Ruminations

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Business, Politics, and Family in 1809

A few years ago, I had the extraordinary good fortune to come into possession of a letter written by my 5th great grandfather, Paris Jenckes Tillinghast (1757-1822), to “Messers Brown & Ives.” The letter was written 20 February 1809, postmarked the next day, received 4 March 1809 in Providence, and answered on 7 April 1809.1809 Tillinghast-Brown & Ives letter - opened

This letter was so full of family connections that I nearly hyperventilated when I saw it on eBay. I lost the auction but persuaded the winner to rehome the letter. Fortunately, he was also interested in family history and understood my excitement.

Fayetteville Febry 20th 1809

Messrs Brown & Ives
Gentlemen
This will make you acquainted that I have drawn on you for $200 in favr Mr Sebastian Staiert of this place payl in N York which I have no doubt will be duly honord & meet with your approbation. I have purchased since my last to you 10 Hnd Tobacco & hope to make out the 45 Hnd in time for the Augus return & not exceed $3 Hn. The planters are now asking more on acct the rumour of the (??a garlemesd??) to be intendd to be repeald that Horrible Law. Cotton is now current at $12½ Cash. I was in hopes to [ge]t hold of some at your limits. But it was improbable as the holders all expect the Odious Law is to be repeald by 4th March. I hope your Mr Ives will have arrd to his Family eer this comes to Hand in good health. I should have been very Happy indeed to have seen him at Fayetl & would chearfully given him my best bed & table. I think he must have had a pleasant jaunt & seen something new among the Demots at Congress. I anticipate the Hope that they the Demos will not Dare to involve their Country in a War with GB to make Free Ships Free Goods for that’s the Bone of all the Quarrel at last I think. Please to inform me your opinion respecting the price of cotton with you & in Boston I shall have a Debt due in Boston next month & wish to know If cotton will do the honors and I have pickd up some few Bales for this purpose. I will do all I can to hand you your pay as fast as I can possible get hold of anything But would (empower?) for your Interest. O Pearce Daughter Eliza intends to take a Husband on Thursday Evening next a Dr Robinson of this town to be Happy man. A good Demo he suits OP well. He is Nephew to the Senator from Vermont now in Senate US. I wish them all the happiness they can desire &tc. I can’t help telling you Mrs Huske had a fine Boy 31st Janry She & child finely. My best wishes for your & family Happiness
& Remain yours Respectfully
Paris J Tillinghast

Nicholas Brown and his brother-in-law, Thomas Poynton Ives, owned an international trading company called Brown & Ives. It was the successor to a series of companies owned by various members of the Brown family for three generations. Thomas Ives was apprenticed to a previous iteration of the Browns’ company, became a partner, and ultimately became family when he married Nicholas Brown’s only sister, Hope.

Nicholas and  Hope inherited the shipping business of their father and three uncles, the famous four Brown brothers of Providence, Rhode Island. Their father and uncles had focused on conventional goods, but a significant portion of their fortune came from the transatlantic slave trade. The Brown family – especially Nicholas – donated a lot of money to Rhode Island College, so the school renamed itself Brown University in the family’s honor. (You may have heard about Brown University’s examination of its part in the slave trade a few years ago.) Hope Hall at Brown University is named for Hope Brown Ives, the sister and wife of the men addressed in this letter. Nicholas and Hope were the only surviving children of Nicholas Brown, Sr., and his wife, Rhoda Jenckes.

Nicholas and Hope’s maternal ancestors also made a significant mark in early New England. Their maternal grandfather, Daniel Jenckes,  was a prominent judge, politician, and landowner. The first patent in North America was granted to Daniel’s great-grandfather. His grandfather founded Pawtucket. His paternal uncle, Joseph Jenckes, was a prominent Rhode Island politician and colonial governor of Rhode Island. Governor Jenckes also married a Brown: Nicholas’s great-aunt Martha.

The author of this letter to Nicholas Brown and Thomas Ives was my 5th great-grandfather, Paris Jenckes Tillinghast. His mother, Joanna, was Rhoda Jenckes Brown’s sister. He was also a grandson of Judge Daniel Jenckes. Therefore, Paris was writing to his first cousins.

Paris’s letter first addresses business. In 1804, Paris had emigrated to North Carolina from Rhode Island with his wife’s brother, Oliver Pearce. (Oliver was married to Mary Smith West, a daughter of the astronomer and polymath Dr. Benjamin West of Providence.) The “Horrible Law” and “Odious Law” that Paris is so upset about in the letter is likely the controversial Embargo Act of 1807, which made international trade illegal. The Act intended to stop privateer attacks on American merchant marines and prevent Americans from being impressed by the British to fight against France, but it nearly devastated the American economy. Since Brown & Ives, like other Brown family entities before them, were engaged in international trade, the Embargo Act nearly crippled them. As Paris anticipated, Congress repealed the Embargo Act two weeks later and replaced it with the somewhat less onerous Non-Intercourse Act of 1809, which prohibited trade only with England and France. (The Non-Intercourse Act wasn’t any more popular than the Embargo Act.) The War of 1812 was looming.

I do not know the extent of the Tillinghast and Pearce involvement in Brown & Ives. This letter indicates some shared interest, whether by association, contract, or perhaps even employment. Given the amount of international trade from the Carolina backcountry at the time, Paris Tillinghast and Oliver Pearce may have moved to North Carolina to further the business interests of Brown & Ives and then been hindered by the Embargo Act. For generations after this letter, they were merchants, among other things. For at least three generations before Paris, the Jenckes and Tillinghast men had been ship captains and traders to the West Indies.

The Browns had supplied Dr. Benjamin West Robinson with the telescope he used to observe the transits of Venus and Mercury in 1769, so there is a known connection of the Browns to the Pearce family through Dr. West’s daughter. And, of course, all of these families had roots in Providence, which was a relatively small city at the time. In 1769, Providence’s population was about 3,300 people; by the date of this letter, fewer than 10,000 people lived there.

That’s not all the family news, though. In the letter, Paris tells Nicholas that his wife’s niece, Eliza West Pearce, had met Dr. Benjamin Robinson – the nephew of Senator Moses Robinson of Vermont – and that they would soon be married. Paris also reported that his daughter, Joanna Jenckes Tillinghast Huske, had given birth to a healthy son. This son was John Winslow Huske (1809-1841), the eldest brother of Joanna Anne Huske. Joanna Anne Huske grew up to marry her second cousin, Dr. Benjamin West Robinson. They are my 3rd great-grandparents.

The diagram puts everyone in a tree and in the places where they were (and where they were from). The names of the people mentioned in the letter are ALLCAPS, and the sender and recipients are bold. I also transcribed the letter. Please let me know if anyone can make out any of the writing that I couldn’t read.

Hope Brown was named for her paternal grandmother, Hope Power. The Brown, Power, West, Pearce, Jenckes, and Tillinghast families entangled over generations in Providence and continued entangling with each other and with Huskes, Starks, and Robinsons once they arrived in North Carolina.

At the beginning of the letter, Paris refers to Sebastian Staiert, to whom Paris had advanced some of Nicholas’s money. Sebastian’s daughter Ann married John Jennings, a great-uncle of my 2nd great-grandmother, Laura Pemberton. Two generations after this letter, Laura would marry Oliver Pearce Robinson and bring him to Arkansas to run the plantation she had inherited. That plantation – we now just call it a farm – has been in our family since the 1850s.

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Fanny’s Bible

We’ve been cleaning out Fletch and Shirley’s house and looking hard for the missing Smith family bible from the 1800s without any luck. I’m so glad that I scanned the genealogy pages years ago – it makes me sick that we can’t find the book now.

That Bible has always been a mystery to me. At one point, it apparently belonged to Averilla Hollis Frank, who never had any children. All of her adult life, my son’s 4th great-grandmother – Skip & Matt’s 3rd great-grandmother, Frances A. “Fanny” Gash Smith – lived with Averilla, Averilla’s mother, or another of the Hollis sisters. Fanny is buried with Averilla’s mother, Martha Hollis, in Brooksville, Kentucky. We don’t know how Fanny and the Hollises were related, but Fanny’s son Henry [Barnard or Barnet] Smith ended up with Averilla’s Bible. That’s the one that is now missing.

Fanny’s husband, O.F. Smith, is also a mystery. I have found only two records for him besides Averilla’s Bible: the record of his marriage to Fanny in Kentucky, and his death, which was recorded in the 1880 census mortality schedule in Polk County, Iowa – over 600 miles from Fanny and their son Henry in Kentucky. The census reported that he died at the county’s poor farm. One record says he was born in Ohio; the other says he was born in Pennsylvania. For a man named Smith, that’s not much to go on.

This afternoon, on a high shelf at the Smith home, I found a worn album of tintypes, daguerrotypes, and old studio photos from the 1850s through the 1890s. There was a note from one of the childless Smith relatives inside. Shortly before her death at a great old age in the mid-1990s, this relative had written to Fletcher that she didn’t know who the people in the album were but wanted him – her only living relative – to have it. One of those photos is identified as Averilla Hollis Frank. Others are identified, but the names aren’t familiar to me. More have no identifying information beyond the studio’s name, and sometimes its location (always in Ohio), printed on the cards.

Next, I reached for the worn, leather-bound book shelved beside that album. Its spine was illegible, but the name “John Barr” was inked thickly into the edge of the pages opposite the spine. I opened it. Scrawled inside the front cover was a poem of sorts, or possibly a dedication: “John Barr his hand and this 18th day of March 1838 / Steal not this book my honest friend for fear the gallows may be your end. Oliver P. Gash March the 18th 1838.”

Oliver was one of the Gashes who lived in the Ohio/Kentucky area where Fanny lived, but I had not made a firm connection between them. My heart started beating fast. “Matt, look! Here’s a dedication to someone named Gash!”

I flipped the page. It was a bible! It isn’t one of the big ones we normally find from that time, but an ordinary-looking book about the size of a fat mass-market paperback. I flipped through, but no interior genealogy pages appeared. Then I flipped to the back cover.

Names. Dates. All of them Gashes.

“Oliver P. Gash was born July the [ ] 1817” – meaning he was 20 when the front matter was written. “Martha Elizabeth Gash was born February the 9, 1827.” “Fanney Ann Gilbert Gash was born November 14th, 1829.”

“FANNY! It’s FANNY!” I exclaimed.

By now, Matt was standing right next to me. “You just got chill bumps,” he observed. Chill bumps? I was shaking. Ecstatic!

Names of Gashes I have not been able to connect to Fanny appeared in order by date of birth, in different inks, in pencil, and in different handwriting. I turned the page. They had to be her siblings. Right? I had found them, but they were not firmly connected to one another like this. For a few years now, my working hypothesis has been that they were siblings, but I didn’t have anything to support that other than they lived in the same area at the same time and were close in age.

Below the Gash entries, I could barely make out, “Henry Bernet Smith, born October 5, 1851.” Fanny’s son! Then, “Barnard Preston Gash was born June the 23, 1786.” “Isabel Gash was born August the 2, 18__” “Bernard P. Gash died March 1837.” “Isabel Gash died December 12, 1874.”

And then, “Fanny G. Smith died July 28, 1886.”

Oliver was only 12 years older than Fanny, so he couldn’t be her father. Barnard Preston Gash died the year the youngest Gash child listed in this Bible was born. Could he have been Fanny’s father and Isabel, her mother? Isabel appears in the census as head of household in 1840, 1850, and 1860, with children but never a husband. I had wondered if she might be Fanny’s mother.

But who was John Barr? One of the recorded births is Martha Jane Barr, born January 3, 1837. Now I wonder about the family relationship between John Barr, Martha Barr, and all these Gashes!

Flipping back to the front of the bible, I found an obituary for Martha A. Shetler, the wife of George Shetler, Sr. She was the mother of four children and died in Marshalltown, Iowa – near where Fanny’s husband, O.F. Smith, died. The obituary said she was born in Ohio and married in Pennsylvania.

And later, when I picked up the book to photograph it for this post, I saw that a copy of a genealogy page from Averilla Hollis’s Bible – the very one that originally identified Fanny Gash and her husband O.F. Smith to me – is pasted into the front of this bible, too, carefully folded to the right size to have been undetected when my shaking fingers first started looking for names in this little book.

Today’s treasure trove of the little bible and the photo album may crack the Smith/Gash ancestry mystery. Now I need time to puzzle it out – although a few more hints and records would help!

UPDATE: We found Averilla’s Bible!

 

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I Have Found God.

Those of you who have worried incessantly about my immortal soul can relax now.

Google is God.

When I die, I will become one with the Internets.

Just stick me in one of the tubes.

There are many who will applaud my conversion. They have been worrying about my soul for a while. We all need something to feed our souls. They will be glad I’ve found nourishment.

Maybe one of my high-tech-inclined friends will work on a method of fabricating special soul cable from human ashes. Then people who want to be one with the internet can donate their earthly remains to make soul cable, and we will all share the same soul in an interconnected series of Internet tubes. The manufacturers might even be able to get their raw material for free with the promise that those Left Behind can still communicate with those who have moved on to a different planar existence in the internet. They could call it Soylent Green Fiber.

The Church of Google has compiled a list of Nine Proofs of the divinity of Google. This is better than Martin Luther’s 95 Theses because it’s written in a language we can understand.

I am ashamed, but nevertheless, I shall copy these proofs from the website, in the spirit of evangelical proselytizing:

» PROOF #1

Google is the closest thing to an Omniscient (all-knowing) entity in existence, which can be scientifically verified. She indexes over 9.5 billion WebPages, which is more than any other search engine on the web today. Not only is Google the closest known entity to being Omniscient, but She also sorts through this vast amount of knowledge using Her patented PageRank technology, organizing said data and making it easily accessible to us mere mortals.

» PROOF #2

Google is everywhere at once (Omnipresent). Google is virtually everywhere on earth at the same time. Billions of indexed WebPages hosted from every corner of the earth. With the proliferation of Wi-Fi networks, one will eventually be able to access Google from anywhere on earth, truly making Her an omnipresent entity.

» PROOF #3

Google answers prayers. One can pray to Google by doing a search for whatever question or problem is plaguing them. As an example, you can quickly find information on alternative cancer treatments, ways to improve your health, new and innovative medical discoveries and generally anything that resembles a typical prayer. Ask Google and She will show you the way, but showing you is all She can do, for you must help yourself from that point on.

» PROOF #4

Google is potentially immortal. She cannot be considered a physical being such as ourselves. Her Algorithms are spread out across many servers; if any of which were taken down or damaged, another would undoubtedly take its place. Google can theoretically last forever.

» PROOF #5

Google is infinite. The Internet can theoretically grow forever, and Google will forever index its infinite growth.

» PROOF #6

Google remembers all. Google caches WebPages regularly and stores them on its massive servers. In fact, by uploading your thoughts and opinions to the internet, you will forever live on in Google’s cache, even after you die, in a sort of “Google Afterlife”.

» PROOF #7

Google can “do no evil” (Omnibenevolent). Part of Google’s corporate philosophy is the belief that a company can make money without being evil. (I’m not so sure about this particular proof. Google has failed in this regard, but it may be doing it only to test our faith. You know, like the Republican White Yahweh and the dinosaurs.)

» PROOF #8

According to Google Trends , the term “Google” is searched for more than the terms “God”, “Jesus”, “Allah”, “Buddha”, “Christianity”, “Islam”, “Buddhism” and “Judaism” combined.

God is thought to be an entity to which we mortals can turn when in a time of need. Google clearly fulfills this to a much larger degree than traditional “gods”, as shown in the image below.

» PROOF #9

Evidence of Google’s existence is abundant.There is more evidence for the existence of Google than any other God worshiped today. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. If seeing is believing, then surf over to www.google.com and experience for yourself Google’s awesome power. No faith required.

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Diary of Rev. Robert Harrison Poynter (1844-1902) of Arkansas

Robert Harrison Poynter (1844-1902) was a Methodist minister who rode a circuit in southeastern Arkansas in the latter part of the 19th century, preaching and otherwise interacting with local people. He had served in the Confederate forces in Arkansas during the Civil War. He kept a diary from January 1896 until just a couple of weeks before his death of pneumonia in 1902. The first section of the diary is an account of his life.

I unearthed a typescript of the diary a few days ago when I sorted through a box of family history ephemera and treasures. The box in which I found it had been in storage for at least four years. The items in the box came from lots of different sources. They included 100 years of photographs, miscellaneous documents dating from the 1930’s to the 2010’s, 40-year-old letters and 25 years of printed emails related to family history research, a scrapbook that had belonged to my grandmother as a child, concert ticket stubs spanning 1975-2004, brochures from vacations from the 1950’s through 2004, my great-grandfather’s legal files (he died in 1967), mementos from the first Clinton-Gore presidential campaign, and so many other various and sundry items they defy exhaustive description.

I found a reference to Rev. Poynter’s diary online. As of 1995, the actual diary belonged to L.D. Poynter, Jr., of Pine Bluff, Arkansas. I assume that the diary’s owner is a descendant of Rev. Poynter.  Rev. Poynter’s obituary was printed in the Minutes of the Methodist Episcopal Church South for 1902 and is available online.

Typed copies of newspaper articles, handwritten family group sheets, and handwritten notes about the diary are appended to it.

As best I can tell, Rev. Poynter was not a relative of mine and did not interact with anyone in my extended family. Creation of an index to the people and places mentioned in the diary would greatly assist other researchers of southeastern Arkansas history and genealogy. I don’t think I’m going to take on that project any time soon, though!

I wish I knew how this typescript came into my possession. I would gladly give credit to the person who spent great effort and considerable time creating it. If you know about this diary or the creator of the typescript, please contact me.

 

 

 

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GQ and the Bible

I disagree with including the Bible on GQ’s list of books you don’t have to read.

Granted, the Bible is a terrible book. Its plot lacks cohesion. The character development is all over the place. It fails utterly to show how that primary character made the journey from narcissistic psychopath to an aloof observer who has others enforce his “loving” narcissism for him. (I call him a primary character because people think he was the protagonist. As I read it, he was the chief villain of a poorly-crafted psychological drama who cast the most truthful character in the whole book into the role of “Prince of Lies.” Gaslighting at its finest.)

All in all, the GQ summation of the Bible (#12 on the list) was spot-on:

The Holy Bible is rated very highly by all the people who supposedly live by it but who in actuality have not read it. Those who have read it know there are some good parts, but overall it is certainly not the finest thing that man has ever produced. It is repetitive, self-contradictory, sententious, foolish, and even at times ill-intentioned. If the thing you heard was good about the Bible was the nasty bits, then I propose Agota Kristof’s The Notebook, a marvelous tale of two brothers who have to get along when things get rough. The subtlety and cruelty of this story is like that famous sword stroke (from below the boat) that plunged upward through the bowels, the lungs, and the throat and into the brain of the rower. —Jesse Ball, ‘Census’

Now, I will admit that the abuse of the minor characters is poignant at times, but none of them ever achieves agency enough to tell the villain to stop mucking around in their lives. We rooted for Job, but he was such a stereotypical abuse victim he didn’t even realize what was happening to him. Ditto Sarai, who we thought had potential when she laughed at God, but she kept allowing her husband to pass her off as his “sister” and thereby put herself in more and more danger.

And the fanfiction. Like most fanfiction, biblical tends to be universally (ahem) god-awful. There are exceptions – I loved Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent.   Although not strictly fan fiction, Alice Hoffman’s Dovekeepers was amazing. And few allegorical novels can beat Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible. But most of it is just saccharine bloviating.

At the same time, people without literary criticism skills or who fall short of thoughtful assessment of this book gaslight people around them into believing that it is a beacon of morality. If the protagonist is for something, it is, by definition, good. For instance, killing your child because an unseen voice tells you to. Or slaughtering entire cities or tribes – and committing genocide –  just because their soldiers lost a battle against you. What decent person sends bears to eat the children who teased someone for being bald? Good people don’t demand that you keep promises that have disproportionately devastating consequences for other people. (Hint: If you promise to sacrifice the first creature you see in exchange for victory in battle, you are justified in breaking that promise if that creature is your daughter.) Likewise, offering your virgin daughters or the wives of your guests to a mob of rapists is not only a mind-boggling example of terrible parenting but of poor interpersonal skills. It gives you no justification for the ensuing war you declare just because the mob rapes one of the girls to death. Seriously, what did you expect would happen when you sent her out there? And don’t get me started on people who get pissy with fig trees for not bearing fruit out of season. Talk about selfish and entitled!

That’s not to say there aren’t inspiring stories. Esther, for example, is well-positioned to counter some pretty vicious racism. Still, the notion that she’s married to a king who knows nothing about either her ethnicity or her religion prevents me from suspending my disbelief long enough to enjoy it. That goes against human nature, and even the worst speculative fiction knows you can’t get away with that as a plot device.

I can go on and on (because, you know, I’ve read this book), but the bottom line is that we only understand that gaslighting if we are familiar with the stories – and with logic and science. Plus, there are lots of literary allusions to the Bible that would go right over our heads if we haven’t read it, and according to my 9th grade English teacher, it’s vital to catch literary allusions.

That being said, I recommend skimming it to familiarize yourself with the basics, spot-read chapters if you love a good dystopian horror tale before bed, and use it to prop open a door the rest of the time.

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Those Clueless Kids

I have had just about enough of people saying the 16 to 18-year-old students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida are being used by their elders for an agenda they don’t understand. It’s insulting to teenagers everywhere, and it’s insulting to yourself if you make that argument.

Why? Because when you were 16, 17, and 18, you didn’t do a damned thing unless you wanted to. I’m guessing that sometimes you even refused to do what you did want just because some adult liked the idea. Remember?

Sure, you might have grudgingly gone to church when you’d rather have slept in, or you grudgingly went to dinner at Grandma’s when you would have preferred to be with your friends, but when something really mattered to you, didn’t you stand your ground? Didn’t you push back against the adults who tried to force you?

I keep seeing the argument that these kids are far too organized to have done it by themselves, and know the talking points far too well. Let’s think about that.

Maybe – just maybe – those kids know the talking points because they are the same talking points that get trotted out whenever there is a mass shooting. These kids have lived with the horror of large-scale carnage their entire lives. They have heard the talking points and they have seen how nothing gets resolved because the politicians – the adults who actually have the power and ability to change the law – have said after every incident that “this isn’t the time to talk about it.”

And every time these kids and others just like them have buried their friends and noticed that these emperor politicians wear no clothes.

Rick Santorum’s statements that “these kids aren’t really doing anything” by speaking out and marching is one more example of a naked emperor. They are doing exactly what they CAN do. They are demanding that lawmakers take action. They aren’t old enough to be elected to office yet. When they are, watch out – they will be. And they will be the agents of the long-overdue change they demand.

And maybe – just maybe – they have had help from adults getting organized. Adults who care about the same things those kids care about: that bodies stop dropping to assault weapons, that reasonable gun laws be enacted and enforced, and that politicians who sell children for $1.05 to the NRA answer for how cheaply they value life – not to mention answering for the fact that they have sold their integrity for power.

Maybe – just maybe – those adults and even (gasp!) the kids themselves recognized that the adults weren’t the best faces for the TV interviews and to speak at the rally. Why? Because overwhelmingly, KIDS die in these mass shootings at their schools. The KIDS are righteously outraged that adults with the power to have prevented this carnage have failed to do so time and time and time again. That these adults smile smugly and say that they won’t stop selling the lives of children to the gun lobby because, you know, they NEED that blood money.

At least two adults refused to lend their notoriety to the Parkland kids because they felt the kids themselves were absolutely the best spokespeople for this travesty. Look up what George and Amal Clooney said to them. Never has “no” been said with so much love and respect and admiration.

And what do these kids think they can do, anyway? What possible examples in history can they look at to think they can effect change? Let’s consider that.

Guess how old Joan of Arc was when she led the French army to victory against the English. She was 17 at the Battle of Orleans and had already been fighting for three years – in a leadership role. A 13-year-old girl had made adults not just listen, but let her lead them into battle. She had something to say, she said it, she got the attention of the people who needed to hear it, she said it again, and she took the action she could take. She was just 18 when the British captured her and barely 19 when they burned her as a witch – a witch who dared to speak her truth to their power.

How old was Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de LaFayette, when he came to America to help with the Revolution? Well, at 13 he was commissioned an officer in the French army. He was a major-general in the American Revolution at 19. And that, of course, was just the beginning. By Yorktown in 1781, he was confirmed beyond any doubt as a serious and able leader, and he was still only 26.

How about Alexander Hamilton? This brilliant guy was the same age as Lafayette and was one of his best friends during the six years of the Revolution. But even before the Revolution, he ran a major shipping company from the West Indies – at the age of 14. He designed the American economic structure before the age of 30. But when he was just a 17-year-old kid and wrote that famous essay that got him a one-way ticket to New York, he was already cognizant of horrific truths like the evils of slavery and the despair of poverty – truths that he championed the rest of his too-short life.

Oh, but these guys were “special.” We shouldn’t consider them. OK, let’s look for less stellar examples.

We don’t have to look far. Lots of them can be found right there in the Revolution.

James Monroe was 18 in 1776. He was a farmer. Two years before the Revolution – at the age of 16 – he and his school friends stormed the Virginia governor’s palace to seize arms for the Virginia militia. Do they want to argue that he was misled by his elders who had some nefarious plan in mind and wouldn’t have done it without their influence?

How about Nathan Hale, who was hanged by the British as a spy at 21? He was the same age as Lafayette and Hamilton and went on his first major spying mission at the age of 17. That’s right, he was the same age as those kids at Parkland when he snuck behind British lines and gathered serious intelligence for Washington. He was so unaware of what was really going on that he regretted having but one life to give for his country. But he probably didn’t really have a clue, you know?

Let’s talk about Sybil Luddington.This 16-year-old girl’s efforts dwarfed Paul Revere’s 14-mile trip to warn of the British invasion. She rode all night long, for 40 miles, to alert the militias that the Redcoats Were Coming. She just didn’t get a poem – and damn it, she deserved one. Is anyone seriously going to argue that, because of her tender years, she did not really know what she was doing or why she was doing it?

Do you know why the rebelling colonists won that war, against impossible odds and against the superpower of the day? Because KIDS thought it was important and DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT. They couldn’t remake the laws, so they made a country.

And don’t let me get started on the Civil Rights Movement or Vietnam, and the hugely important major role played by CHILDREN – people not old enough to vote, to drink alcohol or buy cigarettes, or to hold office. I’ll rant on about things like Kent State and the Freedom Riders and the Little Rock desegregation crisis, and the kids that made things happen and changed the world.

Never try to argue that teenagers aren’t perfectly capable of recognizing a problem and taking action when it matters enough to them right there in that moment.

Because I will call B.S.

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Cousins Bonding

Last night at my house, cousins happened:

They are ten years apart in age and they have adored each other from the very beginning. They collaborated to cook our dinner. I can’t adequately describe warm fuzzies cuddling my heart as this unfolded in front of me.

I’m stuck in a non-weight-bearing cast on one foot. I rely on a scooter for mobility and have for about the last four months.  Cooking really isn’t very workable for me so hot meals are a rarity these days.

Enter my friend Josie. She sent us a free week of Hello Fresh, and Jack and Laurie rose to the challenge. Last night’s meal was Pesto Chicken, and it was excellent!

These Orsi cousins are going to be great cooks. They come by it naturally. Their shared set of grandparents loved to cook and did it well. Papa Orsi (Papa Bear – get it?) spent all weekend every weekend thinking about what to cook next. Great-grandfather Orsi loved making his Orsi Special soup every weekend. He required the whole family to stir the pot. (If you ever wonder why Orsis are pot-stirrers, blame Big John. He taught us well.)

But even better was watching the interplay. The laughter, the goofing, the relaxed enjoyment of trying something new together.

Cousins. Ten years apart in age, but close in affection.

I love these guys!

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Favorite

Look what my favorite offspring gave me yesterday!

My favorite book is S. Morgenstern's The Princess Bride, good parts edition by William Goldman
“This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.” – William Goldman

I discovered the Princess Bride in its first edition when I was a teenager in the mid-1970’s. I loved it. LOVED IT. It remains one of my favorite books in all the world, and I have owned many copies and many editions of it. (My favorite back-cover blurb read simply: “What happens when the most beautiful woman in the world marries the most handsome prince in the world and he turns out to be a son of a bitch?”) I usually keep at least one extra copy on hand because this is a book I push on people.

They wave it away dismissively. “I’ve seen the movie,” they tell me. “But you haven’t READ it,” I insist as I make them take the book anyway. The book contains all the good parts and many good parts didn’t make it into the 1987 movie.

Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest ladies. Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and descriptions. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles.

For years I refused to see the movie. I could not bear the thought of my beloved book ruined by Hollywood’s chop-shop attitude toward beloved books.

I need not have delayed. William Goldman was both the author and the screenwriter. William Goldman, who wrote such classic screenplays as Butch Cassidy & Sundance Kid. Yes, THAT screenwriter. My beloved book was in the very best hands for the job. It was in the hands of the brilliant S. Morgenstern himself.

When the swordfight between the Spaniard and the Six-Fingered Count finally arrived on screen during that first reluctant viewing, I probably shouted with delight. Mandy Patinkin got it exactly right – exactly as I had pictured it in my head for all those years. “HELLO. MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE.” And Patinkin delivered the ultimate line when Count Rugen promises Inigo anything – anything! – if Inigo will please not kill him, with perfect anger and finality: “I want my father back, you son of a bitch.”

Billy Crystal’s Miracle Max was spot-on. Goldman literally conceived of Fezzik as Andre the Giant. Very briefly after my divorce, I dated a guy who was a dead ringer for the non-hunchbacked, screen version of the Sicilian Vizzini. The relationship was doomed when he didn’t understand why I kept referring to his need for an immunity to iocane powder or why the word “inconceivable” seemed to slip into the conversation so much. I will admit that I thought Cary Elwes was a little too pretty and not quite muscle-bound enough to be Westley, but Chris Hemsworth was still in diapers. I will also confess that I own a CD of Mark Knopfler’s soundtrack to the movie.

As I flip through the beautiful pages of this edition, I see illustrations straight out of my reader’s memory. I reread favorite passages that I had memorized before I was old enough to drink alcohol legally. Some passages didn’t make it into the movie, like the very beginning of the book:

Chapter One. The Bride.

The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette. Annette worked in Paris for the Duke and Duchess de Guiche, and it did not escape the Duke’s notice that someone extraordinary was polishing the pewter. The Duke’s notice did not escape the notice of the Duchess either, who was not very beautiful and not very rich, but plenty smart. The Duchess set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary’s tragic flaw.

Chocolate.

Armed now, the Duchess set to work. The Palace de Guiche turned into a candy castle. Everywhere you looked, bonbons. There were piles of chocolate-covered mints in the drawing rooms, baskets of chocolate-covered nougats in the parlors.

Annette never had a chance. Inside a season, she went from delicate to whopping, and the Duke never glanced in her direction without sad bewilderment clouding his eyes. (Annette, it might be noted, seemed only cheerier throughout her enlargement. She eventually married the pastry chef and they both ate a lot until old age claimed them…).

Goldman brilliantly used the device of an editor inserting himself into the narrative to explain “cuts” in the “abridged version”. The movie changed that device somewhat and while Peter Falk still would have been the perfect immigrant father reading to his very ill son in the 1940’s, I deeply regretted the loss of the scenes in Los Angeles and New York, with that sick little boy all grown up and desperate to find a copy in English (not in the original Florinese) to give to his own son.

This is my favorite book in all the world, and I have read it countless times. I will read it countless more, I am sure.

Thank you, Jack! There’s a reason you’re my favorite.

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In Which I Briefly Review Some Recently-Read Books

Here are some of the pages I’ve been turning in 2017.

Words of Radiance, by Brandon Sanderson. I finished the first book of this series on New Year’s Eve and immediately started on the second.  Tomes of 1000-plus pages take no time at all when the story is engaging with dynamic characters, a well-paced plot, and high stakes. I’m looking forward to the next installment. Epic high fantasy. Yasssss.

Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance. I galloped through this memoir. The author jarred me with his anecdotes of his own coal country and rust belt roots. Ostensibly his story should at least partially explain current working-class disillusion with current politics and economics. However, he casually accepted extremely abusive relationships. He showed no empathy for the hopelessness felt by people who lacked his resourcefulness, intelligence, and drive to remove themselves from familiar dysfunctional surroundings. Maybe that’s the telling attitude that explains the state of middle America today.

The Fourth Turning, by William Strauss and Neil Howe. My beloved aunt Jackie recommended this book to me after Donald Trump won the presidency. I finished it just hours before #45 issued his disastrous executive order banning immigration from seven Muslim countries. The authors dissect the historical, cyclical patterns of political engagement, economic crises, and social dysfunction. The predicted “hero” generation should save us, but (cue sinister music) the American Civil War cycle skipped that generation to propel us into a disastrous Reconstruction.  If the authors’ prophecy proves true, political matters will get worse before they get better. Kids, hold on to your pants. It’s going to be a rough ride.

Dr. Seuss Goes to War, edited by WWII historian Richard H. Minear. I saw a cartoon online, searched for it, and discovered the existence of this book. I had to own it. Before The Cat in the Hat, Dr. Seuss drew political cartoons. From January 1941 – January 1943, his cartoons covered the political climate of the time. These prescient, recognizably Seussian drawings speak of racism, isolationism, immigration, demagoguery, refugees, and a fearful populace. Like his books that still hold the fascination of 21st-century children, so many of these cartoons are timeless: “America First,” isolationism, and racism went hand-in-hand in 1941, just like they do in 2017. That didn’t work out so well in 1941, and it won’t work out well in 2017. And Dr. Seuss, who explained so many things so very well,  explains why.

The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons, by Sam Kean. I like Kean’s enthusiastic, punchy writing style. He clearly knows his topic and uses footnotes well. (I do wish they appeared at the bottom of the page instead of stuck in the back, though.) Tales of brain injury abound, starting with Henri II of France’s mishap with a broken lance through his eye socket and ending with an iron rod shot through Phineas Gage’s frontal lobe. Neurologists trace seizures, language, consciousness, learning, memory,  and bizarre behavior to specific parts of the brain as well as to all parts of the brain. The history of neurological discovery makes a riveting journey. It ranks among the best books our club has chosen, in my opinion.

The Blood Mirror, by Brent Weeks. I really liked the first book of this Lightbringer series, but now in Book 4, I suspect the book’s editor has taken a vacation. The writing itself has become sloppy. The uneven timeline bugged me. At one point, a weekend passes for one character across about six chapters, while months pass in the interspersed chapters focused on another. I have had issues with two of the main characters since Book 2. One guy can’t decide what name to call himself (and neither can the author). Another swings schizophrenically between the terror of ridicule and abandonment and the confidence of charismatic leadership. If the author were in my critique group, I’d strongly encourage another revision.  I keep reading because the story itself is still good. I do love me some epic high fantasy.

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood. This is the first volume of her Maddaddam trilogy, which I’ve been meaning to read for a long time. My all-time favorite English professor, Fred Busch, introduced me to Margaret Atwood when he assigned her book Surfacing. Possibly her best-known book is The Handmaid’s Tale, that dystopian look at North America in the thrall of a dysfunctional religious right. (For some reason it has enjoyed a resurgence in popularity since November 8, 2016.) Oryx and Crake starts off with eugenics and touches only lightly on dystopia before immersing the reader into post-apocalyptic survival. Science goes horribly wrong, and, terrifyingly, the wrongness was planned.

The Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. This extremely popular Chinese science fiction author has won numerous awards. This book won the Hugo in 2015 for Best Novel. Ye Weining, the primary antagonist traumatized by the Cultural Revolution makes one decision after another to set up the inevitable conflict between humans and extraterrestrial intelligence. The author does a great job with the physics of near-lightspeed travel. (I understood about a tenth of it.) I’ve never before in science fiction encountered aliens such as these either in form or in sympathetic substance. The translator, Chinese-American writer Ken Liu,  included extremely helpful footnotes; otherwise, references to China’s Cultural Revolution would have evaded me.

Caleb’s Crossing, by Geraldine Brooks. My friend Gladys knows my love of colonial American history. She was shocked that I had never read this book. While waiting at a restaurant for our dinners to arrive, she placed an order on Amazon. Not only did it arrive, so did every other book by the same author.  (Thank you, Gladys!) The author has taken historical facts and enlivened them into a lyric of time, place, and emotion. From Martha’s Vineyard to the original library at Harvard College, she weaves a vivid tapestry of 17th-century life for English settlers and their attitudes toward their Wampanoag neighbors.

Year of Wonders, by Geraldine Brooks. (Thank you again, Gladys.) Bubonic plague, a good-hearted woman, orphaned children, incredible loss and abuse, sincerely held religious beliefs, dead rats, an earnest young cleric, angry villagers, accusations of sex with the devil, herbal lore, and quarantine of a 17th century English village. What more could anyone ask for?

March, by Geraldine Brooks. (Thanks, Gladys.) As kids we all loved Louisa May Alcott’s  Little Women books, right? One of the under-developed characters is the father. At the end of the first book, he returns from the Civil War after suffering an illness.  March is his story.  We see Marmee in a new light, and not everything flatters her. Alcott could never have written this gritty story with its raw emotions.

Little Lord Fauntleroy, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Recently I saw a local musical production of The Secret Garden. Along with A Little Princess, Burnett’s two famous books played a prominent role in the bookshelves of my childhood. I did not find them hidden among the family treasures hoarded by my mom or my sister.  I located and ordered the editions I remembered: the ones with the illustrations by Tasha Tudor.  (Which, I’ll have my mother know, were copyrighted in 1962 and 1963 respectively and therefore could not have been hers when she was a child they’re mine and Susan’s so there.) Along the way, I discovered that Burnett also wrote this little book. It took me almost two whole hours to read it on Easter morning. I should have been out looking for zombies. No kid is that damn good. And who would want them to be?

 Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong (revised edition), by James W. Loewen. High school textbook authors continually propagate factually false, Eurocentric, and romanticized views of American history. Loewen collects these popular myths in one place and systematically shatters them. He examined a dozen high school American history texts for accuracy and for their relative perspectives. I’ve read this book slowly because each chapter has independently managed to get my blood boiling. Patent lies and sinister fact-twisting may assuage Euro-American sensibilities, but these white-washed stories of American history taught in schools foment racism and xenophobia. The results pollute social media posts and right-wing “news”.  No other book has so adamantly compelled me to join a protest.

People of the Book, by Geraldine Brooks. Yes, another one by the same author. This wasn’t as fast a read as her others, nor was the story as compelling. It did send me to look up the Sarajevo Haggada, though. The book ended too soon. Circumstances threatened the Haggadah again in the last decade without a ministry of culture. Fortunately, the recently reopened National Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina displays the book again. I hope the museum makes digital images of the pages available. I love illuminated manuscripts.

Gardening With Silk and Gold: A History of Gardens in Embroidery, by Thomasina Beck. Beck is the author of several books about florals and embroidery. I joined my local chapter of the Embroiderers Guild of America a year or so ago. I’m learning cool things and seeing amazing handwork done by very talented people. The chapter president is clearing out her collection and gave this book to me. (Thank you, Sandy!) Gorgeous images of gardens and flowers fill this book. The author explains the history of the techniques. It’s a lovely addition to my library and suitable for display on the coffee table.

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman. I started watching the series on STARZ and got confused, so I re-read the book. Once again I must remind myself that books are not movies, and movies “based on” books are not cinematic reproductions of books. This time I read the 10th Anniversary Edition, which is a revised edition that includes some things Gaiman left out of the original. It was still an amazing exposition on why we worship both the old gods and the new. Also, his prose is pure poetry. Also, read his other stuff. Also, he’s an amazing writer, did I mention that?

The Anglo-Saxon World, by Nicholas J. Higham and Martin J. Ryan. The Anglo-Saxons invaded England after Rome vacated the premises. Arthur fought them.  They buried a lot of gold in Staffordshire. Alfred was the Greatest of them. William conquered them and now they’re all gone. These half-truths are about as much as most people know about the Anglo-Saxons. I love the maps and high-quality images in this book. Yes, I read textbooks for fun. Shut up.

N.K. Jemison‘s Broken Earth trilogy: The Fifth Season, The Obelisk Gate, and The Stone Sky. OhmyfuckingGOD rush out and get these books NOW.  Do not hesitate. Do not dally. Get thee to a bookstore and find them immediately. Read them. Caress them. Savor them. There’s a reason the first two books in this trilogy won the 2016 and 2017 Hugo Awards for Best Novel. The only reason the third book hasn’t is that it was just published. This trilogy is world-building and world-breaking at a level most of us can’t even imagine. This trilogy has character development that goes deeper and more multi-faceted than any of the rest of us can even hope to glimpse in real life. The books are written in the second person – a feat very few authors ever in the history of writing have effectively pulled off – and as the reader understands who the narrator is speaking to, who the narrator even is, and why the second person is necessary, the reader also understands the love and pride of parents and the devastating independence of children. This trilogy is sublime. READ IT.

Behave, by Stanford neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky. It’s easy to adore Dr. Sapolsky. He studies stress and publishes serious science books with titles like Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers and Monkeyluv.  His book A Primate’s Memoir is one of the most memorable books I’ve ever read – I push it on people regularly. Part travelogue, part primate behavior, and all solid science, it explores behavior and conflict in contexts that stretch from personal to continental. It’s the only science book that has ever moved me to tears. Behave is almost as good. As the New York Times Book Review put it, this is the book you’ll wish you had in college to understand the brain.  Sapolsky’s writing is always understandable to a layperson. His voice is pleasant, cheerful – at times pretty darn funny – and immensely knowledgeable. He explores the chemistry and structure of the brain, how it changes as it ages, how and why it triggers the reactions it does, and how it controls itself. It also explores the concept of free will. The philosophers among us will like that. Watch his recent TED Talk and watch his graduation address to Stanford students in 2009. He’s engaging, personable, and brilliant, and it all shows in his research and writing.

Grace Without God, by Katherine Ozment. I met the author at the Arkansas Literary Festival and the book was selected for our book club. The author participated by Skype – how cool is that? This book is important because, aside from being written by a former Arkansan without religious faith, it was written for other people without faith. It’s hard to be different. How do we explain to children why we are different and how can we effectively participate in our communities when our communities are organized around religious institutions?

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Conflating Shakespeare

High drama of worthy of Shakespeare is taking place in the presence of the Senate Intelligence Committee today.

Shakespeare would definitely have written a play about this.

It ultimately breaks down to this:

TRUMP:  Will no one rid me of this meddlesome FBI Director?

SESSIONS and ROSENSTEIN: (mount up and ride toward Canterbury)

TRUMP: He’s dead! We killed him!

ROSENSTEIN: WTF? Jeff and I just went to Rochester to tour the castle and have some pub food. We didn’t kill anyone. Although we did kind of tag somebody’s bumper in the parking lot. Sorry.

COMEY’S GHOST: I am the campaign’s spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combinèd locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

…But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood.

SENATE: That’s fine. We’ll be glad to hear what you have to say in closed session.

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