Show Boat

The history of Broadway is divided between everything that happened before Show Boat and everything that happened after Show Boat.

Miles Kreoger - Broadway Historian  

I'm currently watching Broadway, The American Musical, Full Documentary.  It will take me a while.  It's five and a half  hours long.  

Why was this 1927 Broadway musical such a game changer?  For one thing, racism was almost as rampant on the stage as it was in real life.  Not because of those composing and performing, but because of the audience .  

So, it's reasonable to understand why Florenz Ziegfeld, Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein and others were extraordinarily brave to (instead of following cultural change) instigate cultural change. Its themes include racial prejudice and tragic, enduring love. 

Show Boat was fully integrated.  This was new to Broadway.  It was a musical featuring dramatic pain and suffering.  This was new to Broadway.  Much of the story line was about a woman who was half Negro, passing as white,  a federal crime in 1927.  She was arrested and taken away.  

So what was life like for a Black man at that time?  "Old Man River" tells the story. 

By the way, when I was a teenager, I saw Frank Sinatra sing "Old Man River" at a movie theater in downtown Indianapolis."  Even then I was thinking "How does Sinatra have the right to sing this song?"

But, I digress. 

The Broadway musical "Show Boat"  was a radical departure in musical storytelling, pairing spectacle  with real life human suffering.   And it was a huge success.  And it was the beginning of a new way of doing musicals. Without it, we would never have had "Porgy an Bess" or, my favorite musical of all time, "Ragtime."

And Broadway continues, to this day, to tell society's unvarnished truth.

***

Ash Wednesday 2025

Let conversation cease.  let laughter flee.  This is the place where death delights to help the living

 - Georgetown University School of Medicine Gross Anatomy Lab.

 I take Ash Wednesday seriously.  For me, it's a time of introspection and dealing with the fact that we are mortal.  

 I'm sharing part of a post that I wrote in 2014.  It's a beautiful story about my David's choice to share himself, even in death. In 2012 David and I toured the new University of Central Florida College of Medicine.  It was magnificent.  When we got to the gross anatomy lab, where the students would be dissecting deceased bodies, I was a bit skeptical - but   it was a holy experience.  

Shortly after leaving, David made arrangements to leave his body to the school.  I had a bit of a hard time with this and I was concerned about his children.  

But then I read a Washington Post article by Dr. Edward Beal, a distinguished fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and a clinical profess at the Georgetown University School of Medicine

In the article he said that he was shocked when his wife announced that she was going to donate her body to the Georgetown School of Medicine.  Dr. Beal goes on to say that he was remembering the old days when pranks were pulled and respect was not paid.   When he expressed his concerns to his wife she told him she was going to attend the School of Medicine's annual liturgy and Catholic Mass for families of donors. 

He went with her.

Dr. Beal said the room was filled with faculty, and family members who had come to collect the ashes of their loved one.  He goes on to say:

...nearly 200 students filed into the classroom; they each carried a lighted candle in honor of their donor body and placed the candles on a stage.  There were Jews, Muslims, Protestants, atheists and outright anti-religious students in the procession.  

Afterwards Dr. Beal spoke with several students.  One talked about her cadaver's heart and how it did not look like anything in a text book.  Another student said there was no doubt in her mind that she would donate her body when the time came.

And yet another said that....throughout the entire class, the cadaver's faces had remained covered, out of respect, until the time came to study the face.  She spoke almost reverently of how moved she felt the day she and her classmates removed the covering over the face of their cadaver and looked for the first time into the donor's eyes.

So, on this Ash Wednesday, which is very much about living and dying and how we do it, I'm feeling grateful for David and all the other people in my life who've gone on before me.  



****

Head and Heart

 

Take this job and shove it, I ain't workin' here no more,

My woman done left and took all the reason I was workin' for.

Johnny Paycheck wrote this song in 1977.  It was one among many, but it was his only #1 hit song...by far.  It was wildly popular.  He once sang it to an audience of prisoners while he, himself, was incarcerated for shooting a man.

Clearly, he was impulsive. 

Dacades ago, when I was leading workshops for business groups, I would often empathize the importance of not making emotion based decisions.  "Let's don't burn our bridges.  Don't sing the Johnny Paycheck song."

But yesterday, my friend Christie reminded me that we need to use our hearts and well as heads to navigate this current time in history.  She's right.  I tend to lean toward the "head" part.  It's difficult for me to relate to highly emotional people.  Even when I really, really want to. 

But, yes, I agree that we need both.  But we don't need to indulge in Johnny's out of control anger.  After all,  the problem wasn't even about the job.  It was because his woman done left.

The other day, while I was walking with a neighbor, she shared her own Johnny Paycheck story.  Decades ago, while her husband was hospitalized, a young woman appeared in his room to draw blood.  She had great difficulty, jabbing his arm several times prior to finding a vein.  

And all the while she was quietly singing the Johnny Paycheck song. 

***

 

With a Bang or a Whimper?

 Yesterday I pulled this old book out for some reason.  It was published in 1970 and I bought a copy soon after.

I enjoyed thumbing through it yesterday and, especially, reading my notes along the way. 

T.S. Elliott used to be one of my favorite poets.  He had a hard time with religion.  I, myself, am a Wesleyan. 

His poem, The Hollow Men, questions organized religion.  

Between the idea and the reality......Between the motion and the act.....Fall the shadow.  

My notes say:  Between the WIN Button and Whipping Inflation Now falls the shadow.

Remember how President Gerald Ford introduced the WIN button in 1974?  It didn't work but I still have my button. 

My notes also say:  Between women being accepted in theology school and being accepted for ordination falls the shadow. 

This did work.  In the United Methodist Church we now have as many women as men being accepted for ordination and they are serving in leadership positions around the country and the world. 

The famous last line of this poem is:  This is how the world ends, not with a Bang but a Whimper. 

Only last week I wrote in my journal:  How will my life end?  With a whimper or a bang?

***
 

My Good Samaritan

 

In the 18 years I've been writing this blog, I've occasionally written about some whopper, crazy things I'd done using the heading "I Don't Make Mistakes." 

But this is not so much about me.  It's about a woman named Kim.  This morning, since the weather was cold and rainy,  I decided to do my daily two mile walk in the mall.  I carefully parked outside Penney's door, the second row, the forth spot down.   (Because I'm careful.  I don't make mistakes.)

After my walk I replaced my steps to the parking lot.  But....no car. 

I walked up and down the rows several times.  Still no car.  What to do?  I could have called any number of family and friends but I finally decided to call the police.  After all, it was their job to help.  There's even a COPs annex in the mall.  

But then a woman driving a big SUV stopped and asked if I needed help.  I gave her my car info and she drove up and down the rows.....but no car.  Finally she suggested I might have parked around the corner close to another Penney's entrance.  I didn't think so because....I don't make mistakes.  But I gave her the description again and she took off.  Thirty seconds later she was back.  

Bingo,  The car was exactly where I said it was, only in the other lot.  

What Kim did doesn't seem like a big deal right?  But here's the thing.  Not one other person asked if I needed help.  I would get it if I looked like the healthy, younger person I am inside.  But many, many people saw a little old lady with a cane wondering around the chilly, damp mall parking lot,

Kim was the only one who stopped.  It's a very big deal. 

***

Miniature Rooms

 I love miniature rooms. Not to be confused with doll houses, miniature rooms can be a child fantasy but miniature rooms relate more to adult fantasy and artistry.  

I learned many years ago that, when traveling, it's usually a good experience to visit libraries in the heart of big cities.  There are, many times, big artistic surprises, including miniature rooms. 

A while back, my friend, Christie, gave me the book "Miniature Rooms."  It features the Thorne rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago.

The Thorne Miniature Rooms are one of the beloved exhibits at The Art Institute of Chicago.  Each year thousands of visitors travel slowly down the long, darkened Thorne galleries in ones and twos, peering into the 68 lighted boxes which transport their imaginations to far-off times and places. 

Miniature rooms are three demential and measured in inches.  You can 

buy one or make your own, in case you'd  like to replicate the living

room you grew up in (which I do not.)  Places like Hobby Lobby have

some supplies to get stated but finding just the right tiny books for your

miniature 4 inch high bookcase can be daunting

The creator of the Thorne rooms, Narcissa Thorne, was way, way over the top, miniature room wise.  She and her wealthy husband traveled the world and when she saw a room she loved, she would painstakingly recreate it, using materials she'd gathered as she traveled.  And I'm sure she had lots of tiny tweezers.  And I'm sure none of her treasures came from Hobby Lobby.

Her son called her life long fascination a compulsion.  

Maybe so, but her "compulsion" has enabled thousands of people each year to enjoy her works of art.  

For many years I put out a  version of a Christmas living room in my bookcase.  Crude by Mrs Thorne's standards, but a fun Christmas fantasy.  Last year was the last of the Christmas bookcase living rooms.  I no longer have the energy to move the books.  

 

                                                                    

***

This Is The Day I Was Born

 Well, yes, I was a few months old when this photo was taken.  I remember the cloverleaf table I'm sitting on.  I remember, during World War II,  saving bacon drippings in a jar that sat on the stove  Why?  We were told it was needed for the war effort. 

I remember being in elementary school and listening to General MacArthur's "Old Soldiers Never Die" speech on the radio.

I was in Atlanta and South Florida in the 70s doing civil rights work. It was scary, but we thought we were invincible.

My life has been filled with adventure.  Much of it brings good memories,  especially my big family that continues to expand.  

Eleven years ago, on my 75th birthday,  I wrote a blog posting very similar  to this one.  I said I was the happiest I've ever been.  

That is no longer true.  While I'm reasonably content and still living a full life, I have suffered loss.  Loss of those very close to me, loss of my ability to travel and attend big venues, especially church.  My life has narrowed  All of my middle-aged children, and other family members, have experienced their own losses, some small and some huge.  It's my choice to live in that space with them, as best I can. And, of course, the flip side is that I get to share in their triumphs as well. 

My friends, who truly keep me centered and sane, are fading.  Some are gone. Some are still, like me, on the journey.  They, along with a few family members,  provide me with, among other things, intellectual stimulation which I require on a daily basis to stay happy.  

Loss is the price we pay for living a very long life.  Along with it, if we're not cognitively impaired, we can model the way we believe oldies should behave and how we should be treated.  When my doctor's assistant calls me "young lady," a demeaning title for an old woman, I can't let that slide.

My faith is strong, my sense of humor is in tact, and I still have miles to go before I sleep. 

***