TR and the American Museum of Natural History

Gosh, have you ever stood outside the main entrance to the American Museum of Natural History on Central Park West just to take the measure of this incredibly imposing edifice and to stare at Theodore Roosevelt atop a giant steed, accompanied by two striding companions, one a Native American in traditional dress and the other an African, almost completely naked? Here is mythmaking in stone and brass. So obvious and simplistic in some ways and yet so seductive, too. I mean, really, what are they up to? Are we to accept TR as the great white father astride an immense horse, leading these benighted men into a more enlightened future? Or should we see this tableau as more of a team effort? And if so, why does Teddy get to ride and the other guys have to walk? Silly question, I guess. Imagine the sense of entitlement that the rich still reserve for themselves today, and then consider how thick and unexamined that entitlement was in TR's time. Enough to make you gag and yet...I think we must also readily acknowledge that without that sense of entitlement, without that noblesse oblige, without the unrestricted accumulation of immense wealth, and without some version of the white man's burden, New York as we know it could not exist today. Teddy represented all of those things at their worst and at their best, which is why I find myself returning to him again and again as one of the key New York archetypes.

Along the wall that extends down the block at the entrance to the museum on Central Park West, there are the following words carved in stone. They look something like this but in a single continuous line:

RANGER SCHOLAR EXPLORER SCIENTIST CONSERVATIONIST NATURALIST STATESMAN
AUTHOR HISTORIAN HUMANITARIAN PATRIOT

They are, of course, the roles that TR actually played in his life, and as I suggested in an earlier post, he was no dilettante; he didn't dabble in these things. He worked hard at them, practicing and laboring until he mastered them, every last one. Could he have accomplished so much without his family's considerable wealth? Probably not. Could he have done it without that sense that he was entitled to do these things, and that if he didn't do them, no one else would be able to do them as well or as honorably? Almost certainly not. And yet, we are left with the fact that no person of his time, despite the fact that many were far wealthier and more entitled, was able to achieve so much and at such a high level. TR was by turns exasperating, arrogant, belligerent, insufferable, naive, bigoted, and misguided. But in the totality of his accomplishments and the sweep of his vision, few of any time have ever rivaled him.

Frank Rich

Every Sunday, it is our ritual to read Frank Rich aloud, the great columnist for the New York Times who writes only on Sunday, but at unusual length, and focuses most often on politics and how it is being covered by the media, and, in turn, how that coverage is influencing the decisions that shape the kind of society we live in. Somehow, for me anyway, Frank Rich is the great newspaper columnist of our time, the heir to Walter Lippmann and many of the other noteworthy pundits of an earlier era. But in many ways Rich is better than his predecessors. He is angrier, less elitist, more willing to tell a version of the truth that is often difficult to hear, but needs to be expressed. He is also, of course, the former lead theatre critic for the Times, and thus brings to his commentary a literary and dramatic edge that makes his columns more substantive, memorable, and even more musical.

So that is all by way of preface. Accept for the moment that Frank Rich is the crown jewel of the New York Times empire (an empire that is shrinking rapidly, unfortunately, but still a big deal). Well, as Karen and I were strolling down the subway platform at 72nd Street and Broadway last Saturday night on our way to a play, I nudged her and pointed to a man of medium height, rather rotund, with a ruddy face and whispered "That's Frank Rich." Then I added, "That's Frank Rich and he's done here with the rest of us sweating out this long wait in his business suit in the hot, stuffy, rat infested subway." I kept looking at him and thinking about him, but Karen, being bolder and far more outgoing than I, went straight up to him and said something like, "We just want you to know that like thousands of other people your column makes our Sunday mornings very special." Poor Frank, he fumbled a bit to remove the ibuds that were stuck in his ears to hear her words of appreciation, smiled weakly, and then quickly retreated again to his ipod. He seemed to be used to this sort of thing but a bit shy about all the attention. I mean, who can blame him? And he was very late. He kept pacing up and down the platform waiting for a train that was taking a good bit longer to arrive than it should. When we finally boarded the train, he got on the same car as we did but on the opposite end. I couldn't help noticing that he remained standing all the way to 42nd Street, and then we lost sight of him.

It's funny, you really do see a lot of celebrities in New York. Just the other day, I watched this cute older couple carefully consulting their grocery list as they slowly made their way up the aisle at the amazingly exorbitant Food Emporium. That couple was Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker, best known, I guess, for their starring roles in the TV show LA Law. And loyal readers of this blog will no doubt recall my double encounter with the Daily Show's Jon Stewart. But Frank Rich was different. What he says really does affect how people think and how policy gets made. It was a little like being in the presence of Bill Clinton, though at this point Rich is probably the more powerful of the two. But wait, who am I kidding? Jon Stewart is, by far, the most influential of these three, with Rich running a distant second, and Clinton bringing up the rear. So why was I especially taken with seeing Frank Rich? I'm not sure. I guess I do love his old fashioned earnestness and his ability to influence us by virtue of the 1200 words that he so carefully researches and artfully composes for our consideration every single week. And at a time when there is a lot to be angry about, no one that I know of expresses it more powerfully or more satisfyingly.

Books on the Street

As discussed in a post not too many weeks back, New York has lost many of its independent bookstores. The Strand pretty much stands alone as the great independent bookstore of New York, though I have enjoyed browsing at a handful of others still standing in places like the Village, Soho, and the area around Columbia University. And as I recently indicated, I am guilty of being seduced by the enormous collections at chains like the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble and at Border's, especially the one at Columbus Circle. But there is another New York custom that is rather quaint when it comes to bookstores, and that is the large number of small bookstands on the street where stalwart booksellers hawk contemporary best sellers, as well as a variety of classic texts.

If you visit the southern end of Central Park, the blocks along Broadway near 72nd Street, or a number of places around Columbia University, you can't help being struck by the excellent deals, not just for the hottest books, but also those that appeal to more academic tastes. Books like the new one on Jane Jacobs, the great crusader for a less car-dominated urban environment, or the one by Adam Gopnik, comparing the lives of Darwin and Lincoln, are frequently in stock. And, hey, if you want either of Mr. Obama's books, they are readily available at a very reasonable price.

I spoke to one of these long time booksellers up near 72nd and Broadway the other day, and he said he's been hauling books out to his favorite spot for well over 20 years. He doesn't make a lot money, but he does make a profit. How much he wouldn't tell me, nor would he tell me where he gets most of his books, but he did mention he picks up a lot of them for almost nothing at flea markets and used book store fundraisers like the one regularly held by the Housing Works Group, which raises money to support homeless people with AIDS.

He also noted that he was part of the Bookwars protests that occurred when Mayor Giuliani back in the late 1990s tried to get "nonlegitimate" vendors off the streets, which, at first, included the booksellers. But because there were so many protests and because so many college and university professors signed petitions and other documents supporting the booksellers, the Mayor eventually relented and let the booksellers alone. My sense is that New York benefits from these bookselling street vendors, and that it is a very good thing that they continue to be able to do business in their favorite neighborhoods and on their favorite streets.

The Swine Flu Vaccine

I just got a flu shot, thanks to the largesse of Wagner College. There is talk here, however, of the next vaccine we'll need, the one for Swine Flu, and the rumor is that the vaccine will give you almost as bad a case of swine flu as going without it. Now, if this turns out to be true, you would kind of think that this would defeat the whole purpose of submitting oneself to one of those nasty punctures in the upper arm. Ah, but this is where I beg to differ.

You see, the swine flu vaccine still serves a useful purpose, if you can determine precisely when you will contract the flu. For one thing, you can make plans for having the flu. In my case, I'd let to get it at about 5 pm on Wednesday, my busiest day, and then ease into a long weekend to weather the storm of the flu at its worst. Perhaps, emerging on Monday able to return to work, however listlessly, before taking another long weekend to see through the remnants of what is sure to be a lingering illness.

But consider this, by carefully timing the adminitration of the swine flu vaccination, you are freed of the stress and anxiety that accompanies the uncertainty of not knowing when you might catch it. And once it's past, that's it for the season. When everyone else is sweating out the flu season wondering if they will be struck by this debilitating sickness, you can enjoy yourself knowing you are protected. No worrying about who you shouldn't sit next to, no need for excessive hand washing, no time wasted reading about the dangers of an impending swine flu epidemic.

In a way, this vaccine is a small example of actually getting to know when and what the future will bring. Some call this hell; I call it, in this one isolated case, reassuring...

Commuting

I now have a daily weekday commute of about 80 minutes. Seems long, I know, but, so far, I am enjoying it tremendously.

I begin by taking a short four minute walk from my apartment at 69th Street and Amsterdam Avenue to the express stop at Broadway and 72nd Street. I wait at most two or three minutes for the train to arrive, and if I can get a seat, I'm in heaven. I have saved the Arts and Leisure section of the Times for this leg of trip, and with little sense of time passing, we travel rapidly first to 42nd Street, then onto 34th Street, 14th Street, and finally to Chambers, where I get off the express train and wait to board the local that makes one more stop before proceeding directly to the Ferry. During this entire time, despite the congestion of the subway, I am so absorbed in the Times that I am barely aware of what is going on around me. Of course, if I don't get that precious seat, it's harder but still possible to stay focused on reading. People watching remains an always enlivening option as well.

The ferry ride is a relaxing, almost luxurious ride of about 25 minutes. During this leg, I read one of the following magazines: The New Yorker, New York, Time Out New York, the New York Review of Books, the New Republic, or the Atlantic, or possibly The Chronicle of Higher Education, Education Week, Educational Leadership, Phi Delta Kappan (a leading education journal), or perhaps a book I am slowly making my way through (Why slowly? Because I've got all those blasted magazines to get out of the way!).

Once the ferry arrives, I proceed to a shuttle that Wagner College generously provides. If I can make the first shuttle, it usually leaves immediately and gets me to Wagner in 15 minutes. This is the least comfortable part of the trip, as I can't read on this bumpy, stop-and-go vehicle. However, I often sit next to someone whom I have gotten to know and we are able to catch up on the latest happenings, so this part of the trip can also be quite pleasant. And even in silence, I never seem to get tired of the passing Staten Island scene.

So I hope you can see what I mean. For some folks, this could be a long and even tiring commute. For me, it is a chance to catch up on my reading and on the doings of a few Wagner acquaintances. Instead of being tiring, it turns out to be, at least most of the time, a pleasant and even rejuvenating experience.

Scattered Thoughts on Reading the NY Times

Just about every day, sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 in the morning, I look outside the front door to see if the New York Times has arrived. If it has, and it usually has by 6:30, I pick it up and begin immediately scanning the headlines, though my eye inevitably drifts toward the below the fold articles, which tend to be more feature-oriented. I will often follow one of these feature articles to its continuation, somewhere in the middle of the paper, before returning to the front page again to begin the forward march through the first section. This march tends to be more like a double time gallop, as I tend not to be very engaged by the international articles. I will often linger over a political piece about the national scene, skim through the articles about New York City, and then settle down for a good long sit with the editorial page, the letters to the editor, and, of course, the op-ed pieces, especially those by Paul Krugman, David Brooks, Gail Collins, Nicholas Kristof, and Bob Herbert (I once went to a NY Times event on a day when I particularly admired a piece by Herbert about the virtues of liberalism. At the end, as he was walking off the stage, I yelled "great column today, Mr. Herbert." He smiled that beautiful broad smile of his and waved enthusiastically). Let me add that on Sunday, Frank Rich is a special and much savored highlight. But, of course, reading the Sunday New York Times is a unique experience that merits its own separate post.

Upon finishing the main news section, I usually reach for the business news, much to my surprise. I don't read much of the news about the stock market or how particular companies are doing, but I find some of the macroeconomic analysis quite instructive, and some of the articles about the economics of culture and leisure surprisingly enjoyable. There are quite a few "Wisdom of Crowds" type articles in the business section, too, that I also find illuminating occasionally, though, on the whole, it rarely takes me more than five minutes to peruse this section.

On Tuesday, the science section is worth lingering over, though at age 59, I find that what captures my attention most often are the articles about maintaining one's health. The style section gets a quick look on Thursday but I pretty much never read the food news on Wednesday (?) or the sports reporting on Mondays.

And that leaves the section that I save for last, because I enjoy it the most - Arts and Leisure. I devour book reviews, usually enjoy anything about live theatre, and cannot resist anything about vintage films. I read Dave Kehr's weekly column about new DVD releases religiously. I often read music reviews, especially of chamber music concerts, and usually at least scan reviews of new museum exhibits. It is only a slight exaggeration to say I live in New York City to experience directly the things that get discussed in the Arts and Leisure portion of the Times. And it certainly doesn't escape my notice that one of the greatest pleasures of the last 20 years of my adult life - reading the New York Times daily - is tremendously enhanced by actually being a resident of New York City.

Modernism

Two days I mentioned a desire to visit the Kandinsky exhibit that has just opened at the Guggenheim. It is a magnificent show that can't be fully absorbed in one viewing. But as I looked at the paintings, especially the improvisations of 1911, which move away rapidly from anything that could be called representational and rely entirely on the power of pure color, line, and shape to communicate, I recalled something Virginia Woolf had said when she actually lived through this period. As it turns out, in an essay from 1924 she wrote: "on or about December, 1910, human character changed. . . . All human relations have shifted—those between masters and servants, husbands and wives, parents and children. And when human relations change there is at the same time a change in religion, conduct, politics, and literature. Let us agree to place one of these changes about the year 1910." It is also important to note that at this very time Woolf was being exposed to multiple works by post-impressionist painters like Gaugin, Manet, Van Gogh, and Matisse for the first time through an exhibit that her friend Roger Fry had organized in November of 1910.

So why am I mentioning all this? I'm not quite sure myself. No, seriously, I think it's because what changed had something to do with removing the boundaries on what could be expressed artistically. Just about anything was becoming possible, which meant that the freedom to use whatever means were at one's disposal to communicate an idea or emotion were also being greatly expanded. For Kandinsky and so many other artists like him, including other painters, musicians, writers, and architects, this constituted a liberation from the shackles of the past. There were no limits. So Kandinsky's friend and colleague, Arnold Schoenberg began to experiment with atonal music that abandoned entirely the use of musical keys, and writers like Joyce and Proust were trying out stream of consciousness techniques that greatly slighted traditional narrative and gave new prominence to the raw materials of communicating. At any rate, I really did think about all this as I stared at these creations of Kandinsky that seemed to culminate in 1911. Glorious, bold colors, striking use of line, mind boggling experimentation with geometric shapes of all kinds. Hard to come up with criteria to evaluate it, not that I particularly want to. But I found much of it incredibly appealing and beautiful. All of it, of course, enhanced by being in the round of Mr. Wright's supreme architectural masterpiece.