell five other dog neighbors. Male Golden. Male Pit Bull. Male Boston Terrier. Female Pharaoh Hound. Female Pit Bull. I know them all. I pee by the plug as he catches up.

WAIT.

I stop and sit on the curb. I look down the street. There are never any cars out this early.

OK.

We cross. I stop at a street drain. I smell prey, small. Always here. I never see it.

A nearby large bush is a hiding place. More dog signs. The Shepard again. I drop my stick and pee.

We head back down the street. We approach the house with the cats. I slow.

Any cats today?

I stop and peer into the dark. There are many cat-sized shapes to watch. Any movement?

OK, let’s go.

I’m pretty sure that’s a cat on the porch. I stand completely still and look.

I don’t see any cats. Let’s go.

I think it moved. He tugs gently. I want to look some more. That’s a cat, I’m sure.

Come on, Joli. There are no cats today.

He starts down the sidewalk, reaches the end of my leash and pulls me firmly. That’s a cat, I know it. I don’t want to give it up, but he’s pulling me. That cat is watching. I’ve got to get it.

LET’S GO, JOLI.

He gives a sharp pull on my leash and my head comes around. I follow. I catch up.

There is more dog sign at the small garden wall. The same neighborhood dogs. I pee again.

We’re almost back. I grab a new, smaller stick. I turn to the street right across from home.

WAIT.

I sit and look up the street. Still no cars.

OK.

I gallop into the street with my stick. He chases after. Play growl, shake, louder play growl. He chases, hand out to grab my stick

GIVE ME THAT STICK.

I gallop. I shake the stick and gallop. He can’t catch me. We run into my yard.

I smell my own scent everywhere. I need to check for new smells. By the bird feeder I smell a strong scent of squirrels. Many squirrels. I look toward the trees, but nothing moves in the dark. I smell a neighbor cat, wait, two cats. More cat sign at the edge of the back deck.

We move back down the yard into the darkness. Snow crunches under paw.

Hop in, Joli. Go to the bathroom. Hop in.

I carefully walk into the garden. I sniff until I find a clean spot. I squat and poop.

Good dog. Take your time.

I’m finished and circle away. We run slowly back to the house and onto the porch. I turn and survey my street. Nothing is moving. I hear a car. I don’t see anything. He stands quietly next to me. We listen. Nothing. The breeze. Nothing. A small sound. Nothing. A cold brush of clean air. Listening.

OK, sweetie.

I turn and push my head against his leg. He unfastens my leash and opens the door. Warm air and my home smells pour out on us. We go in and he closes the door. Home.

Thanksgiving 2010

2010-11-25T07:51:00.001-05:00

Dawn

The coldest morning so far this season

Across the valley directly east the Dome is silhouetted by a band of bright orange sky

Joli, my morning companion these many years trots jauntily up our block at my side

As the sky turns pink, the crisp air fills with thousands of crows

A light is on in our neighbor's kitchen

She's up early working on another festive family meal

I recall the many years my mother would rise at dawn to put the turkey in the oven

Her preferred way to express her love for her family

Last night near midnight I was wakened by the sound of heavy equipment

City workers removing the piles of leaves the neighbors have been stockpiling

I know as I drift back to sleep the season is turning inexorably to winter

Now the snow can come

I miss those long ago childhood Thanksgivings

My brothers and I no longer gather, now that our parents have passed on

I'm sure they will be reminded too, as they sit down today

We give thanks for what we have and what we have become

Electing Guardians

2010-10-30T17:30:00.001-04:00

When I'm getting ready to vote, especially when there are numerous local, state and national candidates up for election, I turn to the League of Women Voters for help. Our local papers publish the “Voter's Guide” and post an easy to use electronic version on their web sites. I find it very helpful. For each candidate the Guide includes a picture, lists party affiliations, age, address, email, web site, birthplace, family, education with degrees earned, professional, political, military experience and community involvement. There is also a list of group endorsements. Each candidate is asked to provide short answers to three questions pertinent to their potential position.

This information helps me understand which candidates best share my interests, experiences and political views, but I fear it is too unwieldy for the average voter. For example in my Congressional District (NY 25^th) Dan Maffei [Democrat/Working Families, incumbent] is running against Ann Mary Buerkle [Republican/Conservative]. One's a lawyer with a degree from Syracuse Law, the other has a Master's Degree from Harvard's Kennedy School of Government. One's young, married with no children; the other is older, divorced with six children and 11 grandchildren. They are both Catholics. One was a Congressional staffer and on the Board of the Spanish Action League; the other is a Right to Life organizer and volunteers at a domestic violence shelter. While this information helps paint a fairly detailed picture of each candidate, it takes a lot of time to review, especially for all the candidates. In many cases it's pretty hard to compare candidates, kind of an apples and oranges problem. What is needed is a quick and reliable way to judge the basic competence of candidates.

Personally, I always prefer smarter candidates over those more intellectually challenged. Therefore, I suggest the League start to list every candidate's IQ in the Guide. I'd love to hear a candidate casually point out they are smarter than their opponent. “Vote Smart” could become a watchword. The League could offer free and reliable IQ testing. If a candidate refused to list their IQ, it would be taken as a sign that they are not particularly proud of it. I grant that not every Mensa member would necessarily be a good legislator, but at least I'd feel they have the potential to absorb information and make rational decisions.

Statements by certain candidates this year also have made me wonder if we ought to require all candidates pass the same US Citizenship test as is administered to immigrants. The questions are not all that hard and it would be a comfort to know that every legislator knew the basics of civics.

Finally, it occurred to me that any candidate for office ought to take a sort of civil service exam that would be scored by a non-partisan government agency like the Office of Personnel Management (OPM). OPM tests tens of thousands of civil servants every year. Everybody who takes a test for a particular position gets a score, then government employees are hired from the top score down. I'm sure a fair “legislative service exam” could be devised. Scores would be reported by the League and the voters could decide on who gets hired. No one would be disqualified by getting a low score on such a test. I'm guessing most voters would vote for the candidate with the higher score.

As I was mulling this over, I was reminded of Socrates' reflections on the education of legislators (he called them guardians) in The Republic. Plato believed that good government can only be achieved when legislators shared certain basic personality traits and knowledge. Without such a common background, they could not be expected to govern well and society would descend into a chaotic state where everyone fought simply to advance their own narrow self interest. Sound familiar?

I don't think members of Congress will ever be mistaken for philosopher-kings, but I maintain a faint hope that many actually are trying to do the public good. On Tuesday, please go out and vote. Until the League adopts my suggestions, do your best to pick the smarter candidate.

Fancy paper doilies

2010-09-07T20:25:00.000-04:00

On a back street in Oneida, NY sits the shuttered Smith-Lee factory. The company was founded in 1898 by Charles A. Lee in nearby Canastota. Its original product was paper milk bottle caps. In 1899, Monroe C. Smith and Hurlburt W. Smith joined as partners and the name changed to Smith-Lee. Home delivery of milk in reusable glass bottles was growing fast in those days. Business boomed. Growth was so rapid that in 1900, the factory was relocated to Oneida, where a larger work force could be maintained.

The company prospered. In 1932 it stayed competitive by merging with a competitor, the Kleen Seal Corporation of Liverpool, NY, but retained the Smith-Lee name. After the end of World War II, with the introduction of the paper milk carton, the milkman and thus the milk bottle began to disappear. Smith-Lee knew it needed to diversify to survive. Its first new successful product was the disposable paper plate. Then in 1971 it acquired the Milwaukee Lace Paper Co., a leading manufacturer of paper lace doilies.

Over the next few years it became one of the preeminent providers of high end paper napkins, lace doilies, place mats and paper tablecloths for restaurants and country clubs across the nation. Finally in the spring of 2009 after 111 years of continuous operation it was acquired by a larger competitor, Hoffmaster Group of Oshkosh, Wis., and immediately closed. All 70 employees lost their jobs. Products bearing the Smith-Lee name are now manufactured by Hoffmaster. http://www.hoffmaster.com/AboutHoffmaster/History.aspx

I had quite a few Smith-Lee employees as clients during the 20 years I represented injured workers. Many of them had upper extremity injuries sustained in the process of making lace doilies, simply called “lace” by employees. Paper doilies are made using a punch press with a sharp die to cut stacks of paper into the desired patterns. Multiple large sheets of paper are positioned on the press, then BANG, they are cut into intricate designs. The machine operators then separate the resulting doilies by pulling the stack of paper to the edge of the machine surface and breaking them apart by pushing down all around the edges. The stack of separated doilies is then shaken to remove the small chad, then packed for shipping. Boxes of 1,000 doilies wholesale for between $50 to $150 depending on design. One operator can produce many thousands of fancy doilies per shift.

This process requires frequent and fairly violent use of the shoulders. After a few years of doing this job, operators tend to develop a problem called thoracic outlet syndrome. Thoracic outlet syndrome is a relatively rare condition caused by compression of a narrow space near the arm pit. Blood vessels and nerves coming from the spine pass through this small space below the collarbone and above the ribs. Frequent compression of this space from overuse of the shoulders pushing downward results in numbness and tingling of the hands, neck and arm pain, poor circulation in the arms and arm weakness.

The first client with thoracic outlet I had from Smith-Lee was a young woman in her 30s. She found a surgeon who promised her he could widen her thoracic outlet by removing part of her top rib. It didn't work. After several painful years during which she tried to recover, she retrained as a phlebotomist. Her arm and neck pain never went away. While I was still representing her, a second young woman from Smith-Lee came in with the same problem. She was also on “lace.” She didn't have the surgery and eventually got better with physical therapy. She also didn't go back to work at Smith-Lee. Next a middle aged man came in. He had worked at Smith-Lee for years making paper plates. When he hurt his back doing that, they put him in “lace” as his light duty job. He also developed thoracic outlet. He never worked again.

The pattern seemed compelling to me. I contacted the union steward at the plant and told him I felt that the “lace” job needed to be redesigned to be safer. He agreed but never got back to me. I called the adjuster at Smith-Lee's insurance company and told her the story. She agreed it seemed compelling. She got the company to agree to an inspection by an occupational safety expert. When the inspection showed “lace” to be causing the injuries, the insurance company required the factory to make changes as a condition of policy renewal. The factory changed insurance companies instead.

Now the factory is closed. Fancy paper doilies are made elsewhere, probably using the same process, causing the same inevitable, but avoidable injuries. It's something I think about every time I see one of those damn doilies. I can't help it. I know some of the victims.

Making Chocolate

2010-09-01T05:51:00.000-04:00

I met a man this week who worked for years at the Nestlés chocolate factory in Fulton, NY. He started as a laborer in the “Liquor and Flavor” department right out of high school. Over the years he worked his way up to inspector in the same department. He was happy there and was good at his job. Then in 2003, Nestlés closed the plant.

In the world of chocolate, “liquor” is 100% cacao. It's the starting point for all chocolate products. To make liquor, the seed pod of the cocoa tree is harvested from plantations in the tropics. Each pod contains from 20 to 50 seeds. It takes about 400 seeds to make a pound of finished chocolate. After harvest, the fresh seeds are fermented for three to nine days to develop flavor, then the beans are dried for about a week. Dried beans are shipped to a factory where they are roasted for 30 minutes to two hours at high temperature, then the outer shells are cracked and removed. The kernel of pure chocolate that remains is called a “nib.” Some high end manufacturers further roast the nib to achieve a darker color and flavor. The nibs are then milled and pressed to liquify the cocoa butter and produce chocolate liquor (also called unsweetened). The remaining solid, “cocoa cake” is ground to make cocoa powders. Chocolate liquor is blended with sugar, butter, milk and other ingredients to produce the various types of chocolate: semi-sweet, bittersweet, milk chocolate, etc. Here is a good definition of each type: http://www.ghirardelli.com/chocopedia/varieties.aspx

At Nestlés in Fulton, chocolate liquor and many other ingredients arrived at the factory by rail and truck. The first part of the manufacturing process was “Liquor and Flavor” where the fellow I met worked. Here the raw materials were blended to make a paste. Chocolate refiners, a set of big rollers, crushed the paste into tiny flakes that determine the smoothness of the final product. The result is poured into giant vats (called a conch) to be heated and “conched.” Each batch of chocolate is constantly stirred for hours or even days. Conching reduces moisture, drives off any lingering acidic flavors, and coats each miniscule solid particle of chocolate with a layer of cocoa butter. Finally, the finished chocolate undergoes tempering, a heating and cooling process, that stabilizes the product. http://www.ghirardelli.com/chocopedia/making_manufacturing.aspx

As an inspector in liquor and flavor my informant used to test batches being conched for proper viscosity. He would scoop a sample out with a spatula and spread it on a glass plate. The number of thick lines that formed on the plate was used to determine moisture content. He would also test individual chocolate batches in a lab to be sure the percentages of the mixtures were right. He told me that the amount of flavoring was generally determined by weighing. For example, if vanilla needed to be added, large buckets of extract would be precisely weighted before being dumped into the mixture.

The Fulton plant is shuttered and empty now. Nestlés decided it was obsolete after over 100 years of production. The Swiss food giant opened its very first American factory here in 1899. When it closed, the last 467 employees had no other local place to work. All but one of the other factories in town, including a giant, nearly new, Miller Brewing plant, had already closed. http://www.nytimes.com/2003/05/02/nyregion/when-the-chocolate-melted-nestle-factory-closing-leaves-town-reeling.html?pagewanted=all My informant had to drive 35 miles to Syracuse every day to work making concrete blocks. He was back to working as an “unskilled” laborer at age 45.

Standing in front of the bank of abandoned loading docks last weekend vividly reminded me of another hot summer day back in the mid-1990s when Merry and I and friends toured the plant on what turned out to be the last open house factory tour. Even outside the giant plant the air was saturated with chocolate. Inside the oldest section of the plant every piece of woodwork had absorbed so much cocoa butter from the air that the wood was dark and oily. Signs warned the steps to the second level might be slippery.

Upstairs we marveled at the completely automated chocolate morsel machine. At one end a plate with a hundred or more tiny nozzles dipped to almost touch a wide moving conveyer. When the plate rose it left behind a hundred perfectly formed warm chocolate chips. The plate rose and fell about once every ten seconds. Thousands of small bits marched down the line passing through one giant refrigerator after another, each a few degrees cooler. The entire apparatus was at least a block long. At the far end the conveyer passed under a sharp edge freeing the morsels. Inertia carried them into a huge funnel. An endless river of cold chocolate chips poured through the floor around the clock to be bagged downstairs. Millions of chocolate chip cookies would be made with those morsels.

The entire place was spotless. The employees we encountered obviously took great pride in their work. This was the home of Toll House® chocolate chips. This was the birth place of the Crunch® candy bar way back in 1938. Now it's empty, another victim of mega-corporate efficiency. Before they decided to close it, here's what Nestlés had to say about the proud history of their Fulton operation.

http://www.sotherden.net/nestles/Nestles.htm

The little town of Fulton looks pretty ragged these days. Its largely working class population commutes or left town forever. This is the story of faceless capitalism all over America. I'm powerless to do anything about it. It makes me sad.

Watertown NY 7/22/10

2010-07-24T11:21:00.000-04:00

The thumping, undistinguished rock music was almost loud enough to drown out the howling child seated with her large family at the table behind mine. It was Thursday at TGI Fridays. I felt dislocated. The décor contributed to my mood with its smash-up of Cracker Barrel and Hard Rock: a faded orange motorcycle seat, a fake road sign for Rock and Roll Avenue, a reproduction album cover from Abbey Road, tons of other detritus of popular culture from two or more decades ago hung haphazardly on a rough brick wall.

My waitress appeared. Drinks? I asked for draft beer. What size? What do you have? A small one and a big one. What's the difference? The big one is only a dollar more. I mean, how big is the big one? She didn't know. Her black tee-shirt advertizing the featured faux-Caribbean meals currently on the menu was accented with three Miller Beer caps with winking red LED lights.

Seated immediately in front of me was a young guy with very short brown hair dressed in Army fatigues. The current “dress” uniform is faded camouflage with the pants tucked into dust-colored boots. The patch on his sleeve marked him as a member of the 10^th Mountain Division stationed at nearby Ft. Drum. His round, clean shaven face suggested Iowa to me. A patch bearing his name, “Miller,” was sewn over his right breast pocket. When he got up to go to the men's room I could see he was tall, probably about 200 pounds and in good shape; every inch the soldier the Army wants staring out of its recruiting posters.

Specialist Miller was accompanied by a young, dark-haired woman who sat with her back to me. I never saw her face. She fiddled with her hair, restyled it into a fancy twisted pony tail and ordered a fruit drink off the Caribbean menu. Shortly after it came, her soldier sent it back. They had forgotten the banana. When the soldier came back from the restroom he playfully put his hand on his companion's head. She didn't flinch. The two of them seemed so comfortable in each other's presence I strained to look at their left hands to catch a glimpse of a wedding band. Nope. I wasn't surprised when the soldier complained to the waitress that their bill was wrong.

My food arrived. As I dug into grilled salmon with spicy kung pao sauce, I glimpsed a guy crossing my field of vision outside the window. Was he actually wearing a three piece suit to eat at Fridays?

My question was answered a moment later when this very slim young fellow and a slightly chubby woman friend were seated just across the room from me. She was causally dressed with a simple white blouse, tan capri pants and pink flip-flops. He, on the other hand, seemed straight out of Pee Wee's Big Adventure, absent the red bow tie. He was wearing tight, apparently brand new, dark jeans short enough to show light gray socks and shiny black pointed Italian loafers. On top he wore a jet black dress shirt with a silver tie and dark gray vest. A perfectly tailored gray shark skin suit coat with silver pocket handkerchief completed his ensemble. His black hair was as short as the soldier's but included a little flip at the right temple gelled in place. Horn rim glasses drew attention to his narrow face.

This couple fiddled with their menus. When their waitress approached, the young woman handed her a “Stripes” membership card entitling them to a free appetizer. I knew this only because my waitress had tried unsuccessfully to recruit me for a Stripes card a few moments earlier. While they waited for their food they fell into a highly animated conversation. He languidly waved his long fingers to emphasize points. Several silver rings accented each hand. His wide smile and perfect teeth flashed continuously. She seemed entranced by him, but not in a sexual way, more as a valued friend.

I finished my meal. I looked around the rest of the dining room. Most of the other people were dressed in casual clothes, a scattering of NASCAR shirts, shorts and jeans. None seemed to take any particular notice of Specialist Miller or Pee Wee. As I headed back to my hotel I wondered what these two very different men talked about with their women friends. What was the nature of each relationship? How was it possible that two young men with so many apparent differences could inhabit the same space-time continuum?

Never assume a place is not culturally diverse just because it's far from the center of the universe.

Gaspésie #4 – Reford Gardens and home

2010-06-30T18:42:00.000-04:00

Merry and I love visiting gardens. Our long-standing desire to visit the historic Reford Gardens was part of the reason we decided to vacation in Gaspésie this year. We learned of this garden some years ago on our first visit to Frank Cabot's amazing garden, Les Quatre Vents, on the north shore of the St. Lawrence. You can get an idea of just how wonderful Cabot's private garden is at: http://www.northerngardening.com/public_gardens/les_quatre_vents.htm Les Quatre Vents is far and away the most beautiful and most interesting garden I have ever visited. When we found there was also an important garden on the south shore, we wanted to visit, but since it is much further down the river we had to save it for a separate trip. It took us almost ten years to return.

Day 7 - To Métis-sur-Mer

After hiking in the morning and a nice seafood (what else?) lunch we finally headed west on Route 132. I had settled on Métis-sur-Mer as a promising destination. In the nineteenth century this village was a favorite vacation spot for Scottish families from Montreal. The village is still composed of mostly English-style cottages with high privacy hedges. The village spreads along a large bay on the River with a picturesque lighthouse at the western end. We looked at an inn in the village center, but decided instead to stay in a very private small cottage right on the river at Auberge Métis-sur-mer www.aubergemetissurmer.qc.ca/bienvenue_en.htm. From our porch we could see some small rocky islands and the lighthouse. Seals occupied the rocks further out. We were the only diners at the superb restaurant maintained by the Auberge: poached salmon with baby shrimp. The meal was perhaps the best we've had on this trip of very good fish dinners. We fell blissfully asleep despite the bright green light that flashed across the bedroom, three flashes in an row, six times a minute, warning sailors along this rocky coast.

Day 8 - Reford Gardens at Grand Métis

After a nice breakfast at the Auberge, we drove about 5 minutes west to Reford Gardens http://www.jardinsdemetis.com/english/. A giant Adirondack-style chair marks the entrance. This is largely a woodland garden built along the banks of a stream. Because of the compressed late spring this far north almost every conceivable spring flower was in full bloom when we visited. There is an impressive azalea garden. I was also impressed by the gentian garden as well as a nice collection of primulas in full bloom. Of course, we saw the famous Himalayan blue poppy that is the garden's trademark. At the heart of the garden, on a lawn with a belvedere overlooking the River, is the summer home of Elsie Reford, the original designer of the gardens. An extensive exhibit in the house shows how 19^th century robber baron wealth was used to transform this place into a pleasure ground for wealthy Anglophones from Montreal.

The garden is now a non-profit directed by Elsie Reford's grandson, Alexander. In recent years the garden has hosted an international garden design festival that, unfortunately, was not yet open when we visited. One piece from an earlier festival was set up on the main lawn. It consists of a dense group of blue stakes of various heights painted different shades of blue and orange on each side and set up to walk through. The effect is hypnotic and fun. I had to laugh as I heard some folks from a bus tour walk up and remark, “It's just sticks.” One serious fellow heard me laughing and noted, “some people are easily amused.” We wandered through a collection of other more traditional contemporary sculpture. We both agreed sculptures made of rounded boulders tightly contained in rusted steel by Jean Brillant were especially wonderful. Finally, we relaxed with some nice salads in the garden gazebo (green beans and onion for me, smoked mackerel and potato for Mer).

We both liked this garden. It has charm, is nicely laid out and very well maintained, yet we agreed that it does not qualify as one of the great gardens of the world. It aspires to this greatness, and may someday achieve it. It was a very pleasant way to spend part of our day.

Back at the Auberge I indulged myself with an hour massage by Lise, then a light supper of fresh baked bread, salad and a savory mushroom soup. We watched the tide come in one last time.

Day 9/10 – Home again

We reluctantly leave the Auberge after breakfast. We need to make miles today. We hope to get at least to Montreal by nightfall. We stop briefly near the village of St. Denis to look at the long dike built to recover marshy fields. On to the small town of La Pocatiere where we have a very nice lunch at Cafe Azimut. Merry visited her sister, Nora, in small this town with a major agricultural college back in 1971 while Nora was attending French language Peace Corps training before being posted to Africa. We get back on the highway and after some hairy driving in a thunderstorm we pull into the Comfort Inn at Boucherville, a suburb of Montreal, about 4:30. We're up early the next day and make it to the bridge at Ogdensburg before lunch. Because of our long trip through Quebec we expect problems at customs, but this doesn't happen. When I say we are bringing back some smoked salmon, the customs agent helpfully does the math to show we have well less than the 50 pounds allowed. We pass the time traveling south on I-81 trying to imagine a utopian novel that would include all our progressive values. Home at last, we meet our dog sitter, Mary, as she is just finishing her last visit. Joli is happy to see us. Ah!

Gaspésie #3 – the National Parks

2010-06-26T08:24:00.000-04:00

One of the primary goals of this trip was to visit the three amazing Canadian National Parks located on or near the peninsula: Ile Bonaveture, Forillon and Gaspésie.

Day 4 – Parc National de L'Ile-Bonaventure-et-du-Rocher-Percé

We wake up briefly at 3:15 am to see the first light of dawn on the Rocher Percé. At 6:00 we wake again to watch lobstermen pulling pots right in front of our room. We have coffee, croissants and home-made strawberry jam at our motel, then walk to the town wharf to board a boat. First, we circle the Rock then head out and around Ile Bonaventure, a wedge shaped island just a couple of miles off shore. I briefly spot two minke whales in the distance. As we approach the cliffs on the ocean side of Ile Bonaventure we see grey seals hauled up on the rocks exposed at low tide. The air is filled with large numbers of pelagic birds: common murre, razorbill, and black-legged kitiwake but mostly thousands of northern gannet. The high red cliffs on the ocean side of the island are literally covered with nesting gannets for about a mile. These beautiful large white sea birds with black wingtips are graceful in the air. In the latest bird census it was estimated that there are more than 60,000 breeding pairs of gannets here, plus scores of unmated juveniles. We land at the restored historic fishing village on the bay side of the island. After a ranger orientation we get lunch at the snack bar built in the 19^th century fish station. Barrels of salt cod used to be stored here waiting for shipment to Europe. After touring the restored offices of the cod company, we hike across the island to the cliff-top gannet colony. The trail exits the woods right in the middle of the colony. The sound of thousands of big sea birds is incredible. We can stand within 5-10 feet of the birds. They don't appear to notice our presence. Standing on the observation deck right in the middle of thousands of nesting gannets is an experience I'll never forget. We hurry back to the dock, but miss the boat. I relax in the sun while Merry explores the old fishing village. A modest seafood dinner back in Percé at Surcouf ends a perfect day. I strongly recommend everyone take a look at Merry's fabulous photographs from this day found at http://merryatsyracuse.blogspot.com

Day 5 – Forillon National Park of Canada

The day dawns clear, but quickly clouds up. By 7:00 the wind comes up and small, hard rain storms blow through. By 8:00 the showers end but the wind increases to 30-40 mph. We head north up the coast, pass the small city of Gaspé and enter Forillon National Park. We reflect on just how far it is by road to Forillon from Percé. They look close together on a map, but the road circles two large bays making the trip at least an hour. Next time we plan to stay nearer the Park. Our original plan for today was to take a whale watch from Forillon out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. When we reach the nearly deserted boat dock at 9:30 we discover the tours are canceled due to rough seas. By this time the skies have cleared but the wind continues to pick up. We drive out to where the road ends on Cap Gaspé then tour the restored Anse-Blanchette homestead. Three interpreters in the colorful seaside fisherman's house dressed in costume from the 1920s are eager to help us sink into the atmosphere. The small barn against the cliff has some chickens, three cow milking stalls and old farm equipment. Another outbuilding houses and explains a cod salting operation, even offering a sample. Down in the rocky cove it is easy to imagine setting off in a small boat into the crashing waves for cod fishing.

A little ways on at a cove called Petit-Gaspé we stop to watch seals playing in the surf only a few yards off the beach. Then we drive through the forest to the north shore visitor center to take in the natural history exhibits there. Finally we drive to Cap-Bon-Ami, an overlook from which we can see the cliffs at the end of Cap Gaspé. There are small seabird colonies in the cliffs here, mostly black-legged kitiwake with a few cormorants, some razorbills, black guillemots and harlequin ducks. Gusts of wind literally strong enough to knock me off my feet cause little trouble for the birds. We hike a ways down the beach then back to the shelter of the car. The wind truncates our exploration of this spectacular park. Back in Percé I hit the grocery store to stock up on local smoked salmon and local beer to bring home. We have dinner at Table de Roland. Mer opts for Cod a la Gaspésie (broiled with onions and bacon). I have good poached salmon with tomato cream sauce. Tomorrow we head inland to explore the Chic-Chocs.

Days 6/7 – Parc National de la Gaspésie

After a last croissant at the Motel Fleur de Lys we check out and drive down the south coast for about 100 miles to New Richmond. We gas up, then stop at the local information center. The kind woman at info center tries to help us get a reservation at Gite du Mont-Albert, but no luck with either internet or phone. She does correct my pronunciation of “Gite.” These small holiday accommodations are everywhere in Quebec. To be understood you have to say “jit.” She also tells me that we should ask about “forfait” at the Gite. We drive inland right along the Cascapedia River, one of the premier salmon fishing streams in Canada. Several times we catch a glimpse of people using large green, wood and canvas canoes, with three or four occupants, for fly fishing. We see one such boat anchored in a small rapid with two men as paddlers, one guide in a suit, vest and fedora, and one fly fisherman. We reach the Gite about noon. This is no simple holiday cottage. It's a magnificent wilderness lodge. The only comparison I can think of are the historic lodges at the Grand Canyon and Zion. It's located right at the foot of 2^nd highest peak in the Chic-Chocs, Mont Albert. The highest peak, Mont Jacques-Cartier, is nearby. When booking our room I ask about forfait. It turns out forfait means “all inclusive.” For about $250 [compared with $125 for the room only] we got a large room overlooking the mountain, a four course gourmet dinner and a hugh breakfast buffet.

We spend the afternoon wandering around, taking in the mountain atmosphere and checking out the visitor's center. Dinner at the lodge is wonderful. After a good night's sleep we decide to take a short morning hike. We drive a dusty dirt road to the trailhead for Lac aux Américains, a crystalline lake in glacial cirque. This trail climbs quite steeply for about 1.8 km, but has been so well maintained that it's not really a hard hike. There are few other hikers. When we reach the top we find a pile of still unmelted snow right by the trail. The lake is surrounded by a crescent of jagged mountain ridges. We are quite close to Mont Jacques-Cartier but the trail there is closed to protect the small herd of woodland caribou that live on the plateau near its peak. We stop to view the chutes (waterfalls) de St. Anne then descend to the village of St. Anne des Monts. We pull up for lunch at Poissoniere de Quay, a combined fish market and resto. I finally get to try a homard club sandwich; just an ordinary club sandwich but with lobster instead of ham or turkey. Yum.

Gaspésie #2 – the North Coast Road

2010-06-23T20:38:00.000-04:00

The first three days of our trip to Gaspésie took us the length of the south shore of the St. Lawrence River from the Thousand Islands, where the river empties out of Lake Ontario, to Percé at the eastern end of the Gaspé peninsula; a trip of just over 900 miles. Most of this journey was through rural eastern Quebec. We wish we had remembered our French phrase book. Bilingualism stops at the Quebec border. We were able to get by fine with simple English, a very little French, gestures, pointing and a smile. Our “bonjour” and “merci” got a thorough workout. There were no serious misunderstandings.

Because we traveled in mid-June, just at the start of the tourist season, there were some places not yet open, but this worked in our favor, since everyone who was open was anxious for business and offered off season rates. The weather was generally cool and dry, but a windbreaker came in handy.

Just a word to our birder friends: if you have not yet visited this part of the world, make your plans now.

Day 1 – To Quebec City
A long drive, north on I-81 to Alexandria Bay, then to Ogdensburg to cross into Canada. US Border Patrol is stopping cars as they leave the US, checking ID and asking where we are going. No idea why this is being done. East on Ontario 401 to Cornwall where we stopped for lunch and said goodby to the English language. At the Quebec border the highway is renumbered 20. We were frustrated by a giant traffic jam that stalled us in Montreal for about an hour. We finally made it through the tunnel under the St. Lawrence back to the south shore. Traffic thinned out and we made for Quebec City. The scenery here is generally unremarkable. We finally pull into a Comfort Inn in Lévis, QC directly across the river from downtown Quebec City having logged a little over 414 miles. We had a good Italian dinner along Boul. Pres. Kennedy at Pacini, a moderate priced Quebecois artisan pizza chain.

Day 2 – To St. Anne de Mont
The free breakfast at the motel is crowded so we sit with a man from Huntsville, ON. He's in QC to escape the upcoming G8 meeting in his hometown. He tells us that the enhanced security is making life a little too difficult for the natives. I mention the extra security at the border. A Quebecois biker at the next table pipes in that the US has been checking people as they leave for the past two months. When I ask him if he knows why, he shrugs and responds, “Who knows? They are your people.”

We hit the road. Today we will travel to the end of Route 20 Est. This is beautiful farm country laid out in “seigniorial” fashion with long thin fields stretching away from the river into the distant hills. We stop for lunch at Rimouski, the last really large town we will encounter for a week. The Point de Pere lighthouse is a perfect place for a break from driving and our picnic lunch. There is also a small museum here dedicated to the ship wreak of the Spirit of Ireland that lies just off shore. Also part of this marine park is a cold war relic, the decommissioned Canadian submarine Onondaga. We can't resist touring the sub since Onondaga is the name of the Indian Nation based in Syracuse and also of our county of residence. Claustrophobic. Then Merry climbs the lighthouse while I do some beach combing.

Back on Route 20 the further we travel the wilder it gets. At first small farms continue right down to the water until the very steep hills close in entirely and there is just no more room for farming. At the geographic start of the peninsula the big road stops and we meet two lane Rt. 132, the road that circles Gaspésie. By now the river is so wide we can't see the north shore. Some of the higher ridges have wind farms. We stop briefly at the base of the largest vertical wind mill in the world at Cap Chat. Finally we pull into St. Anne du Mont – total milage 732 (318 today) – and register at the wonderful Motel Beaurivage. The motel is right on the river at the mouth of a salmon stream for which the town is named. We didn't know it at the time but from here on all the villages will be situated in bays at the mouth of a stream, it's the only place with enough room. The motel sent us for dinner to another place they own, Motel a la Brunante, in the middle of town where we had the first of many wonderful seafood dinners. Afterwards we walked the rocky shore at low tide and watched it turn. At about 9:30 pm the sun set into the St. Lawrence in a blaze of orange.

Day 3 – To Percé
We woke at 5:25 am in brilliant sunlight. The sun has been up for a long time already and the tide completely in. We get breakfast at the motel and set off. As we travel along Rt. 132 through the region known as Haute Gaspé the winding road is squeezed between the bottom of high black slate cliffs and the sea, then cuts inland over a high rocky ridge, then back to the coast. The sea is filled with whitecaps driven by a stiff northwest breeze. Road signs show a skidding car with waves breaking over the highway. We stop to see what is left of the commercial fishing fleet at Riviere de Renard then turn east again toward Forillon National Park.

By the time we stop for a picnic lunch at the Cap de Rosiers lighthouse the cliffs are red and while rock not black slate. From the lighthouse we spot our first three new birds in the surf: harlequin duck, black guillemot and common eider duck (saw a raft of over 500 of these guys). From the lighthouse we can also see dramatic, wild Cap Gaspé. We stop briefly at the information center for literature on Forillon Park because we intend to come back in a few days. Finally we drive fifty or so more winding miles, around more large bays, up and over to Percé and its famous rock. At mile 919 (187 today) we pull into Motel Fleur de Lys, our home for the next three days. Our room #2 is just off the beach with a stunning side-on view of the Rocher Percé. After getting settled we walk ½ mile along the seafront to La Maision du Pecheur, a fabulous seafood restaurant with seats by the window facing the wharf and the Rock. After a terrific meal of local lobster and salmon we stumble back to the room and collapse – too much beauty.

Off to Gaspesie

2010-06-11T07:31:00.000-04:00

Upstate Outpost has been on a two week hiatus as we prepare for a ten-day road trip in Canada. We leave today (June 11, 2010) to drive all the way down the south shore of the St. Lawrence River from Lake Ontario to it's outlet in the Bay of St. Lawrence.

Our destination is the little town of Percé at the very eastern tip of the Gaspé peninsula.

The Gaspésie (official name) or the Gaspé is the eastern most part of the south shore of the Saint Lawrence River. The river is many miles wide in this section. Beyond Quebec City the river increasingly becomes a mixture of fresh and salt water that supports a wide variety of sea life including several varieties of whales. The peninsula extends into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and is separated from New Brunswick on the south by the Baie des Chaleurs and the Restigouche River.

Gaspésie is at the very northern end of the ancient Appalachian Mountains at the point they finally plunge into the ocean. The interior is filled with fairly high mountains that I imagine as something like a more northern brother to the Adirondacks. In Gaspésie the range is called the Chic-Choc Mountains. The highest mountain in the rugged interior is Mont Jacques-Cartier at 4160 ft (1268-m) but there are several others near this height. The mountains support a unique mix of mega-fauna including moose, white-tail deer and caribou, all sharing the same ecosystem. The interior is heavily forested and crisscrossed by deep river valleys so as a result almost everyone lives in small villages on the coast.

Our destination is the easternmost point of the peninsula called Cap Gaspé. The name "Gaspé" may come from a Mi'kmaq word gespeg meaning "land's end". According to the Commission de toponymie de Quebec, Gaspé may also be a mutation of the Basque word "Gerizpe" which means "shelter". Our general plan is to quickly travel on four-lanes highways to just past Quebec City, then meander along the south shore of the big river on Route 132. At Sainte-Flavie, the entry point for Gaspésie, this route splits to circle the peninsula, with one branch following the coast and the other cutting south across the peninsula. The two branches meet at the town of Percé where we plan to stay for three days.

There are a few things I hope to see and do on this trip. I want to visit Isle Bonaventure in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and see the colonies of pelagic sea birds that come there to nest. Of course, I also want to see the Rocher Percé in person and check out the seal and whale watching. We hope to rent a sea kayak and paddle along a stretch of the wild coast. I hope we can swing inland into the Chic-Chocs to get a taste of the mountains. On the way back we plan to stop at the Reford Gardens to see their famous blue poppies www.jardinsdemetis.com/english.

Along the way we will explore the culture, the natural world and the food, especially the seafood.

The incredible fishing off the Grand Banks is what originally drew Europeans to this part of the world. When Jacques Cartier first came ashore in Gaspésie in 1534 to make an official claim on the new world for France he was very surprised to find the natives were able to converse with him in a pidgin form of the Basque language. This is believed to have been the result of many earlier visits by Basque fishermen who started to visit the Grand Banks beginning sometime in the late 1400s. The native population was never very large due to the rugged coast, mountainous and heavily forested interior combined with severe winter weather. Over the next four hundred years different waves of European immigrants settled here. The original permanent French settlers first arrived about 1650. They were joined a hundred years later by a different cultural group of ‘Acadian’ French settlers evicted from Nova Scotia and New Brunswick by the British in 1755. Two waves of English speaking immigrants also arrived in the eighteenth century. The first wave was made up of British Channel Island fishermen who began to move in after the British defeated the French for control of Canada in 1759. The second wave was British ‘Loyalists’ fleeing north from New England after England lost her American colonies in 1783. A wave of celtic people arrived from Ireland and Scotland during the potato famine of the 1840s. Native people, francophones and english speakers have lived together in Gaspésie literally for centuries.

So, we're off to see for ourselves. I'll keep you posted.

Where's Buddha?

2010-05-22T15:08:00.000-04:00

One of the joys of many of my early Saturday mornings is a trip to the Syracuse Regional Market. The Market sits on the north edge of Syracuse proper near Onondaga Lake. It's surrounded by the baseball stadium on the east, the regional transportation center on the north, Interstate 81 and the Carrousel Mall on the west and some old warehouses and factories on the south. This area was originally a salt marsh with numerous salt springs. In the earliest days of Syracuse it was part of the thriving salt production business. The salt springs are long gone now. Over the course of the last 100 years they have been gradually filled in then paved over in the name of progress.

In the early twentieth century this area was developed into a wholesale and retail farmer's market. A one story row of brick warehouses with loading docks front and back were built by local businesses to receive lots of fruit and vegetables via farm truck and rail, break them down and transport them to local stores. Some of these original wholesalers, such as Russo's Produce, are still operating in the same location today. One of the wholesalers, Buda's Meats and Produce, eventually decided it made sense to open its own retail market. The Buda family built a stand-alone store nearby. It's still in operation today providing a wide range of groceries at just slightly more than wholesale prices.

In 1933 the first permanent shed for the a cooperative regional farmer's market was built adjacent to the wholesale warehouses. Today there are five permanent sheds each about a city block long. The original brick shed, now called the “A” shed, operates year round. Both sides are lined with overhead doors so the vendors can back their trucks right inside. Many of the vendors in the “A” shed have rented the same coveted spot for years. Until this year, a home-made donut machine dominated a central location and added its delicious, greasy aroma to the place. I buy local honey from a guy who is always there. A local orchard sells us fresh raspberries. Mr. Leonard provides us with his marvelous maple syrup. http://merryatsyracuse.blogspot.com/search/label/maple%20syrup

The rest of the sheds are more modern consisting of almost nothing more than a long metal roof and walls made of overhead doors. At this time of year all the doors are up. Early Saturday morning the “B,” “C” and “D” sheds are lined with trucks of all kinds. Farmers from the entire region can be found here selling eggs, chickens, beef, buffalo, wine, apples, cereal, and home made baked goods. We get milk and yogurt from our friends at Wake Robin Farm who have a ten cow herd of jerseys. See for yourself at http://www.wakerobinfarm.org/ In between A and B sheds farmers who cater to the home gardener fill the lot with an enticing array of live flowers and plants. As you move down the line of sheds from A to E the spaces are cheaper and start to be filled with re-sellers of every kind: sunglasses, perfume, gloves, toys, CDs, you name it. Today was a prime Market day so two big tents were added to accommodate the overflow of vendors who couldn't fit in the sheds.

I love the Market because it is filled with people from every community that makes up greater Syracuse. Recent immigrants always flock here, perhaps because it reminds them a bit of markets at home. While shopping at the Market it's common to see Russians, Somalis, Hmong, Chinese, Bosnians, Indians, Arabs, and many more along with a number of Italians who came here in the 1950s but still like to speak the mother tongue. On a nice spring Saturday like today all the parking lots were full. Several thousand people at a time were happily wandering the Market the whole morning.

Today's nice weather reminded me of a beautiful mid-summer Saturday morning about three or four years ago. We had finished shopping and were winding our way back to our car loaded down with our purchases. There was a considerable traffic jam just inside one of the back entrances. We both noticed the cause of the back up was an older model station wagon very slowly making its way down the access road. It would creep forward, then stop for a second, then creep forward again. As it approached where we were standing it suddenly stopped right in the middle of the intersection. As the line of bewildered and aggravated drivers looked on, an older, slightly disheveled gentleman got out and walked over to us looking confused.

“Where’s Buddha?” he enquired in a loud voice.

I looked at him in wonder. What could he be asking?

“Where's Buddha?” he repeated even more loudly.

Then it hit me. He was slightly lost and wanted to find Buda’s Produce Market at the other side of the market.

“There it is,” I said to him and pointed at the red sign on the far side of the parking area.

He looked. A flash of recognition crossed his face and he turned back to his car.

Or maybe he was asking something else….

Tulips and French food

2010-05-16T17:09:00.000-04:00

Last weekend Merry and I drove up to the Ottawa Tulip Fest with our friends Jim and Allison. We love the tulip tradition and the long friendship between Canada and the Netherlands that it commemorates. Walking in the park with thousands of other people of all cultures for the sole purpose of viewing flowers and celebrating the coming of spring has a very soothing effect.

Saturday was cold and rainy but we were warm inside the National Gallery of Canada www.gallery.ca/english/index.html. The National Gallery has a great contemporary art collection and includes an impressive photography collection. The current highlight is a video installation that depicts (I think) an imaginary voyage to the Antarctic. Earlier in the day we also stopped across the river in Gatineau, Quebec to visit the Museum of Civilization, Canada's version of the Smithsonian. There we saw a very interesting exhibit on the early fur trading routes established in western Canada by the North West Company. www.civilization.ca/cmc/home

The real reason I love to go to Ottawa, however, is to sample the top-notch French restaurants. I thought it might be interesting to share my personal favorites.

On this trip we selected Le Saint O and Le Tartuffe. To my taste they are among the best in Ottawa.

Le Saint O Restaurant (613) 749-9703 www.lesainto.com

327 St. Laurent Blvd., Ottawa, ON

Rating: 5 stars Price: $$$ Last visit: May 8, 2010

EIP Comment: A bit off the beaten track. No tourists. Don't let the slightly shabby exterior fool you. This small gem offers a menu of French classics with strong Quebecois accents: Halibut with almonds, guinea fowl Wellington, Ris de veau with local honey, duck confit with maple syrup, three pepper fillet minion with Quebec blue cheese butter. The soup special on this visit was two flavors in one bowl, savory country mushroom on one half, sweet parsnip on the other. Deserts are inventive.

Le Tartuffe Restaurant (819) 776-6424 www.letartuffe.com

133 Rue Notre-Dame-de-L’ile, Hull, QC

Rating: 5 stars Price: $$$$ Last visit: May 7, 2010

EIP comment: In a lovely old house, the principles of modern French cuisine applied to fresh regional produce: cranberry-stuffed roasted quail, pheasant with wild mushrooms, ostrich steak, lively house terrines, flavour-rich soups and magnificent deserts. Excellent food, we’ve been there multiple times. Caution: service can be very leisurely – dinner is easily 3 hours or more.

We also usually have a lunch in the Byward Market at Domus, but didn't find the time this year.

Domus Cafe (613) 241-6077 www.domuscafe.ca

87 Murray Street, Ottawa, ON
Rating: 4 stars Price: $$$ Last visit: May 2008

EIP Comment: We stop here on nearly every trip to Ottawa. Lunch is a treat, dinner divine. Domus focuses on Canadian/Continental food, made with Canadian ingredients, exquisite wine selections showcasing Canadian vintages, and unique preparation and styling.

In addition, I highly recommend taking a drive in the Gatineau Hills then stopping at L'Oree du Bois for dinner.

L’Oree du Bois (819) 827-0332 www.oreeduboisrestaurant.com

15 Kingsmere Road, Old Chelsea, QC

Rating: 4 stars Price: $$ Last visits: May 06, 2005, summer 2006, summer 2007

EIP Comment: Take HWY 5 North (direction Maniwaki), exit Old Chelsea, left after the village before the park. Long-established, rustic-looking restaurant in pretty Gatineau forest setting. Special menu of regional cuisine starring locally produced ingredients. Expect to linger.

Finally, there are two restaurants both named Le Panache, one in Quebec one in Ottawa, both are worth a visit.

Le Panache (819) 777-7771 www.lepanache.ca
201 Rue Eddy, Hull, QC

Rating: 4 stars Price: $$$ Last visit: May 07, 2005

EIP Comment: Offers fantastic French-fusion cuisine, located rue Eddy (corner St. Laurent) in a residential neighborhood. Kir royale a treat. Service was great on our last visit.

Le Panaché Café-Restaurant (613) 230-0111

634 Somerset St. W., Ottawa, ON

Rating: 3 stars Price: $$ Last visit: May 3, 2008

EIP Comment: This unpretentious French restaurant is a surprise to find in Chinatown. Food was generally very good (one or two minor misses on our last visit) with appetizers and desserts above average. Reasonably priced and very friendly.

If you are headed to the Capital of Canada, I suggest you check out at least one of the above. I'd be happy to hear any comments on any of the above suggestions or to learn about any others you like.

Happy dining.

Suki's Thanksgiving

2010-05-01T08:36:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite Dickens characters is Noddy Boffin, the Golden Dustman, from Our Mutual Friend. Mr. Boffin makes his fortune as a rubbish carter and scavenger. He very much wants to be accepted in society. He pretends to be a miser, although he's not. He hires an illiterate scoundrel to teach him to read. He is based on a real person, Henry Dodd, who set up a thriving garbage business in London in 1836, worked his way into society and died worth 5 million.

What is wonderful to me about Mr. Boffin is his desire to demonstrate his worth, not by flaunting his wealth but by somehow convincing people to see him as a good man. His business is a necessary one in a growing city with no organized way to rid itself of refuse. He provides a service that others generally do not want to even think about and turns a nice profit. He knows that people throw away, lose and are otherwise parted from many objects of great value. What he does with what he finds drives this great novel and provides us with an intimate view of London in the early nineteenth century.

What any society does with rubbish tells worlds. We Americans mostly entomb our trash. Giant garbage mountains dot the landscape. Approaching St. Louis from the east on the Interstate a garbage mountain blocks the view of the iconic Arch. Only lately has our society begun to try to find the gold in the trash. We recycle a bit more of our trash every year, but it's still not a lot. We burn some of our trash and convert it to energy. Some dedicated gardeners turn yard and food waste into compost. Even with all these efforts, we still bury a lot of garbage.

Throughout the cities and towns of the developed world the descendants of Noddy Boffin still circulate. Out on the fringes, often at night, they drive their rusting trucks through the streets and alleys looking for discarded gold. They want metal. They want working appliances or furniture that can be resold. We usually do not see them at work. They call themselves “junkers” or “metal men.” We need them, not only to reduce the bulk of landfills, but to teach us about capitalism.

Advanced capitalist societies need to produce garbage. The more garbage there is, the more new stuff that can be manufactured and sold. If we didn't throw away perfectly usable stuff the economy would slow down. People would be put out of work.

Imagine a society without rubbish.

Back in the early 1980's I knew a graduate student at SUNY Stony Brook named Suki. She had the good fortune one year to be selected to go to Africa to study the social lives of the Bonobo, Pan paniscus, sometimes called pigmy chimps. They are an endangered species of great ape that live only in the jungles of the Congo. To reach her research station Suki had to travel for days by boat up the mighty Congo River, then travel a few days into the jungle by Land Rover and by foot. For much of the time she lived alone in a camp. One local man worked for her, doing all her cooking, cleaning and general work. She set out each day into the bush with her equipment then returned in the evening to write up her observations.

Being alone and largely out of contact with the outside world made her somewhat homesick after a while. She wrote her boyfriend and beseeched him to come join her. She told stories of home to the man who worked for her. When Thanksgiving day came she set out as usual. She was particularly homesick that day since back home she knew families would be gathering for the traditional fall feast.

When she arrived back at camp that evening she stopped dead in her tracks. All across the open space of her camp her employee had strung home-made twisted fiber cords. Fluttering from these cords were many little white paper flags. On closer inspection every paper flag was made from notes she had crumpled up and discarded over the past months. He had saved every scrap, carefully ironed them flat, cut them and made his festive banners. He also found a skinny chicken somewhere that he baked for her Thanksgiving supper.

She cried when she told this story, nearly a year later. His gesture was touching, but perhaps the greatest wonder was his assumption that nothing should be discarded while it still has a possible use.

We couldn't live like that, could we?

Refugee

2010-04-24T09:19:00.001-04:00

We closed on the sale of our St. Louis home on Thursday. Aside from a few remaining odds and ends we have now severed our material ties to the place that was our midwestern home for a happy year and a half. As the sale approached and ever since I've experienced a flood of images of St. Louis and McKinley Heights, the neighborhood where we lived. Merry is feeling much the same sense of loss. We miss our house and the garden we built from scratch. We miss the neighbors who live in the house next door and have lived there almost all their long lives. We miss the places we grew to love: the Arch, the River, the Botanical Garden, City Garden, the incredible parks, our favorite restaurants and their friendly owners. We miss the wonderful people, including those I worked with at ODAR and especially our niece, Megan.

The fact that we're very happy to be back in Syracuse does not diminish the sense of loss a bit. I suspect only time will do that.

Earlier this week I had a brief conversation with a Bosnian translator who had just helped with a hearing in Utica. I asked her when she immigrated to the U.S. She told me she came with her son after the war in 1999.

“I kept thinking that if we waited and survived the war that things would get better in Bosnia, but I was wrong, things didn't improve, so we had to leave.”

They first moved to Columbia, MD where she found work. She became a US citizen but Maryland didn't suit her.

“It's so busy, so many people. Life moves fast there. It's flat and humid. I would drive around in the country but no place reminded me of home. Then a friend invited me to visit Utica. I'm from central Bosnia. It's very hilly and rural there. When I got here, the land reminded me of home. I decided I needed to move here.”

I asked her how she liked it in Central New York now that she's lived here for a while.

“Well, many Bosnians here say that the Americans are prejudiced against us. I tell them, “How can you expect the Americans to understand us? The Americans have not been in a war or had to flee their homeland. How do you expect them to know what life is for us?”

She told me she urges the other Bosnians she meets at the Refugee Center to talk to their American neighbors and try to tell them what it's like to be an immigrant forced from a way of life and a home where their family has lived for generations.

“I'm an American now, but I'll never stop being a refugee.”

I pondered this conversation as I drove the 50 miles back to Syracuse. I have never been forced from my home. I have never lived in a war-torn country. How can I hope to understand the life of someone who will live the rest of her life as a refugee?

My only thought is to rely in part on our experience of moving to St. Louis. We moved there because the government decided that was where they would place me. We had to move in a hurry, with only a little more than two months to try to settle our lives in Central New York. It was chaotic. Decisions needed to be made without the luxury of time. When we left we didn't know whether we would ever be able to move back. We didn't know a soul in St. Louis and very little about the midwest. We had to rely on our own wits and the kindness of strangers.

We were not refugees. We got to take all our household goods and our beloved dog with us. We had decent financial resources. We speak the language [although not the midwest dialect].

Even with all our advantages we experienced a profound sense of dislocation. I felt a pervasive numbness for the first three or four months. It was the anesthetic I needed to deal with the stresses of the new. Gradually this numbness wore off to be replaced by the excitement of discovering a wonderful new place and getting to know a whole cast of new people. Who knows how long this numb feeling would last if I didn't have all my advantages? I can easily imagine it could last years or even never completely go away.

To even begin to understand Bosnian-Americans you then have to add the grief resulting from a horrible civil war with the express purpose of committing genocide, time spent in refugee camps and often the inability to resume any known occupation once resettled. Using all my experience I can catch only the most fleeting sense of the refugee experience, the reality defies my imagination.

Round Lake Ski Trail

2010-04-17T10:37:00.000-04:00

It's always rewarding to take time to explore the Adirondack Park. Over the past twenty years Merry and I have traveled, hiked and paddled extensively in the Adirondacks but we have largely overlooked the Tupper Lake area. A few years ago we visited the then new Natural History Museum there affectionately called “The Wild Center.” http://www.wildcenter.org/ It's definitely worth a visit with its interactive displays, a tank of graceful river otters and a beautiful setting along the Raquette River. When we realized we would be in nearby Canton, NY last Friday afternoon, 4/9/10, we decided to make a return trip. Oops. We forgot that nobody goes to the Adirondacks in the early spring. The Wild Center is closed until May 1.

But as I was saying, it's always worth exploring. By the time we realized the Wild Center would be closed we had booked a cabin for the weekend on the south shore of the lake. Moody Cabin is a gem. http://www.tupperlakeinfo.com/moody_cabin.htm It's set back from the main road with a nice view. It has it's own little beach across the road with a lean-to that holds chairs and paddling accessories. The owner's house is next door, but the cabin feels very private. It's small, so it fit us well. It's nicely furnished, is tastefully decorated and has a fully functional kitchen. Perfect.

One of the reasons few visitors come to the Adirondacks in April is the unpredictable weather. Friday afternoon was fairly warm. When we arrived in Tupper Lake it was partly cloudy and in the 50s. When Joli and I stepped outdoors before sunrise on Saturday there was a quarter of an inch of snow on the ground with more coming down hard. It was still just below freezing at ten o'clock but the sky was completely clear with a stiff breeze. By noon the snow was completely gone.

We often rely on Barbara McMartin's wonderful guidebooks called the “Discover the Adirondacks” series. Outdoor opportunities throughout the whole giant park are described in detail in eleven volumes. One nice thing about these guides is that they cover both hiking and canoeing. They also include nice introductory sections on each geographic area. The maps in the book are not great, but that's made up for by the fact that the books are clearly written and updated pretty frequently. Even though McMartin died back in 2003 the work she started continues thanks to a corp of dedicated outdoor enthusiasts.

We were looking for a fairly short hike. We settled on #105, the Bog-Round Confluence. McMartin describes this as an unmarked path on old logging roads. We knew it headed into an area that the state had only recently acquired, so it was inviting and untraveled. There is no marked trailhead. There is a place to pull off the highway by a culvert that you can easily spot if you know exactly where to look. We have driven right by the spot dozens of times without notice. Once you're off Rt. 30, it's fairly easy to see where the old dirt road enters the woods.

A short way up this old logging road we came to an intersecting trail and a surprise. High on a tree someone has nailed metal circles, made from the lids of a #10 can, nicely painted and marking the trail ahead as the “Round Lake Ski Trail” and the side trail as a connector to another trailhead. From here on we found these homemade signs about every quarter mile.

The trail narrows after first climbing to the shoulder of a ridge. The open hardwoods are full of big glacial erratics covered with moss, ferns and lichen. Frequent small streams cut across the path as it passes through a glade of old yellow birch. A little further along the rushing Bog River comes into view downhill on the right. Merry and Joli scrambled down to the river to take a look at the rapids. A bit further along we came to the confluence of the Bog River and the stream that flows from Round Lake. We continued up the Round Lake Outlet until we emerged at a disused gravel road that used to lead to some hunting camps. Here more homemade signs mark the trails to Round Lake Dam to the left and Winding Falls to the right. On the immediate right is “Halfass Bridge”, a substantial old bridge directly over the lip of a beautiful waterfall.

We rested in the warm sun here for a bit. The sound of falling water and a few birds were all we could hear. Then we turned back the way we came. Along the trail we saw abundant witch hopple (Viburnum lantanoides) just opening and starting to push up its flower heads. Trout lilies and trillium were up everywhere but not yet flowering. Since there were no leaves on the trees the woods were nicely sunlit. There were no other hikers. The temperature was perfect and there were no bugs.

The next morning I described this hike to Mary, our host at Moody Cabin, and told her of my surprise at finding the trail markings. “Oh, that's Scott, my husband. He likes to poke around in the woods.” We then spent about half an hour talking with Scott about the other “unmarked” trails he has worked on throughout the nearby woods. In his view you can grow old waiting for the DEC to do trail work. His deep love for the woods is evident. We plan to come back to check out more of his handiwork soon.

Paris Cafe

2010-04-03T08:45:00.000-04:00

NPR runs an occasional fiction writing contest. The last one just ended. The idea was to write a very short story of 600 words or less that can be read aloud in three minutes. For the March contest the story had to be based on a photograph of an empty cafe table topped with an open newspaper. The judge was Alan Cheuse, author and NPR book reviewer. I decided to enter a story based on a real event from our visit to Paris two years ago.

There were over 3000 entries. I didn't win. Nonetheless I found the exercise interesting and fun.

Here's my losing entry.

Paris Cafe

Ed stumbles off the RER dragging his suitcase. The directions emailed by a landlord he has never met direct him to use the Place de Notre Dame exit. Arrows lead further and further down a deserted platform. Water drips from the tunnel ceiling. He comes at last to stairs, then an escalator, the exit turnstile, finally more stairs into the blinding sunlight. At eight o’clock on a Saturday morning the famous square in front of the Cathedral de Notre Dame is deserted.

He walks shivering alongside Notre Dame. Ancient buildings on the opposite side of the cobblestone street glow soft gold in the morning light. Shopkeepers are just opening tourist stalls hawking tee shirts, model gargoyles and postcards. Behind the cathedral a wide pedestrian bridge crosses to Ile St. Louis.

Rising from the middle of the glittering Seine is a solid block of 17^th century limestone houses, each five or six stories high. Iron balconies on the second and fifth floors overlook the river. The ground floors facing Ile de la Cite are devoted to shops and cafes.

Hungry, tired and disoriented after the overnight flight from Dulles he has two hours before he can pick up the keys to the apartment. The St. Regis is the first open café after the bridge. Half a dozen men standing at the bar glance up as he enters, then quickly turn back to their papers and coffee.

“Bonjour, monsieur.”

“Bonjour.”

The waiter indicates a tiny window table and raises an eyebrow. Ed smiles and sits. The waiter returns and drops a used copy of today's Le Monde on the red enamel table.

“Merci. Café et un croissant, s’il vous plait.”

“Café ou café aux lait?”

“Café aux lait, merci.”

Across the narrow side street a waiter is setting up tables and chairs on the sidewalk even though the temperature is just above freezing.

His coffee and flaky warm croissant arrive. The large blue cup of strong coffee with frothy milk is very hot. Perfect.

Every minute or so a new customer comes in, says hello, has an espresso delivered at the bar, speaks a few words to his neighbor, glances at the paper and leaves. Only one other person sits at a table. Ed leafs slowly through the paper trying to get the gist of the news from the pictures and the few French phrases he knows.

A man comes in with a Jack Russell terrier. He reaches down and unfastens the dog’s leash. The man takes his place at the bar but the dog trots over to the service entrance at the end of the bar, cocks his head and waits expectantly. On his next trip the proprietor spots the dog in his path.

“Bonjour, ma petit chien.”

The dog wags its stubby tail.

“Nous voudrions un petits gateau?”

The dog immediately sits and looks up expectantly.

The proprietor turns back to the kitchen and emerges a second later with a little cookie.

The dog daintily takes his cookie, returns to lay at his owner’s feet and eat it. A minute later the man finishes his coffee, re-leashes his dog and they leave.

During the next half-hour essentially the same thing happens twice more, once with a bulldog, once with a miniature poodle. Brilliant, the proprietor has trained neighborhood dogs to bring their owners to his café every day.

It's time to seek out the owner of the apartment.

“L’addition, s’il vous plait.”

Ed leaves the paper open on the table and walks out into his first Paris morning, smiling.

China Road

2010-03-27T12:20:00.000-04:00

Whenever we're hungry for Chinese food, we head for China Road. http://www.chinaroad-ny.com/index.html It's a bit of a drive for us. Located a little north of Syracuse proper on Route 11 (Brewerton Rd.) in the village of Mattydale, it's near the airport. It's just across the four lane main drag from the Hollywood Cinema, a long-lived, second-run movie house. It's an unassuming place, even a little worn. The building décor is very modest. If you didn't know the best Chinese food outside New York City was inside, you'd pass right by. It has changed little in the past fifteen years or so that we've been eating there.

The front room is small, maybe ten tables with red cloth tablecloths covered with white paper. A larger back room is used for parties. You will always find Simon Teng or his wife Jenny at the cash register. They great every customer with a happy “Hi, how are you.” We often come here on Sunday evening. On most visits the place is nearly full with about half the tables filled by Chinese people: professionals, families and students. Some nights it's very busy and the service a bit slower. Some nights only the front room is open and take-out is the main business. The fantastic food and the friendly atmosphere keep us coming back week after week.

The menu is truly infinite. In addition to a “regular” Chinese menu in English with all items found in nearly every other Chinese restaurant, there is a second menu printed in Chinese with a much longer list of specialities. There are also seasonal specials printed in English and Chinese on white boards in the dining rooms. Then there is the vegetarian menu featuring everything imaginable made from tofu including vegetarian duck, vegetarian beef and vegetarian pork. Finally, there is anything else you can name, made to special order.

We once brought a bunch of workers' comp lawyers from Queens here. After they spent a lot of time looking over all the menu selections, one of them announced his favorite dish from a restaurant in Flushing was not listed. As soon as he mentioned the name of the favored item, Simon the owner, said without hesitation, “I will make for you.” The result was proclaimed “better than in New York City.”

I think some diners are disappointed in China Road because they only order familiar items off the English menu. Those items are good, but not truly special. I suspect Simon and his crew of wok-men are so used to making them that they don't get the same lavish care as some of the less common items with more expensive ingredients.

For an example of the unique cooking coming out of Simon' kitchen stop in during the weeks following Chinese New Years. On the board you will see half a dozen unfamiliar items. Ask the server what they are, then try some of them. Take a chance. Shanghai soup dumplings turn out to be dumplings filled with savory hot soup. Lobster any style is an eye popping disarticulated two pounder with your choice of sauce. There is always something that catches our fancy, then in a few weeks it's gone, at least until next year.

Perhaps the peak experience we've had here is a full Chinese banquet. We couldn't help notice that the groups of Chinese customers often receive items served family style clearly not from the menu. Nearly every Sunday some group has a party in the large room. We would watch as steaming dishes of every kind pass us by. We finally asked Simon about the food for the parties. He explained they are ordered in advance. The number of dishes determines the price.

When one of the members of our book club went on a study tour of China, we decided a celebratory Chinese banquet was in order to welcome her back. The week before the event Merry and I met with Simon to choose the items. We had some favorites, but Simon really set the menu once he knew how much we wanted to spend ($25 per person, I think). The night of the banquet we just sat back as the meal unfolded. On the lazy susan table top appeared three trays of appetizers, two different tureens of soup, a large whole crispy fish in black bean sauce, four more main courses, a mountain of rice and a special dessert. It took us about two hours to eat it all. We could not have feasted better anywhere.

Next time you find yourself hungry in Syracuse, give China Road a try.

Week off

2010-03-20T08:54:00.000-04:00

I've been sick with a cold this week and am still fighting it off. My mind is a bit clouded, so I've decided to take a week off from the blog.

Anyone looking for some terrific writing should pick up this week's (Mar. 22, 2010) New Yorker and check out John McPhee's “Pioneer.” It's about the lacrosse match-up just last month between the University of Denver and Syracuse University. It's non-fiction writing at its very best. You can read a sample on the New Yorker's web site here: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/03/22/100322fa_fact_mcphee

I'll be back next week.

Fish'er Chips

2010-03-13T07:24:00.000-05:00

I held hearings this past week in Canton, NY. Canton was chosen for hearings because it is somewhat centrally located in the part of the state colloquially known as The North Country. This distinct geographic area is the northern-most part of New York. The north country runs along the Canadian border down the St. Lawrence River valley from Watertown to the Thousand Islands to Ogdensburg then Massena. Then it leaves the river to follow the inland border to Rouses Point at the top of Lake Champlain. It forms a narrow band just north of the more rugged and mostly wooded Adirondacks. The land here is generally flat and open – thin soils on top of limestone. The primary occupation is dairy farming. There's a little light industry, some state prisons, and a few colleges. In the past decade Amish farmers have bought a substantial number of farms. Their horse-drawn buggies are everywhere. The St. Lawrence Seaway provides some port and lock jobs. The Akwesasne Mohawk reservation spans part of the border with a casino, a bingo hall, tax-free cigarettes and allegedly an active smuggling operation. There is a big Border Patrol presence.

It's hard to make a good living in the north country. A great deal of the work is part-time and seasonal. To be financially independent everyone needs at least two jobs.

The SSA hearings are held in a conference room at the Canton Best Western Hotel on the edge of the St. Lawrence University golf course. I hauled two briefcases of portable computer equipment in from my car and my hearing clerk, Pat, set up the room. SSA also hires a security guard from the private security firm Wackenhut to protect me from who knows what.

After all our preparations the claimant in my first case of the day didn't show up. This gave me a chance to get a cup of coffee and relax for a few minutes. I struck up a conversation with Steve Fisher, my security guard for the next three days. I discovered Steve had retired from the Ogdensburg Police Department a few years earlier at the age of 47. He a stocky youthful looking guy with a round face, his sandy hair cut into a dutch-boy with bangs. I asked him how he got the security job.

“Well, I was over at the Social Security office visiting my wife who works there. The manager for Wackenhut happened to be there that day. He asked me if I'd want to do part-time security work, and gave me an application. I took it home to look at, but it was a big packet of papers, so I tossed it into the cupboard. A week later he called me to ask why I hadn't sent in my application. I told him I was too busy to fill out all the paperwork. A week or so later he called again and told me he had set up an interview down in Syracuse. I drove down. After the interview they asked if I would be available so many days a month. I asked how much they paid and they showed me a chart. I told them for that much money I'd be available anytime. They hired me on the spot and here I am.”

I felt sure Steve had at least one other part-time job. He admitted he did own a few rental units around Ogdensburg and that kept him busy some of the time. When I asked if that was all he did, he remembered that he and another guy also did some snow plowing. “We do about a hundred places, by the job only. No contracts, when you have a contract they think they own you.” His main job, however, is his restaurant, Fish'er Chips.

When he retired from the PD he bought a former sporting goods store in downtown Ogdensburg. It's a small concrete block building. He tore out everything inside and remodeled. He scored a complete, nearly new, stainless steel stove hood for next to no money, but needed to move it. He told me the biggest issue was the built-in fire retardant system. He wasn't entirely sure how to take it apart and accidently set it off spraying himself and some of the ductwork with chemicals. He talked to friends across the river in Canada and got the recipes and procedures for first-rate fish and chips. He set up picnic tables outside for summer. His father agreed to work for him. As the local Dairy Queen had recently closed, he decided to add ice cream to the menu. He sweet talked the former Dairy Queen manager to come work for him. The Amish haul off his used cooking oil. He wasn't exactly sure what they do with it.

He was justifiably proud of what he had accomplished, building the place with his own hands from scratch. “On a nice summer day they're five deep in there.”

He opens for the season on Ash Wednesday. “Ogdensburg is a Catholic town, what with two cathedrals and all. You got to be open for Lent.”

He had not yet gotten in his ice cream supplies for the season, and lamented the recent warm weather that had brought in customers seeking ice cream. “The walkers were on the streets yesterday,” he told me on Wednesday. “I wish I had ice cream. I hope to be ready early next week.”

Perhaps his best decision was to paint two murals on the outside of the restaurant. “This high school girl I knew came in and asked if she could paint a wall as a class project. After a bit she convinced me and I paid for the paint. She did an aquarium. It turned out really neat and people liked it. The next summer she wanted to do some more, so I suggested an octopus holding up the things we sell. Now there's a purple octopus all around the front door. Kids love it. She did a really great job. I gave her some money to help with college.”

Of course I told Merry this story. She drove up, photographed the murals and had lunch there the next day. Before she got back, Steve's dad called him on his cell phone.

“Your wife liked our sweet potato fries.”

Deadbeats

2010-03-07T12:21:00.000-05:00

“I guess you see a lot of people who try to fake being disabled.”

This is one of the first things new acquaintances say when I tell them that I'm an Administrative Law Judge for Social Security. Because nearly everyone has had some personal contact with Social Security, everyone has an opinion about the disability programs. Inevitably, almost everyone thinks a large number of people receiving benefits don't really deserve them. It doesn't matter if the person I'm talking to is an unemployed neighbor, a waitress, a business owner, or a politician. They all have an unquestioned belief that a great many people somehow cheat to get Social Security benefits.

This has not been my experience at all.

If there were a lot of deadbeats applying for benefits, I would certainly see some of them. The screening process used on applications pretty well assures that any marginal case is denied initially. All the deadbeats would have to appeal and come before an ALJ in order to trick their way to benefits. It just doesn't happen.

In fact, virtually everybody I see in my court genuinely believes they are too disabled to work. I see an amazing array of people of all ages with all kinds of disabling conditions. They come to my court to tell their sad story. Most have only the vaguest idea about the legal standard for disability, or how to meet it. They just know they can't work. They have tried.

So, what is the source of the opinion that a lot of Social Security claimants are deadbeats? Many people tell me they know someone who knows someone whose neighbor down the street is getting benefits but doesn't deserve them. On closer questioning, however, they admit they don't really know all the facts of any particular case. They have accepted someone else's opinion that they know a deadbeat, and that's enough proof for them.

The reason people are so quick to believe in the existence of Social Security cheats is the deep-seated belief that America is uniformly a country of rugged individuals who work hard to support themselves. The corollary of this belief is that someone who does not work for a living is just plain lazy. Unless they have personal experience with a disabling condition, it's hard for many people to believe a person can't work at least doing something. It's true I see a lot of people in my court who have lost the motivation to work because of their disability, but that certainly does not mean they could somehow magically be capable of earning a living if they only tried a bit harder.

Somewhere during this discussion I usually point out there is little financial incentive to cheat to obtain benefits because the benefits are barely enough to live on. For a person 60 years of age with a lifetime of past work at minimum wage, the SSD monthly benefit is only about $700. If the person had average lifetime annual earnings of $40,000 the benefit would be about $1,170, or about a third of what they were earning. Benefits are proportionate to the person's age and wage earning history but are never a real replacement for wages. You can check out the numbers yourself by using Social Security's handy benefit calculator at http://www.socialsecurity.gov/estimator/. If the person did not work long enough or recently enough to qualify for SSD, they can only qualify for the Supplemental Security Income monthly benefit of about $675. People do not live like kings on these amounts.

Finally there is the fact that for any deadbeat to get benefits they would have to convince an experienced ALJ that they have a severe disability that has so eroded the occupational base that they can not perform the essential duties of any job. This is a hard test for anyone to meet.

For adults under age 50, the basic question I try to answer is, “can this person reasonably be expected to work at any job where they can make just barely enough money to live?” In a great majority of these cases I am faced in the end with the question of whether this person with their background, work history and limitations can now do unskilled sedentary work. Many judges, myself included, directly ask the claimant to explain why they could not do simple work such as receptionist, parking lot attendant, desk clerk, and so on. One ALJ in South Carolina told me he once took this line of questioning a step too far.

“So, tell me, sir, are you too disabled to do a desk job like mine?”

“Judge, I figure I could probably do your job, I just can't work.”

The ALJ quickly excused himself, but was overheard howling in laughter out in the hall.

Snow shoveling and civilization

2010-02-27T17:28:00.001-05:00

We woke up Friday to more than a foot of heavy wet snow. All the schools were closed, but your federal government was open as usual. The first snowplow roared by at about 4:30 am. It was just getting light as I contemplated when to start shoveling out our car. There was a knock. “Do you need help getting out?” It was Anthony our next door neighbor with his large snow shovel. I thanked him, and said I didn't need to rush since I had no hearings. He should do his own driveway and we would work on ours. By the time we got outside Anthony had already cleared a space behind our car. I could hear the scrape of his shovel as he worked next door, piling the heavy stuff six feet high. All around we heard neighbors starting snowblowers. Cliff our neighbor from three houses up the street finished his driveway and slowly advanced down the sidewalk with his snowblower. He continued past our house, then turned back, nicely clearing the walks in front of five houses, including ours. Shortly we showered and headed downtown, a bit later than usual, exhilarated.

Before the industrial revolution I suspect snow was moved with a variety of implements. Merry remembers using a big wooden snow scoop to push snow when she lived in rural Vermont. See, http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1914&dat=20000222&id=Nc0gAAAAIBAJ&sjid=p2oFAAAAIBAJ&pg=3257,3733551 I'm sure coal and grain shovels were also used to move snow. Most of the time farmers just stamped a path to the barn and let it go at that.

As cities grew in the snowy Northeast during the nineteenth century people wanted to make roads passable in winter. Horse drawn sleighs with runners were generally used, so rather than removing snow it was packed down in place. To combat heavy snowdrifts, big horse drawn snow rollers were used. In Brattleboro, Vt the DPW used a snow roller until the late 1920s.

The first patents for horse drawn snow plows were issued in the 1840s, but the first recorded municipal use of a horse drawn snow plow is from Milwaukee in 1862. As intercity steam train travel increased locomotives were outfitted with snow plows to clear the rails. Salt was used in a few cities, but was strongly protested because it ruined the streets for sleighing and damaged the shoes and clothing of pedestrians. The invention of the snow plow initiated widespread snow removal efforts in cities and created a basis for municipal responsibility in snow removal. Once automobiles became common, snow plowing became an essential government service.

Plowing created problems. It blocked the side streets and sidewalks with mounds of compacted snow. Merchants and pedestrians complained. Sleigh drivers also found fault with the plowing system because of the ruts and uneven surfaces it created. In response some progressive cities like New York hired horse-drawn carts and shovelers to work in conjunction with the plows, hauling away the plowed snow and dumping it into rivers. This not only cleared the mounds of snow, but provided thousands of temporary jobs throughout the winter season. For more of this history see “Have Snow Shovel, Will Travel” at http://nsidc.org/snow/shovel.html.

Special purpose snow shovels came into existence in the 1870s. The year after the great blizzard of 1888 Lydia Fairweather received the first patent for the prototype of the modern snow shovel that both scraped and scooped snow. The first plastic version was patented in 1939. Snow in America, Bernard Mergen, (Smithsonian,1997).

In our Strathmore neighborhood most homeowners quickly clear the sidewalks as well as the driveways after a snow storm. It's a matter of pride as well as public safety. It's a recognition that everyone uses the sidewalks. As I walk Joli I feel a distinct displeasure with my neighbors who only plow their driveways, but neglect their sidewalk. I have to assume they don't care if I slip or stumble. And what about the mail carrier?

This implicit recognition that other people are affected by the consequences of your personal choices is at the heart of civilization. When individuals take simple actions like shoveling their walk or refraining from littering it benefits the whole and makes our city a better place to live. Snow shoveling is not the most important part of living in a civilized world, but it's tangible evidence that most people care.

Birder?

2010-02-20T16:58:00.001-05:00

I'm pretty sure I'm not a true birder. I can understand how a casual observer might mistake me for one, so I'd like to set the record straight. I do know a lot about birds. I can reliably identify the common birds by sight and song. I know the difference between a house sparrow and a tree sparrow. I am good at spotting birds in the woods. I recognize most hawks and owls by their profile in flight. I own more than a dozen bird books and guides.

Even so, my interest and knowledge pales compared to a true birder.

I'm pretty sure all birdwatching starts with a backyard bird feeder. We have half a dozen. Merry makes regular trips to Wildbirds Unlimited to keep them filled. We both greatly enjoy the close range bird watching our feeders provide. I've been interested in bird behavior for a long time now. Way back when I was twelve years old I earned a Boy Scout bird identification merit badge. As I recall, I needed to identify 50 birds by sight and sound to earn it. Now, nearly 50 years later, I know a lot more birds.

Even so, I'm not in the same league with true birders.

True birders have a depth of knowledge and interest I admire, but do not aspire to match. Nor do I own or feel the need to use any optics in my bird observations. True birders go out in the field with at least one good pair of binoculars, a spotting scope with tripod, and a camera with a powerful zoom lens.

It's generally not possible to identify birders by their plumage. When not dressed for the field they blend into the ordinary mass of humanity. Only when the topic of conversation turns to birds do their true colors emerge. For example, last Friday we were having dinner with friends in Saranac Lake, two of whom, Cris and Ron, we just met. The conversation drifted to birds commonly seen in the Adirondacks in winter. Ron remarked that it is generally easier to see and hear owls in the winter. He said he heard one just last night, then imitated the call,

Wo … Wo … Wo … Wo.

His careful timing, intonation, and volume led Merry to opine he had likely heard a Saw-whet Owl, a small bird often heard but seldom seen. Ron and his wife Cris agreed that was probably the bird. There followed an increasingly detailed discussion of owl calls. We learned that Ron has recordings of owl calls and uses them to attract owls into view. He told us that all birds have a wide repertory of calls, not just the most common ones people tend to recognize. He told us about sitting around a campfire a previous summer night when his family was startled by a loud call of what had to be a mountain lion, followed by the familiar loud Wo, Wo, Wo, Woooo of a Barred Owl.

By this point in the conversation I felt sure that Ron and Cris are true birders. They then casually mentioned their life lists. In their opinions just hearing a bird, like the rare Bicknell's Thrush that can sometimes be seen at the top of NY's highest mountains, is not enough. For them it is necessary to personally see, hear and positively identify a bird to add it to a life list. It didn't surprise me that Ron and Cris intend to spend a month in Central America on a birding expedition later this winter. No doubt about it, they are the real thing.

Good estimates of the number of birders are hard to come by, but I think it's safe to say the numbers are quite large. Membership in the 500+ chapters of the National Audubon Society is in the hundreds of thousands. A survey in the 1980s found 11% of North Americans occupied themselves by watching birds at least 20 days of the year. Another guesstimate in the late 1980s claimed there were 61 million birders. In its first two years of publication the expensive new Sibley Guide to Birds sold 500,000 copies. You have to be pretty serious to have bought a Sibley and yes, we have one.

Only some of this very large cohort qualify as true birders by my definition. For me perhaps the key characteristic of a true birder is the “Life List.” I know a lot of birds, but I don't know or care how many. A true birder keeps a careful life list and seeks to add new birds whenever possible. There are about 10,000 distinct species of birds worldwide. Only a small number of people have seen and identified more than 7,000. In England a truly obsessed birder is called a “twitcher.” Apparently this term originated in the 1950s as a sort of tribute to the nervous behavior of Howard Medhurst, a British birdwatcher of the time who would travel long distances, often on short notice, to see a rare bird.

Birds animate the natural world. I've learned a lot about being aware of my surroundings from the serious birders I've encountered in my travels. They enjoy sharing what they know and bring a learned amateur's enthusiasm to any discussion of the outdoors. Next time you see someone with a spotting scope, stop and ask them what they see.

Ice

2010-02-15T10:28:00.001-05:00

Alan and I crunch across the patches of ice in the town parking lot on a clear, cold Friday night. We are headed for an opening at the Adirondack Artists' Guild in Saranac Lake. http://www.adirondackartistsguild.com/ We join about two dozen others milling about the small gallery, drinks in hand. The theme of the show is “Carnival!” About 15 quite good pieces on this theme line the walls at the rear of the gallery: paintings, collage, weaving, soft sculpture. I wander among the paintings and photographs. Almost all of them feature winter scenes. A tall older woman sweeps in with her little black & white papillon dog. She's got big blond-grey hair topped by an enormous fox fur hat. Her legs are encased in shiny black leather jeans. Everyone knows her. I assume she's one of the artists and move toward her. She sees me admiring her little dog. “That's Max. He's a critic.” As we walk back to the car Alan explains I have just met Ursala Trudeau, step-mother of Gary Trudeau, the creator of Doonesbury.

We traveled north to Saranac Lake to visit our friends Alan and Susan and to enjoy the 113th Winter Carnival. http://www.saranaclakewintercarnival.com/ Part small town celebration, part Mardi Gras and part college reunion, it's not really a tourist event. It is an amazing snap-shot of Adirondack life.

It takes about two weeks for volunteers to build the ice palace along the bank of Lake Flower. Twelve- inch thick blocks are cut out of Pontiac Bay using a homemade rig that marries a gas motor to a big buzz saw blade. The blocks are hauled to shore and artistically stacked two stories high. Some blocks are hollowed out with colored lights installed inside for nighttime viewing. A maze of ice walls dead end at a crawl hole through the center of the back wall. Kids and adults, too, emerge one by one from the tunnel into a giant room with high crenelated walls. Because this year's theme is “Adirondack Cowboy,” a giant ice stagecoach is parked next door.

Saturday dawns clear and cold. A little before noon we park in our friend's driveway at the edge of town. Two women are putting the final touches on a four-wheeler they are transforming into a covered wagon carrying two piglets and six chickens. As we head downtown on foot we see a lot of folks with straw cowboy hats crammed down over stocking caps. The sky turns grey as the temperatures climb into the high teens. Across from the reviewing stand, a bar with an upstairs balcony and deck is overflowing with a rowdy crowd. The two main downtown streets are now lined four deep. I get the distinct feeling that almost everyone knows everyone else at least by sight.

Here come the cop cars, lights flashing. A military color guard in fatigues gets a hand as they grimly step along. A big truck from Duso's Marina follows. Its snow plow has a cow skull dangling in the middle. Mr. Duso was to be the Grand Marshall of this year's parade. He chaired this event for 24 years and was the local fire chief for 12 years. He died earlier this winter at age 78. His volunteer firefighter's coat hangs on the back of his truck. The big ice saw he designed and used to cut more than 100,000 blocks over the years to build every ice palace since 1955 is towed behind.

The local high school band marches gamely along. The kids wear their uniforms but whatever gloves, hats and boots they want. Some go with the cowboy theme, some are more practical. Then come the floats. All are home made, towed behind big construction trucks or heavy duty pick-up trucks with snow plows freshly repainted for the parade. Every local institution has a big contingent. The hospital, the nursing home, the Trudeau Cell Science Institute, every elementary school, Paul Smith's College, two groups of Shriners, Planned Parenthood and the ladies auxiliary of the VFW all have modest floats. Some loosely organized young environmentalists calling themselves the Green Circle dance and drum down the street to celebrate local farming. A bag pipe band in kilts has traveled down from Ontario. A small troupe a civil war reenactors thrill the crowd by firing their muskets every block. The ten members of Society for Creative Anachronism buck the theme in their Viking outfits. Another group dress in costumes inspired by early video games such as Pong and Super Mario. A large bunch of men with beards (and some women with fake beards) march as the Brothers of the Bush.

My feet are freezing. On and on it goes for nearly two hours. Four day-glow Rasta clowns perform with snare drums. A small group of brass players and a bass guitar playing through a megaphone is channelling the Blues Brothers. Everyone is waiting for the parade favorites: The Adirondack Lawn Chair Ladies.

Finally here they come, nearly fifty women of all ages dressed in jeans, cowboy hats and identical vests. Each one carries an aluminum lawn chair covered in a brown and white cow design and their names written in glitter. Line dancing music starts. They swing the chairs overhead in perfect time. They open and snap them shut as they dance and strut. No one misses a beat. The crowd goes wild.

We stamp life back into our feet as we head to the car. Back at Susan and Alan's we fire up the sauna. As I start to warm up at last a silly ditty I heard for the first time today by a fellow called Speedy Arnold is stuck in my head:

It's cold here in Saranac Lake.

My thermometer says, “Give me a break.”

Makes you shiver and shake, makes your radiator break.

It's cold here in Saranac Lake, it's cold here in Saranac Lake.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXm-R4hJ7_8

Utica Bosnians

2010-02-06T11:48:00.001-05:00

Last Monday I headed down the Thruway to hear cases in Utica. Four of the five cases involved Bosnian refugees. If you have been following my blog, you might remember my reflections on conducting a hearing in Bosnian from a year ago. Those who missed that entry can find it here: http://edpitts.blogspot.com/2009/02/lost-in-translation.html

Bosnian is a musical slavic language that sounds like Russian to me. Last Monday SSA hired Vesna to help me communicate with the claimants. All four were represented by a non-attorney Christian clergyman who is working with the Utica Bosnian community and who speaks fluent Bosnian. Only one of the claimants spoke English, even though they all had been in the US for more than ten years. Vesna is a good translator and the hearings generally went smoothly, except when the representative got so deeply involved in questioning his client he forgot I needed to hear a translation.

Bosnia-Herzegovina, located on the Balkan peninsula, was part of the former Yugoslavia. The northern portion, Bosnia, is mountainous and wooded, while Herzegovina, to the south, is primarily flatland. The republic has a land area of 19,741 square miles [about the size of Vermont plus New Hampshire] and a population of 2.6 million, down from 4.3 million before the war of the 1990s.

The civil war in Bosnia-Herzegovina raged from 1991 until 1995, but tensions remain despite a UN enforced cease fire. Ethnic tensions have simmered in the Balkans for hundreds of years. Today's Bosnians are descendants of Slavs who settled in the Balkans during the early Middle Ages. From 1463 until 1878 the Ottoman Turks ruled this area. I recommend anyone who wants to begin to understand the legacy of the Ottoman occupation read The Bridge on the Drina by Ivo Andric. One of the most significant results of the long Ottoman rule is that a majority of ethnic Bosnians converted to Islam. Before the civil war 44% of the population were Bosnian Muslims, 31% were Eastern Orthodox Bosnian Serbs and 17% were Catholic Bosnian Croats. For an excellent article on Bosnian history see: http://www.everyculture.com/multi/A-Br/Bosnian-Americans.html

Wherever they settle in this country Bosnians have tended to establish self-sufficient communities and stay together. There are estimated to be well over a million Bosnians in the US with major centers of population in Queens, St. Louis, Cleveland and several other mid-sized cities. St. Louis has about 50,000 Bosnians. Utica has about 6,000. Syracuse has only about 3,000. About 43 percent of Utica's Bosnians are between the ages of 25 and 49, a much larger than average number of young adults. American Bosnians cannot return to their native land because the boundaries have changed and their homes are in a divided country. They're here to stay.

The driving force behind resettlement of Bosnians to Utica is the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees. http://mvrcr.org/ Congress first included Bosnians in the US refugee allotment in 1993. That year the Refugee Center relocated 79 Bosnians to Utica. By 1997 the agency had resettled nearly 2,500 Bosnians.

Utica used to be a vibrant industrial city with a peak population of about 125,000 people, but in the late 1970's, tough economic times reduced the population by half. As the population dropped, hundreds of city homes were left vacant. Bosnians place a high value on owning their own homes. They have moved into Utica's dilapidated neighborhoods. The city estimates they have rehabbed about 500 houses, all of which are now back on the city's tax rolls. Hamilton College economics professor Paul Hagstrom says that after even with high initial resettlement costs, the city's investment in the Bosnian community is now starting to pay off in strictly economic terms.

Because of language difficulties and lack of vocational training, the majority of the Utica Bosnians work in low-paying, unskilled jobs. One of the city's largest employers, the medical products company CONMED, employs large numbers of Bosnians as does donut maker, Granny's Kitchens. Others work as construction laborers or LPNs in hospitals and nursing homes. If they get hurt or fall ill they quickly lose these entry-level jobs and are unable to find any other work. Then they apply for Social Security. Since they are fairly young, they are denied and their appeals come before me. Using SSA standards, based on their physical ailments alone, most would not be considered disabled.

All but one of the claimants last Monday alleged that in addition to their physical problems they are disabled by post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of the events of their civil war. One had been held 6 months in a POW camp, then spent a year in a refugee camp. They told me stories of relatives killed, lands confiscated, and war wounds. All have been driven from their war-torn country. They have nightmares. They can't watch the news, but can't not watch it. They want to forget, but every time they talk to one of their countrymen they remember and they talk to fellow Bosnians every day.

I ponder their dilemma. I have great sympathy for what they have suffered and much admiration for what they have rebuilt. Depending on the evidence some will lose their cases, some will win. All have made me wonder at what human beings can and will do.

Snow

2010-01-30T09:24:00.000-05:00

I was talking to a colleague from NYC on the phone when he asked me if it was snowing in Syracuse. I looked out the window and told him it was partly sunny. I could see shadows and only an inch of snow had fallen in the past six hours.

It has snowed pretty much every day since we got here on January 1, with the exception of a short January thaw with one day of rain. To be more precise, there has been measurable snow on 20 of the last 30 days. Last night it snowed about an inch, but when I walked Joli this morning it was clear. A spotlight full moon lit the fresh snowscape. Everything sparkled and glowed. Subzero snow squeaked under my boots.

The constant presence of snow alters the look and feel of the air. Often a very light snow will fall as the sun peeks through. Snow of two inches or less is never considered significant enough to disturb anyone's plans. The new mayor gave her ”State of the City” address this past week with three inches of snow falling and temperature near zero. Four hundred and fifty people showed up.

Even much more significant snowfall rarely slows things down for long around here. Earlier this week I held video hearings with the Watertown remote site on a day with lake effect snow. For those of you who don't live near Lake Ontario, there is a band about 30 miles wide between Syracuse and Watertown where snow can fall at a terrific rate. Two or more inches an hour with a stiff breeze is not unusual. Interstate 81 traverses this band. It can be clear in Syracuse but only 15 miles north it can be snowing so hard that the entire world is undifferentiated white. Driving in those conditions is beyond hazardous, nonetheless all of the claimants showed up on time for their hearings. One lawyer left Syracuse in time to make the drive, but called me when she hit the snow belt and couldn't see the road. I told her to come back and do the hearing by video with me. After the hearing she genuinely apologized for being such a snow wimp. Everyone here has multiple stories about how they got home when they were caught in a white-out. The favorite is some variation of following a truck or snowplow and ending up in the wrong place.

The snow and the cold have been transformed into a sort of Spartan virtue here. People perk up when telling their favorite snow story. They seem friendlier. We're all in this together, so we might as well find ways to enjoy it. The local media faithfully reports on the “snow race” between the five upstate cities. The winner gets the “Golden Snowball” trophy. http://goldensnowball.com/ Syracuse wins most years and is leading this year with 67.3” as of last night. Buffalo took the prize in 1977 with 199.4” for the season. Syracuse's best was a not too shabby 192.1” in 1993. That's a lot of snow but the totals for the snow belt communities east of Lake Ontario can be much higher. Almost 12 feet of snow fell on Redfield in 2007 in one snow storm. The people there are proud of not paying much attention to how high the snow banks are getting. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17094120/

The parks offer cross country skiing, snow shoeing, sleigh rides, ice fishing and sledding. Snowmobile events fuel the winter economy in the Tug Hill Plateau and the Adirondacks. Many communities around here hold a Winter Carnival with snow & ice sculpture, polar bear plunges, chili cook-offs, human sled dog races and any other silly thing you can imagine doing in the snow. We hope to join the festivities at the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival some time in the next few weeks to see the world renowned Ice Castle. This fine winter celebration has been held in the coldest village in the Adirondacks every year since 1897. http://www.saranaclakewintercarnival.com/ The theme this year is “Adirondack Cowboys.” I can only imagine what that might mean.

Joli likes the snow. She eats it. She pounces on invisible mice that she thinks she hears sneaking through pukak tunnels. http://www.jon-nelson.com/pukak-life-under-the-snow

Merry likes snow. She loves the way snow transforms the outline of everything. She loves feeding the birds and watching them flock to our yard. She doesn't mind the cold and takes great snow photographs. She loves skiing, both cross country and downhill, ice skating and snowshoeing.

Over the years I've lived here the slippery footing, the muscle contracting cold and crystalline air have become a part of me. I missed it while living in St. Louis. I'm glad to be back.

TV Judge

2010-01-23T10:44:00.000-05:00

The other night as we waited for dinner to be served at Twin Trees, our favorite pizza & spaghetti joint, we noticed Judge Judy on the TV screen in the corner. We talked for a few minutes about why people agree to have their cases aired on this tacky show, then our salads arrived and we turned to the task at hand, enjoying crumbly blue cheese dressing with fresh greens.

All during the time I was hearing cases in St. Louis, I only conducted a handful of hearings using video-tele-conferencing (VTC). SSA started using VTC about five years ago. Its use has spread as the technology improved. Beginning in late 2007 SSA began to open what it calls “National Hearing Centers” that only hold VTC hearings. I believe every hearing office in the country now has several courtrooms with VTC equipment and the Hearing Office Chief Judges have desktop VTC equipment. We are told more such gear is on the way. Is this the inevitable wave of the future?

The general argument for conducting hearings by VTC is that it is an efficient way to do business. I'm suspicious of this argument. The whole point of holding hearings is to fashion a just application of the law to a complex factual situation. Of course, there are better and worse ways to perform this task, but efficiency can not be the primary goal, justice is.

There are, however, three serious issues that need to be addressed in the SSA hearing system. The primary problem is that a short-sighted hiring freeze during the last ten years created an enormous backlog of hearing applications such that many people are waiting more than two years to have their case decided. This backlog is not evenly distributed across the country. Historic staffing patterns and the new hires of the last three years have created some geographic areas with enough judges to effectively reduce the backlog while other areas are still significantly under-served. Having a group of judges that can “virtually” go anywhere to hear cases by VTC is one way to provide extra hearings where there are inadequate local resources.

The second problem is the vast size of our country and the annoying fact that a fair number of people insist on living far from urban centers. SSA pays travel costs for those who live more than 75 miles from a hearing office, but many people live considerably further away or can not realistically travel a long distance to a hearing. To deliver hearings to these folks most hearing offices operate remote hearing sites. At the Syracuse ODAR there are five such sites in Utica (60 miles east), Binghamton (70 miles south), Watertown (70 miles north), Corning (100 miles southwest) and Ogdensburg/Canton (130 miles northeast). The logistical problems of holding remote hearings can be formidable especially if travel involves crossing one of the most persistent snow belts in the US. The relative ease of holding hearings by VTC becomes especially attractive when faced with a three hour drive in a snow storm.

The third problem is related. The more rural areas obviously have a smaller number of cases. To justify the expense of a hearing trip a fair number of cases must be accumulated. This means that rural folks wait longer than urban folks for their day in court. “Average processing time” seems always to be longer for remote sites. This was true in St. Louis and is true here in Syracuse. When cases have to be rescheduled for any reason the wait is always longer at remote sites. Use of VTC hearings allows a day with a smaller number of hearings to be held anytime, anywhere, or so the argument goes.

Each of these arguments for use of VTC has some merit. I don't oppose some use of VTC, but I personally don't want to use it very much. The reason is simple: TV is a poor substitute for real life. The main reason to even hold hearings in Social Security cases is to allow the claimant a full and fair opportunity to explain why they deserve benefits. As they explain their case to me, I must decide whether what they say makes sense given the medical and other evidence in the case file. To do this I must find ways to get the claimant to talk honestly and openly with me, and I must ask a lot of probing questions to really find out what is happening in the claimant's life. Over my career I've learned how to effectively question people. Good questioning requires a lot of give and take spontaneously informed by what happens during the conversation. Many times I learn things about the claimant that the claimant's lawyer doesn't know. Many times people tell me or show me things during the hearing that completely change my mind about whether or not they deserve benefits.

Such probing questioning can be done by VTC. I've done it, but the effort required is quite a bit higher than in face to face hearings. In even the best VTC there is a short delay between every question and answer that breaks the flow. Sometimes the connection goes down, the screen freezes or the audio cuts out. The big screen TVs are good but it's completely impossible to effectively observe the small details like oil or dirt under the fingernails, or the smell of alcohol. Many claimants don't respond at all well to a TV judge, especially claimants with a mental illness. Back when I represented claimants, I had a client with mental illness who told me she couldn't truthfully answer the questions of ALJ at a VTC hearing because she was just too scared by the lady on the TV. For all these reasons, so long as I have a choice not to use VTC for my hearings, I'm going to opt not to do so.

Corning, NY

2010-01-16T11:21:00.000-05:00

I held three days of hearings this last week at the Corning “temporary remote” hearing site serving the south western part of Central New York along the PA border. The only other towns of any size in this area are Elmira, NY and Wellsboro, PA. Nearby are towns with the evocative names of Bath, Painted Post, Horseheads, Penn Yan and Hammondsport. It's a beautiful area. The geography is varied. In the north are three major long deep lakes, Seneca, Cayuga and Keuka, flanked by high hills covered with vineyards and dairy farms. In the south are the wooded hills and deep river valleys of the Allegheny Plateau. This area developed commercially in the early part of the 19^th century due to the transportation corridors of the Susquehanna River valley.

Corning is a small city of about 10,000 on the banks of the Chemung River, one of the tributaries of the Susquehanna. The major employer is Corning, Inc., now primarily a high tech glass manufacturer. You might think of “Corningware,” “Corell,” or “Pyrex,” but today Corning is mostly focused on optical fiber and liquid crystal display technology. Corning is also home to two world class museums, the Corning Museum of Glass http://www.cmog.org/ and the Robert & Hertha Rockwell Museum of Western Art http://www.rockwellmuseum.org/.

Merry, Joli and I drove south Tuesday morning in a light snow. We pulled into the downtown Corning Radisson about 2 ½ hours later. Social Security pledged years ago to phase out “temporary remote” hearing sites, but on the edges of the known world they still exist. Syracuse ODAR has three such sites; the other two are in Watertown and Canton. In each place, makeshift courtrooms are set up in hotel conference rooms. The necessary computer equipment has to be transported and set up daily. There is no electronic link to the SSA mainframe, so files are not always up to date and communication with the office is limited to old fashioned telephones. From my perspective the biggest problem was summed up by the following actual exchange I had with an unrepresented client and her husband:

“I sent you a letter in which I explained your right to counsel in this hearing. Have you decided whether you want to hire a representative?”

“Well, your honor, when we got the letter we weren't sure whether it was a joke, or what. We really didn't think the hearings would be held at a hotel.”

Judges have complained for decades having to use temporary remote sites. On my second day at the Syracuse office I was assured by the Hearing Office Director that concrete plans were underway to replace all three of our temporary remote sites with regular courtrooms. Apparently that will happen as soon as the necessary funds are available. Meanwhile I do the best I can to create a formal courtroom atmosphere in a hotel conference room. I have to admit I did like the short commute to work.

On this visit my exploration was limited to walks to restaurants and early morning walks with Joli. One interesting feature of Corning is its mostly intact historic downtown. It owes this fact to a healthy tourist trade and the flood of 1972. The flood completely inundated downtown, paving the way for redevelopment. The five blocks of restored brick buildings on Market St. have been dubbed “The Gaffer District” (Gaffer being a nickname for a glassblower) to attract tourists. The eastern end of the street has been replaced by three blocks of concrete and glass buildings all of the same architectural style that include the Radisson, City Hall, the police station, a nice outdoor skating rink, an auditorium, the library and some other government services including the Social Security field office. The local hospital is across the street. This combination brings a good mix of locals and tourists downtown, so it continues to thrive.

For such a small town there are a host of good restaurants. We had a gourmet dinner at Three Birds, and very good Indian food at Thali, but the prize for this trip goes to Bento Ya Masako. Open only at lunch four days a week, this hidden gem is worth seeking out. It's up a long flight of stairs over a jewelry store. There is no permanent sign. You know it's open when a signboard with some deflated balloons appears on the sidewalk. Inside a single medium sized room has a few tables, some metal folding chairs and a full kitchen. Masako Takemasa is the chef/owner. She has an assistant at the eight burner stove and a server. The menu on the wall offers about 10 items, each a full lunch. Bento shops are everywhere in Japan. They serve mostly take-away, but sometimes have a place you can sit to eat. Bento meals can be elaborate artistic creations served in compartmentalized lacquered boxes, or, as the case here, just a one plate lunch. I had good-sized piece of soy glazed salmon, carrots tempura, miso soup and steamed spinach with seaweed salad, all for $9. Merry had yakisoba noodles with appropriate sides. The place was packed. Take-out was non-stop. The walls are decorated with photographs of the amazing glass engraving art of Takeo Takemasa, Masako's husband, who works at the Steuben art glass division of Corning www.kuripa.co.jp/glass-art/cgi-bin/ag_personal.cgi?lang=en&id=215# A visit to this authentic bento shop is a very inexpensive trip to Japan.

It looks like I'll be holding hearings in Corning about every five weeks. No doubt there will be more dispatches from the southern frontier soon.