That's "Campana-stan" or ''Land of Campana." It reflects the Weltanschauung of Michael E. Campana, President-for-Life of the Republic of Campanastan. Welcome to Campanastan - no passports or visas required!
Texas Agriculture Law Blog Don't let the name fool you - there are lots of water issues in agriculture and Tiffany Dowell of Texas A&M University does a fabulous job with this important Internet resource. Give it a read - I do every day!
The Way of Water Oregon State University Geography PhD Student, Jennifer Veilleux, records her fieldwork, research, and thoughts about transboundary water resources development in the Nile River and Mekong River basins. Particular attention is given to Ethiopia's Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam and Laos' Xayaburi Dam projects.
Thirsty in Suburbia Gayle Leonard documents things from the world of water that make us smile: particularly funny, amusing and weird items on bottled water, water towers, water marketing, recycling, the art-water nexus and working.
This Day in Water History Michael J. 'Mike' McGuire, engineer extraordinaire, NAE member, and author of 'The Chlorine Revolution', blogs about historical happenings in the fields of drinking water and wastewater keyed to calendar dates.
WaSH Resources New publications, web sites and multi-media on water, sanitation and hygiene (WaSH).
Water 50/50 From Jay Famiglietti at UC-Irvine. Fifty lectures in fifty weeks: The 2012 Birdsall-Dreiss Distinguished Lectureship. A global lecture tour delivering the message about our changing water cycle, groundwater depletion, and the future of freshwater availability.
Watering the Desert Aptly-titled blog by CJ Brooks, a lawyer-hydrologist-geologist from Tucson, AZ.
Watershed Moments: Thoughts from the Hydrosphere From Sarah Boon - rediscovering her writing and editing roots after 13 years, primarily as an environmental scientist. Her writing centres around creative non-fiction, specifically memoir and nature writing. The landscapes of western Canada are her main inspiration.
WaterWired All things fresh water: news, comment, and analysis from hydrogeologist Michael E. Campana, Professor at Oregon State University.
Watery Foundation Tom Swihart, formerly of the Florida Department of Environmental Protection, tells all about water management in the Sunshine State.
Western Water Blog The 'mystery blog' about Western USA water issues. What more can I say?
Wisdom in Water, Please... Kate Wilkins-Wells , who manages the Northwest Kansas Groundwater Management District No. 4, provides her wisdom on water issues.
xAnalytical Doug Walker's xAnalytical blog:Turning Data and Information into Knowledge
A new wrinkle - an Ad Bookwill be distributed to all attendees and former campers who have paid their dues. Put an ad in the book honoring friends, relatives, or whatever! A full-page ad is $100 and a half-page ad is $60. All copy and payments are due by 1 September. Contact John Daly (firstname.lastname@example.org). See the following forms for complete information:
Regardless of your opinion of his presidency, you'll have to admit that since he left office, Jimmy Carter has entered the realm of a national treasure. He's bypassed golf courses and gazillion-dollar speaking fees before hedge fund managers to make the world a better place.
"We must adjust to changing times and still hold to unchanging principles." -Jimmy Carter
July 14th - Bastille Day, a French national holiday formally known in France as La Fête nationale or more commonly,Le quatorze juillet - was always celebrated in my childhood home.
But we were not French, although since my mother was of English and Scots-Irish descent, I suspect there was some French (Norman?) blood coursing through her veins.
July 14th was the day my parents celebrated their first meeting and date in 1941. That landmark occurred in the hamlet of Bethlehem, NH, at the Maplewood Hotel and Golf Course, which at the time was a semi-fashionable resort in the White Mountains. My father John was an assistant golf pro at the Maplewood course, and Ruth Emerson a waitress at the hotel. He was 25 and from Boston; she was only 21 and from North Carolina. Their meeting resulted in a 'soda date' at Parker's Drug Store on Main Street. Hey, Earth girls are easy!
Courtship followed, culminating in marriage on 29 May 1943. They were happily married for 41 years, till my father's death in 1984.
Great role models, and I finally got it right, Mom and Dad. My first date with Mary Frances was 18 December 1987: dinner (Marie Callender's in Reno) and a movie (The Princess Bride).
Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight and I'm going to drink till I get my fill And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it but I probably will Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory of, well time slips away and leaves you with nothing mister but boring stories of glory days
Glory days well they'll pass you by Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye Glory days, glory days --Glory Days,by Bruce Sprinsgteen
In between the fireworks, auto and furniture sales, and barbecues, take a few minutes today to read the Declaration of Independence and the remarkable Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to the Constitution, which came along 11 years later:
While you are at it, give extra thanks for the First Amendment, which guarantees five fundamental rights, which you can remember with the mnemonic RAPPS: religion, assembly, press, petition, and speech.
Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, two giants in American history - friends, then opponents, and finally friends again - both died on this day in 1826. As I get older, I think less of Jefferson and more of Adams. Both were great men, but the former 'talked the talk' and didn't always 'walk the walk' (e.g., slavery) whereas the latter tried to do both.
Enjoy the day, and enjoy RAPPS!
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness." -- Declaration of Independence
"...a Republic, if you can keep it." -- Benjamin Franklin, at the end of the Constitutional Convention, when asked, "What have you wrought?"
Thought I would celebrate the sixth anniversary of the arrival of our SUSIE students, twenty-three young women and menfrom Central America (Panama, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua) and the Caribbean (Jamaica, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Trinidad and Tobago). Most arrived on Sunday, 28 June 2009. We were all excited.
Ana Maria Peralta, one of three Dominicanas, who later pursued an MBA in Spain, assembled this photograph:
The instructors are arranged along the left side and top. The picture of Mt. Hood is signifcant because on the day before we all went to Washington, DC, we took them up to a few patches of snow where they all experienced snow for the first time.
Here is a larger picture of all of us in Washington, DC, where we spent a week after five weeks in Oregon:
Each student was different, but all shared great intelligence and a desire to learn. I told them that they were going to spoil me for my fall Geology 101 class. They did!
Three years ago at this time I was traveling through Honduras and Nicaragua and saw three of the SUSIE students. I saw Julio Eguigurems (above) on 27 June 2012 in Honduras. He was working at the national forestry school in Comayagua. I then traveled to Nicaragua to see Laura Espinoza García and Natalia Raudez. Laura has since completed her Master's degree in Belgium (with a scholarship) and Natalia is married and a mommy. I unfortunately missed Lucia Paiz Medina, who had completed her Master's degree in Brussels.
Julio may be applying for a Master's degree at OSU, and Dara-Marie Raggay of Trinidad and Tobago was accepted at OSU for a Master's in Environmental Science but did not matriculate.
You don't know how much I miss you and how much you enriched my life!
"Sometimes the only difference we can make is passing our wisdom to someone else who will make the bigger difference." -- Linda B. Gray
It's appropriate that I am returning today from over two weeks in Europe after spending time in two countries: one that took a beating from World War II but stood tall and prevailed - the United Kingdom - and one that remained neutral - Sweden.
Like many others, today I am honoring those who served and those who died 71 years ago on D-Day and the entire Normandy Invasion. Special thanks to the Allied troops - American, Canadian, British, Australian, New Zealand, Free French, Free Dutch, et al. - who made it happen and rescued Europe and the world.
My father's brother - my Uncle Vic - was one of those young men who was there that fateful day. He was a paratrooper - 82nd Airborne - who made a nighttime jump into France. He survived that one, and 48 other jumps over Europe.
Thank you! And a special thanks to the French people, still so welcoming and appreciative lo these many years!
Giovanni Pellegrino Campana would have been 101 today.
That name is on his birth certificate, but we knew my father as John Pilgrim Campana. Born on 6 June 1914, he was the son of Italian immigrants Consiglia and Domenico Campana, who arrived on these shores from Naples, Italy, in the late 1890s.
The family settled in Boston, where my father grew up working, playing baseball, ice hockey, but most of all, studying. He vaguely recalled the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. He attended Boston Latin School, the oldest and arguably still the best high school in the USA.
After that, it was off to the oldest college in the USA, Harvard, where he graduated magna cum laude with a degree in history in 1936. In those days, Harvard was not a hospitable place for Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, or Jews; forget about Latinos, Asian-Americans, Native Americans, or African-Americans! It was the bastion of WASPs - White (or Wealthy) Anglo-Saxon Protestants.
He loved playing hockey - he was a right winger - but didn't play for Harvard after his freshman year. He told me that the rich kids on the team would rent one of the indoor arenas for practices that were restricted to themselves and their friends. So while he worked, they practiced and his skills fell behind. When he told me this, there was nary a trace of bitterness in his voice. That's just the way it was.
But his true sports love was baseball. He played shortstop and pitched on the Harvard team till he graduated in 1936. Here is the team ball signed by all the players on the 1936 team, with the cherished inscription: Harvard - 3, Yale - 0.
He married 'Southern belle' (North Carolina)Ruth Ellen Emerson in 1943 and they had three children. They first lived in Manhattan, then moved out to Queens, and finally, headed to the Long Island suburbs in December 1951, where they remained until 1978, retiring to Mooresville, North Carolina.
He started teaching in the New York City school system in 1938, a career that spanned 36 years, 26 of which were spent at Brooklyn's Erasmus Hall High School, the nation's second-oldest high school. He taught history and political science. He recalls EHHS students Barbra Streisand, chess champion Bobby Fischer, Neil Diamond, Billy Cunningham, and Lainie Kazan. Don't ask him about the first two. In those days, EHHS was one of the nation's best. Its top students won scholarships to the USA's finest universities. Even the top Jewish students, who for years could not get into the Ivy League schools, routinely made Princeton, Yale, and Harvard starting in the mid-1950s; African-Americans (few in number at EHHS in those days) and others soon followed. As I grew up, I remember many visits from former students who would drop by to thank him for all he had done. They told me what a remarkable teacher and man he was and how much he had helped them.
He left EHHS in 1964 to help open Canarsie High School in Brooklyn. He was the Assistant Principal, a position that earned him more money but meant no more teaching. That was a tough call for him.
His time at CHS was difficult - an unreasonable boss and trouble from the start. In those days, the races and ethnicities mixed far worse than they do today. On some days scores of NYPD officers patrolled the halls and grounds. When a chair whizzed by his ear during a cafeteria free-for-all, he knew it was time to retire. That was 1974. This photo was taken a few years before he left CHS.
My father was an inveterate and prolific letter-writer. He would write letters to all kinds of people: political leaders, heads of state, CEOs, editors, sports figures, et al. At the time of his death he was working on a book titled, One Small Voice, a collection of his letters. His favorite target was Tom Yawkey, then the owner of his beloved but then-incompetent Boston Red Sox. He would instruct Yawkey on whom to trade, whom to release, etc. It was a futile exercise, of course, but he enjoyed it. One of my big regrets in life was seeing him die in 1984, before the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, 2007, and 2013. But at least he did not witness the 1986 debacle. That surely would have killed him. My father's devotion to the Sox and their history still have an impression on me: although I am a Yankees fan, there is a soft spot in my heart for the Red Sox.
I often wonder how the Internet would have appeared to him. Given his love for writing and commentary, would he have become a blogger? Somehow I doubt it. He was committed to letters.
He was a student of history, languages (five), politics, sports, chess, and more. He was small in stature and an unlikely athlete. Baseball, hockey, golf, bowling, and tennis were his games. He was a Democrat who was not overly fond of John F. Kennedy and the Kennedy clan. He remembered too much from his early days in Boston and also never forgave patriarch Joe for being an early Hitler supporter. But he voted for JFK over Richard Nixon in 1960; that was a no-brainer.
My late younger sister Ann and he would have some epic confrontations; they were too much alike. One of his unbreakable rules was, 'Never drive the car into Manhattan.' I recall an incident where Ann was to drive his precious Mustang into Queens to catch the subway into Manhattan. Well, she sort of forgot about the rule, and drove into the city. Next morning as he got up to go to work, he saw a note from Ann that said, 'Sorry - it was the g-d [god-damned] bus!' He did not understand the note till he went out for his morning drive into Brooklyn. That's when he noticed a huge crease running the length of the driver's side of the Mustang. Seems that Ann had had an encounter with a city bus. She left the note and was spending the day at the beach. Lucky for that, too - she had been partying with friends in Manhattan and was in no shape to face my father.
I loved listening to him discuss history, especially American history. He actually 'rescued' my interest in history, because my high-school history teachers were pretty pathetic. They often emphasized rote memorization with little dicussion of what the events meant. That's where my father came in. He provided the big picture.
Whatever my skills are in teaching and education, I owe to him. He was so proud when I received my PhD. He had an ABD ('all but dissertation' - half done, on Stephen Decatur and the Barbary Pirates) from Fordham - marriage and a family intevened - and he never finished. He would have made quite a professor!
I doubt his beloved Red Sox will win this year. And the Bruins are not en route to the Stanley Cup as they were a few years ago. Oh, how he loved watching Bobby Orr!
I miss you, Dad; I think of you each day. You're my role model.
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ―G.K. Chesterton
"Democracy is like a raft; you're safe, but your feet get wet." -- John P. Campana
She knows I love novels but always 'forget' to get them. And I will even be able to read them because of a special gift...
Such an auspicious day, too - got the regular Avastin injection in my right eye so the vision's okay for another 5-6 weeks. And I am so thankful for that! After all, it earned me a free espresso drink at Starbucks!
"My dear, congratulations upon entering your 40th year." - My late Aunt Angela, to my mother on the occasion of her 39th birthday
Realice cream she loved; butter pecan was by far her favorite. Today's penchant for frozen yogurt would be a non-starter. Strong coffee? You'd better believe it! Don't ever serve her a cup if she could see the bottom; it would go right down the drain. Kids? No, a 'kid' is a baby goat; the word is 'children'. Four-letter words from a Southern lady? Numerology? Well, you'll have to read this entire post.
My mother, Ruth Ellen Emerson Campana, is shown below (c. Easter 1953 or 1954) with the family. Note the scowl on Ann's face - not the angelic smiles of older sister Ellen and me. Did that facial expression ever portend the shape of things to come!
Mom died on 8 May 2003 at the age of 83. Hard to believe that was 12 years ago. Although she lived for almost two years beyond 9/11, that event killed her just as sure as those five Saudi Arabian terrorists killed her youngest child, Ann Campana Judge, on American Airlines flight 77.
My mother was a remarkable woman. Born in Cabarrus County, North Carolina, in 1920, she was an archetypical Southern lady. No profane language, kind, compassionate, soft spoken, a beautiful drawl, proud of her Southern Scots-Irish roots but no apologist for the Confederacy and slavery although her great-grandfather fought for the South. At age 23, she married my father, John Pilgrim Campana, an Italian-American from Boston, and the two of them settled in New York City, where my father taught high school in Brooklyn.
Although my Harvard-educated father was the family scholar (American history ABD) , my mother was no slouch. She majored in history and English at Flora Macdonald College (now part of St. Andrew's Presbyterian College) in Red Springs, NC, and graduated at 20. She acquired her love of learning from her mother Julia Johnston Emerson, who was a college graduate in a time when that was almost unheard of for a woman. What stubbornness she had no doubt came from her father Harris Emerson, a farmer and an avowed Republican in a time when the South was the 'Solid South', always voting for Democrats (hard to believe, I know). My mother said he was a Republican because everyone else was a Democrat.
I owe many of my semi-decent English skills to her. Each Sunday night she would would write five words and their definitions on my blackboard. Those were the 'Weekly Words.' I relied on her to correct my writing more than I did my teachers. Why? Because she was far better than they!
My friends loved her. 'How come your mother's so nice?' was a common question. But she was no pushover. My father's hot-blooded Italian nature often manifested itself when one of us overstepped our bounds, but my mother would generally raise her voice only slightly, or just glare at us. The message got through.
While still raising three children, she returned to teaching in 1960 and taught fourth grade. Her students idolized her. Here is a beautiful tribute from one of her fourth-grade students, Fred Avolio. Fred also remembers the 'Weekly Words.' And yes, Fred, I remember bringing my pet iguana Leroy into class.
My mother was also somewhat naive. One story, somewhat risqué, stands out. I must have been 16, Ann 13, and older sister Ellen was away at college. We were chatting at the dinner table, something we did every evening. My mother related a discussion that occurred in the teachers' lounge at her school. Seems she came in during a conversation, and a few of the teachers were laughing about something called '69'. She was puzzled so she asked one of her colleagues what it was (she had concluded that it had nothing to do with math). He told her that she had better ask someone in her family. So she did. Ann and I could hardly contain our laughter, and my father's jaw dropped like I had never seen (he taught high-school in Brooklyn so I knew he knew). I believe it was Ann who matter-of-factly told her what it was. Then my mother's jaw dropped. I think what surprised her and my father more than anything was that their 13-year old daughter knew exactly what it was. Yes, that faclal expression above was coming home to roost.
On another occasion at the dinner table, she told us that one of her fourth-graders had made a gesture to a classmate and she was unsure what it meant. We children knew what was coming. When my father asked what it was, she extended her right arm and raised her right middle finger. Before my father could recover, Ann, all of 12 or 13 at the time, exclaimed, "'Fuck you!' It means 'Fuck you!'" I thought the Big One was going to strike my father. I chimed in and said that it didn't mean that literally but more like 'Fuck off!' At that point my mother said she got the message and did not need to know any more. In all our years chatting at the dinner table that was the only time I recall the word 'fuck' being spoken - not once, but thrice.
Needless to say, I did not mention either of these instances in the eulogy at her funeral service, although I was tempted to. It would have sent those North Carolina Presbyterians over the edge.
Despite the fact that she lived in the North for 35 years, she never lost her Southern grace and charm.
In 1978 she finally returned to her beloved Tar Heel State. She and my father settled in Mooresville, just north up I-77 from Charlotte. She and I shared one dislike: that of including 'NC' after Charlotte in lists of US cities' weather or some other characteristic. Every other city stood alone, but there was 'Charlotte, NC'. She viewed it as very disrespectful for NC's beloved Queen City. Check it out - some newspapers still do that.
When my sister Ann was murdered, my mother was living with her and husband Geoff Judge in Great Falls, VA. After Ann was killed she continued to live with Geoff (an amazing man who treated her as he did his own mother) but soon after that she began to shut down. When Ann's beloved black Lab Bubba died, that was it. First she decided she couldn't walk on her own. Then, she stopped talking. Finally, she stopped eating. The end came soon after that, peacefully, while she slept. I believe the death certificate read 'heart attack' but I knew better. It should have read 'broken heart' - burying her baby killed her.
The irony is that today's saying is something she would say whenever she heard of a parent burying a child. I doubt she ever expected she'd have to do the same.
Especially her youngest.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
One last thing - I turn 67 in three days, and the older I get, the wiser I've become. You were right about so much stuff, Mom. I do forgive you for trying to transform me into a Southern gentleman. Some things aren't just meant to be. Probably one of the few times you failed. But I still won't apologize for not going to law school.
Boy, do I miss you! In a couple of weeks I will finally get to visit your ancestral homeland - Scotland. I'll be thinking of you.
And it's funny, but each time this year I get a strange hankering for some butter pecan ice cream. And none of that low-fat or frozen yogurt stuff - the real deal.
"The hardest thing any parent has to do is bury a child." -- Ruth Emerson Campana
Remember those who suffered two years ago today in Boston.
Another memorable event of a different type occurred on this day in 1947.
Sixty-eight years ago today, on a cold Tuesday in Brooklyn, Jack Roosevelt 'Jackie'Robinson took the field in a game against the Boston Braves at Ebbets Field. He was to face Johnny Sain, one-half of the legendary "Spahn and Sain and pray for rain" pitching duo of the Braves.
Robinson didn't do too well that day: grounded out, flied out, hit into a double play,reached on an error. But his feat went far beyond what he did at the plate or in the field. He became the first African-American since the 1880s to play in a major league baseball game, and entered the history books. We didn't know it at the time but the USA's civil rights era began that day.
Jackie Robinson was a great athlete, but he proved to be an even greater man. Robinson endured a lot of crap (a euphemism) from other ballplayers, the public, sportswriters, and fans. He was a proud man, but had promised Dodgers owner Branch Rickey that he would hold his tongue and his fists for two years. Rickey feared that if Robinson proved to be too combative right off the bat, naysayers would proclaim 'I told you so!' and the cause of major league baseball integration would be damaged.
I like this 1997 passage by Ira Berkow, in which he talked about Robinson and Dodger teammate and fellow Hall of Famer Pee Wee Reese, a Southern boy from Kentucky who was the Dodgers' captain at the time Robinson came to the big leagues.
The first of the two incidents occurred at the beginning of spring training in 1947, when Robinson had been called up to the Dodgers from Montreal, Brooklyn's top minor league team, on which Robinson had starred during the 1946 season. A petition was drawn up by a group of mostly Southern Dodgers players that stated they would not take the field with a black man.
"I'm not signing that," Reese told the ringleaders, who included Dixie Walker, Kirby Higbe and Bobby Bragan. "No way."
Reese, the soft-spoken but respected team captain, with a Southern upbringing, perhaps surprised the petition-carriers. "I wasn't thinking of myself as the Great White Father," Reese says now. "I just wanted to play baseball. I'd just come back from serving in the South Pacific with the Navy during the Second World War, and I had a wife and daughter to support. I needed the money. I just wanted to get on with it."
But there was more to it than the money.
And Reese's refusal to sign the petition, many believe, meant the end of the matter.
Robinson played, and endured vicious abuse from opposing teams, from beanballs and spikings to racial epithets and spitting. Robinson had promised Branch Rickey, the owner and general manager of the Dodgers, that for at least his first two years in the major leagues, he would hold his tongue and his fists, no matter the provocation. And one day -- it was probably in Cincinnati, Reese recalled, in 1947 or 1948 -- the attack was so nasty that Reese walked over to Robinson and put his hand on the black man's shoulder.
"Pee Wee kind of sensed the sort of hopeless, dead feeling in me and came over and stood beside me for a while," Robinson recalled, as quoted in the forthcoming biography "Jackie Robinson," by Arnold Rampersad (Alfred A. Knopf). "He didn't say a word but he looked over at the chaps who were yelling at me through him and just stared. He was standing by me, I could tell you that." The hecklers ceased their attack. "I will never forget it," Robinson said.
After reading that pssage I gained a huge amount of respect for Pee Wee Reese. He could have easily gone the other way, but he did the right thing. Not easy for a white guy from Kentucky in the late 1940s.
Jackie left us at the all-too-early age of 53. What he endured no doubt contributed to his untimely death. Robinson was a truly remarkable man who rose to a challenge few of us could ever imagine, much less face with such grace, strength, and courage.
At the tender age of 8, in 1956, I saw him play against the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan "The Man" Musial at Ebbets Field. He was nearing the end of his Hall of Fame career, but still went 2-for-4. My father attempted to explain to me the significance of what he had done, but I was too consumed with hot dogs and cotton candy to comprehend. Later, I understood, and realized that what Robinson had done helped free us all. He is now one of my all-time heroes, right up there with Nelson Mandela and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Arnold Rampersad wrote an excellent biography, Jackie Robinson. Read it. Never mind that you're not a sports fan. It is not a sports book; it's about a courageous man, a hero for all, who just happened to play baseball.
And don't forget the movie,42.It's well worth your time.
To honor Robinson, all major league baseball players will wear number 42 in today's games. With the retirement of Mariano Rivera, no player permanently wears 42.
"Some numbers will always be associated with an athlete; '42' will forever be associated with a movement." - John Saunders, ESPN
Last May I postedtwice on a small caddy camp reunion in New Hampshire. Work on the shrine, Our Lady of the Fairways, was unveiled. At that time there was talk of having a larger reunion in Fall 2015. Things have taken off since then.
Many thanks to Frank Colvario, Tony Wozniak, Gary Conserva, Robert Caggiano, John Daly, and James Daly for serving on the steering committee and doing the heavy lifting. Please contribute making a donation to support the newsletter and other efforts.
Here is a picture from the early 1960s. I believe I am in the very top row, first one on the left.
See you there!
"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
The front page of yesterday's New York Daily News:
'Captain Jerk' seems a bit extreme. William Shatner was at a charity eventin Florida Saturday night and couldn't make it back to LA in time for friend Leonard Nimoy's funeral on Sunday morning. So he's being vilified in the press and on social media.
Some wags suggested he should have spent about $30,000 of his estimated $100M nest egg to charter a private jet.
"Regret is the worst human emotion. If you took another road, you might have fallen off a cliff. I'm content." - William Shatner
Mr. Spock was the most intriguing of the four. He was half-human, half-Vulcan. His logical Vulcan half frequently wrestled with his emotional and illogical (at times) humanity. And there were those pointy ears, eyebrows, nerve pinch, and Vulcan sign, often coupled with 'Live long and prosper.'
Upon hearing of Leonard Nimoy's death, astronaut Terry Virts took this picture in a window of the International Space Station:
Much has been written about Leonard Nimoy and his alter ego Spock. One of the most compelling pieces was one from CBC News about how Nimoy's legacy extended far beyond science fiction. Read ithere.
From the article:
Leonard Nimoy didn't just leave a lasting impression on the science-fiction world, he also left his mark on science itself.
Seth Shostak, who researches the possibility of real-world extraterrestrial life as the senior astronomer at SETI Research, recalled that Nimoy was regularly willing to lend the organization a helping hand. When he was asked to narrate a planetarium introduction or appear as a guest at an event, Nimoy did so graciously and never charged.
"That struck me then, and it strikes me now," said Shostak. "If you play a famous alien, you might have little interest in how science is searching for real aliens, but Nimoy was actually interested in the science — and he was always willing to help us out."
The article has more accolades, such as this:
"Leonard Nimoy was an inspiration to multiple generations of engineers, scientists, astronauts and other space explorers," said NASA administrator Charles Bolden. "As Mr. Spock, he made science and technology important to the story, while never failing to show, by example, that it is the people around us who matter most."
Mary Frances and I spent some time reminiscing about Star Trek. The TV series debuted on NBC in September 1966 and lasted for 79 episodes till June 1969. What most people don't realize is that the network show was not a commercial success; it was canceled. But in syndication it took off, and the Star Trek franchise was born.
We both watched the original series and loved it. The story lines often addressed moral and social issues that were not widespread on TV in those days - equality, inclusivity, non-interference with indigenous cultures (the Prime Directive), war, diplomacy, collaboration, etc. Never mind that most of the women in the series were often comely and clothed in miniskirts or other revealing outfits, and that Kirk would often become romantically involved with some gorgeous creature. After all, this was 1966-69 and we were not where we are today. But the crew would at times encounter powerful women.
The show also provided hope that Earth would have a future as a united, peaceful place. Recall that climate change was not the issue in those days - it was the specter of nuclear war with the Soviet Union. Yes, World War III devastated the planet in the 21st century, but since Star Trek took place in the 23rd century, Earth was back in the game.
A couple of creative Danes - writer Mikael Wulff and cartoon artist Anders Morgenthaler, collectively known as WuMo- have created these hilarious graphs of some of the annoyances, facts, and perils of modern life.
Today we honor Dr. Martin Luther King,Jr ,,who would have turned 86 on 15 January 2015. I have come to appreciate and admire him (and all the civil rights workers) by reading Taylor Branch's brillianttrilogyof the civil rights era: Parting the Waters: America in the King Years, 1954-63; Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years 1963-65; and At Canaan's Edge: America in the King Years 1965-68.
What thoroughly amazes me were the toughness, resiliency, and resolve of the civil rights workers, and how they honored King's insistence upon nonviolent resistance. Along with King, the names of heroes such as John Lewis (now a Georgia Congressman), Ralph Abernathy, Hosea Williams, Rosa Parks, Coretta King, Septima Clark, James Meredith, Andrew Young, Marian Wright, Diane Nash, Fannie Lou Hamer, James Bevel, Bob Moses, et al., are forever burned in my mind. Similarly, I shall not soon forget place names like Selma and Montgomery, or people like Lester Maddox, George Wallace, Bull Connor, Orval Faubus, Strom Thurmond, and their ilk.
As I read the aforementioned books, cringing at what humans can do to each other, one thought haunted me: what would I have done had I been a Southern white person during that time (I am actually half-North Carolina Scots-Irish WASP)? I've concluded that I probably would not have been one of the segregationist ringleaders, but certainly would not have risen to the defense of the oppressed. I probably would have (very quietly) supported their cause, but not done anything to jeopardize my comfortable middle-class lifestyle (see the quote below). Certainly Northerners were no better than Southerners when it came to desegregation; recall the Boston busing "incidents" of the 1970s.
Another thing also amazes me: how much the Southern poor whites ("poor white trash") and blacks had in common. Both were horribly oppressed, but skillful politicians kept the poor whites riled about the "uppity Negroes". If the two groups had united, there would have been hell to pay.
I do have a few interesting memories about that period, as I was a student in Virginia (College of William and Mary) from 1966-1970. One stands out. Just after I arrived in Virginia, Sen. Harry F. Byrd died - he was the scion of the infamous Byrd (members of the FFV) political dynasty in Virginia, and the whole state mourned his death. What I remember most about that time is the characterization of Byrd by a local columnist:
"Never was there a man who so dragged his feet through the sands of time."
Here is a humorous memory. I played alto saxophone in the W&M marching band, and we had been engaged to provide entertainment at the Southern Governors' Conference (in Williamsburg or Jamestown). While we stood in formation, who should start darting among the band members, fiddling with the music and instruments and being a nuisance? It was none other thanLester Maddox, newly-elected segregationist governor of Georgia. He finally asked our band director, Charles 'Chuck' Varner, if we knew Dixie, and if so, could we play it? Varner, annoyed by all of Maddox's antics, calmly but firmly said, 'No, Governor, we don't have the music for it but we would gladly playMarching Through Georgiafor you. Maddox stopped, scowled fiercely, and then darted off whence he came. Way to go, Chuck!
"I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." ~ Martin Luther King, Jr., 28 August 1963
"That's part of American greatness, is discrimination. Yes, sir. Inequality, I think, breeds freedom and gives a man opportunity." -Lester Maddox
Here's a postcard that friend Frank Colvario sent out to former North Bennet Street Schoolcaddies from the following camps: Maplewood, Lake Tarleton, Clauson's, Wianno, and Oyster Harbors. We'd like to expand our list, so if you know a former caddie, please let Frank know. If you did not get this card, let Frank know. His email is fcolvario@MONSQUARE.COM
Below are just some of the people we seek....I'm there. Go to 'Ma' LaBonte in the middle and count three to the left - that's me! You can click on the picture to enlarge it.
Even if you can't go to the reunion, let him know so we can toast you in September and keep you updated. Click on the graphic below to enlarge it.
See you in September!
"I'm kind of comfortable with getting older because it's better than the other option, which is being dead. So I'll take getting older." - George Clooney
Hard to imagine that my 'baby sister' should be turning 63 today. Yes, today would have been my younger sisterAnn Campana Judge's 63rd birthday had not five Saudi Arabians - not Iraqis, not Afghans - murdered her on 11 September 2001.
She and colleague Joe Fergusonwere on American Airlines Flight 77 escorting three middle-school students and their teachers to Los Angeles for a field trip sponsored by their employer, the National Geographic Society. They were to meet up with a number of other students and teachers to visit the Channel Islands.
It's not hard for me to imagine what she might have looked like today: not much different than she did in the above photo (she's on the left; my older sister Ellen is on the right). She was one of those people who would never look her age. The photo was taken in Spring 2000.
Hard to believe that 27 years ago tonight Mary Frances and I had our first date. But it was hardly a date; more like two very good friends meeting for perhaps the last time. We dined at Marie Callender's in Reno, then enjoyedThe Princess Bride at the movie theater.
Mary Frances had resigned her post as head of the libraries at the Desert Research Instituteand was leaving the next morning for a position in San Diego. We had both been in relationships (I, a marriage) that had fallen apart. We just had a real good time for a few hours. After that, who knew?
We drifted apart. I went on sabbatical to UC-Santa Cruzin 1988-89 and left DRI for the University of New Mexicoin summer 1989. She stayed in San Diego, building a new life. But five years after that Reno date, I picked up the phone and called her. I was expecting (hoping for?) her answering machine but got 'the real thing'. We had a wonderful conversation, she invited me down in early 1993, and on 3 October 1993 we wed at Lake Tahoe (Nevada side). It's been a sweet ride lo these 21+ years.
And we both still love The Princess Bride.
"Please consider me as an alternative to suicide." -Prince Humperdinck
Great way to begin the last month of the year - a post about the evolution of my favorite mammalian quadrupeds. Elaine Hanford sent me the link to the diagram (click on it to enlarge it) and story from Earth Times.
And here is my favorite feline, Galahad (aka 'G-had'), patiently (???) awaiting lunch.
"Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose." -Garrison Keillor
What the ad forgot to mention was that World War I was such a huge waste (more so than most wars) and could have been avoided (like most wars, I suppose). It also indicates who bears the brunt of such folly, and it's not the national leaders. I recall my father, a historian born just a few months before World War I began, describing the events leading up to the start of the war and the miscalculations and stupidity of the European leaders. There was anger in his words.
James Brown makes a remarkabkle statement on domestic violence on 11 September 2014. Who would have imagined this before an NFL game, much less one involving the Pittsburgh Steelers (Ben Roethlisberger) and the Baltimore Ravens (Ray Rice)?
You go, James!
Guys, it's in our court.
"Our silence is deafening and deadly." - James Brown
I will be avoiding all the 'specials' on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Not interested in all the contrived 'linkages' between 9/11 and the guy who collects trash in Toledo who found an image of the burning Pentagon in some dumpster or the football player who has the Twin Towers tattooed on his biceps. Sorry.
My desk is littered with magazines whose covers shout features like "Where Have We Been?", "What Went Wrong?", "Are We Safer?", "Why Do They Hate Us?", blah, blah, blah, I can't read any of them. I should say I can't finish any of them.
Actually, I did read one excellent article: "What 9/11 Wrought" by Joseph Lelyveld in the current issue of Smithsonian magazine. Read it.
As much as I despise those who rained death upon us, I don't like what we have become. Xenophobes. Jingoes. Torturers. What moral authority the USA had, it's been greatly diminished.
I'm driving to Seattle today for a meeting tomorrow and Tuesday. When I had planned to drive it did not dawn on me that it would be on 9/11. Flying today wouldn't bother me, but it will be nice to be on the road for about five hours. No media folks trying to get a sound bite.
But let me give a shout-out to the first responders, many of whom made the ultimate sacrifice to save others. And Pat Tillman.
Thirteen years ago today my younger sister Ann Campana Judgewas murdered by the five men you see here.
I will always remember that these men, as well as 10 of the other 14 murderers, were Saudi Arabians. The other four were nationals of the UAE (2), Lebanon, and Egypt.
When we buy Saudi oil, some of our money goes to organizations that support these kinds of people.
We should never forget that.
A few days after 9/11/2001, a field outside the Pentagon was 'appropriated' by loved ones of the victims. We left mementos of those we lost.
Below you can see what what my niece Becky and I left in Ann's memory. The Marlboro Lights and Diet Coke should have been accompanied by a fifth (or more) of Dewar's Scotch but we exercised some good judgment - we left a Dewar's ad from a magazine. Besides, Ann would have wanted us to consume it.
I've been to the memorial thrice and it is a remarkable place. It's open 24/7.
Below are some pictures, including Ann's bench and her name carved in stone at the entrance.
In August 2009 I had a nice long visit. I sat on her bench and said "God bless!" to the other 183 murdered heroes who are memorialized, including the three middle-school students and their teachers Ann and NGS colleague Joe Ferguson were escorting to Los Angeles to join others for a field trip to the Channel Islands. It was the students' first airplane trip.
Next time I vist I'll bring some Diet Coke, a pack of Marlboro Lights, and maybe a bottle of Dewar's. Those were three of Annie's favorite things.
One thing gnaws at me: what were Ann's last moments like? Was she aware that they were going to crash? She must have - she was an experienced flyer who'd flown out of DC airports many times. She knew they were flying too fast and too low. And they were going in the wrong direction to be landing at DCA. Did she die on impact or suffer? Was she comforting the children? Probably.
Somewhat morbid, I know.
I have her effects in a box (Mary Frances had this custom-built for me) in our library - her driver's license, some business cards, etc. It's amazing how well they survived the conflagration. She was incinerated but her business cards survived.
Here is an article about the foundation I created to honor Ann.
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." -- attributed to Edmund Burke
"A little bit of irreverence is good. A lot is better." -- Ann Campana Judge
Today, in the village of Monte Vista in Honduras, villagers dedicated a library in honor of Mary Frances. It is part of the kindergarten school building, and, like the school, serves six communities in the rugged region in the Municipio of Omoa. The library serves all but will focus on the children.
The library was the villagers' idea. They know the importance of reading and knowledge and wanted their children to have a better education in a country where only a sixth-grade education is required and provided by the 'benevolent souls' in Tegucigalpa. Why give your citizens a high-school education when one half as much will do fine, thank you very much.
Amigo Rolando López will donate a computer or two. Wireless Internet? Perhaps that will come to pass.
The villagers donated 370 person-days and 95 mule-days (hauling stuff) in time to construct the library. The Ann Campana Judge Foundation used several hundred dollars left over from village water projects in the area to help purchase building materials. Mary Frances and I also made up the shortfall.
A huge celebration and program was organized by librarian-teacher Maria del Carmen Ramirez (shown below with Rolando). Students sang, performed, and put on skits. Five hundred tamales were consumed!
Maria with performers. Patronato Melvin Chávez observes from the doorway.
The library is the right door. Below is the plaque for Mary Frances in the library. The translation:
Mary Frances Campana worked in libraries in the U.S. for 35 years. She held management and information research positions in government, public, university and corporate libraries. She taught library science skills in rural California libraries and set up a library for a Panamanian environmental organization. Mary Frances also holds a Masters degree in Spanish, with a specialization in Latin American literature. Her favorite pastimes are supporting her husband Michael's work in water resources, reading and riding horses.
When one man saw her picture, he said to me, 'Su hija es muy bonita' ('Your daughter is very beautiful'). I just smiled and said 'Si'.
Great people, great library, great spouse!
"Reading maketh a full person; conference a ready person; and writing an exact person." - apologies to Francis Bacon (who used the male gender)
Friend and fellow caddy camp alumnus Frank Colvario sent me this piece from the Boston Globe.
As you know I am a veteran of caddy (also spelled 'caddie') camps in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and have fond memories and lifelong friends like Frank from those days (1958-1967).
Kevin Williams working on the course at Sankaty Head Golf Club.
SIASCONSET — Hut inspection at Sankaty Head Caddie Campbegan at 8 o’clock sharp on a bright midsummer morning. “Hats off!” barked assistant camp director Nick Riccardella as he walked through the rows of double-decked bunk beds, taking note of unswept floors and other infractions. At 8:15, a flag-raising ceremony was held in the courtyard outside.
By 8:30 a.m., most of the 54 campers were either on caddie duty at the nearby golf club or tending to chores elsewhere on the rustic campus, tucked between the 11th and 13th fairways of the Sankaty Head Golf Club on eastern Nantucket.
Not so, though, for a dozen campers who are high school juniors. They were attending a college counseling session in the camp library, learning about “reach” schools and “likelies,” engineering-major options versus liberal arts strongholds. Later that afternoon, a group of seniors would receive help with their college application essays.
At a camp founded in 1930 and long known for instructing teenage boys, many from disadvantaged backgrounds, in how to judge a putt, carry a golf bag, locate an errant tee shot, rake a bunker, and impress club members with their smarts and maturity, these training sessions are both new and necessary, according to those in charge of the facility. This is not your grandfather’s caddie camp anymore, many say, a statement that might strike several campers as literally true, their own grandfathers being proud camp alumni.
“We’re the last of a kind and, we hope, also the first of a kind,” said Sankaty Head club member and camp foundation trustee Richard Drucker in the clubhouse that afternoon.
‘It’s beyond these kids making money and finding jobs. . . . We’re preparing them better for college life and beyond.’
Already regarded as the last private-club caddie camp in the country, if not the world, the camp’s mission was reconceived two years ago. Camp trustees hired Dave Hinman, a veteran high school teacher and coach, to implement their plan. Hinman in turn has made several key changes in the program, placing greater emphasis — and scrutiny — on campers’ classroom performance during the school year while striving to build a more diverse camp community to share in the 10-week summer experience.
These changes include expanding the pool of applicants via an aggressive, Web-based outreach effort; partnering with organizations such as First Tee, which provides golf instruction and educational resources to inner-city youths; adding courses in college counseling, SAT test prep, and public speaking; and bringing in motivational speakers like New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick, a Sankaty club member.
Of this year’s group, 25 hail from Massachusetts; the rest come from 15 other states, including Ohio, South Carolina, California, and Oregon. Hinman received 100 applicants for the 17 slots available this year. Ideally, he says, campers spend three to five summers here, beginning at age 13 or 14. As they advance in seniority, they gain more authority over which golfers they’re assigned to help. The hope is they’ll form lasting bonds with specific members as well as staffers and fellow campers, bonds that often serve them well in young adulthood and beyond.
“The younger they are, the more opportunity they have to grow here,” Hinman said during a tour of the camp facility, which includes three dormitories plus separate buildings housing a dining hall, rec room, library, laundry, and shower area.
Jack Eichen (left) and other caddies man the bags during a recent round of golf at Sankaty Head Golf Club.
Campers also now have Wi-Fi coverage and other technological resources unavailable to them just a few years ago. Other traditions and rules at the all-boys’ camp — no drugs or alcohol, no social visits with the opposite sex — have been carefully preserved, however.
“It’s beyond these kids making money and finding jobs, as was the case for decades,” Drucker noted. “We’re preparing them better for college life and beyond.”
Like the camp, Sankaty Head Golf Club boasts a storied lineage, its link-style course still considered among the finest of its vintage in the world. The waiting list to join is long, the membership roll a reflection of Nantucket’s well-heeled, if rather eclectic, summer population.
Without the solid support of club members, says Hinman, the camp might no longer exist at all, a fate shared by many private-club camps that vanished from New England’s golfing landscape in the 1960s and ’70s: victims of rising operating costs and liability concerns, among other factors.
Affirming their commitment, members rushed to help rebuild the camp after a fire in August 2011 gutted the mess hall and one dorm. Camp continued more or less normally for the remainder of the summer, and the buildings were replaced during the off-season.
“You need a lot of people to buy into the idea,” Hinman said “And here you have a [club] membership that has a strong relationship with these kids and wants to keep it going.”
Make no mistake, though. The money to be made is still meaningful, and plentiful, to campers as young as 13, some of whom arrive with little or no exposure to golf whatsoever.
This year’s group can expect to earn $3,000 to $15,000 apiece in caddie fees and tips, working six days a week (weather permitting). Campers with two years’ service or more can apply for additional scholarship aid, which is awarded at summer’s end by a panel of trustees that includes former General Electric CEO Jack Welch and ex-Honeywell chief Larry Bossidy (some have likened these interview sessions to episodes of “Shark Tank Nantucket”), both longtime golf club members. More than $100,000 is handed out each year, a sum trustees say they hope to boost substantially in the near future.
Assistant camp director Nick Riccardella performs a bunk-check at Sankaty Head Caddie Camp.
Most of what the campers earn is pure profit, too. Charged a $5 daily fee for room and board, they pay only a token amount to support the camp, whose annual budget is approximately $400,000. In return comes the privilege of summering on Nantucket, making lifelong friends and networking contacts, and, yes, getting to golf on a world-class course in its off-hours.
“We’re trying to send as many through college with as little debt as possible,” explained camp foundation head Jacques Wullschleger, who along with Hinman has been instrumental in tweaking the camp’s mission and focus.
In many ways, camper Kareem Brown and staff member Ryan Collopy embody what the Caddie Camp experience was originally designed to do, decades ago.
Brown, 15, a high-school sophomore from Trenton, N.J., had never set foot on Nantucket before — or on a golf course, for that matter — when he arrived at Caddie Camp in June. He applied online after hearing about the camp through one of his father’s co-workers.
His first few days were “really tiring and stressful,” Brown admitted during a break from an intramural softball game. “When people call rank on you, it’s not the best feeling.” He also had difficulty mastering what to do, and not to do, when golfers were gathered on the putting green, he said.'
Campers gather for the morning flag-raising ceremony at Sankaty Head Caddie Camp.
However, Brown added, he’s since learned to love the camp experience, its camaraderie and teamwork, and hopes to return next summer.
Hinman says Brown’s adjustment has been fun to witness, on many levels.
After his first few days as a caddie, Hinman recalled, a club member phoned to complain — politely but pointedly — that Brown seemed lost trying to follow a struck golf ball. What could be done about this, the club member asked.
Hinman took Brown to the golf club’s practice tee and had him watch a few shots, describing what he saw. No luck. So Hinman arranged for an eye exam. Problem solved.
Collopy, 19, of North Andover is in his seventh year at camp. For the past two, he’s served as a senior staff member, running extracurricular activities and mentoring younger campers. Headed to Vermont’s St. Michael’s College in the fall, where he plans to study business, he first came to camp as a 13-year old in need of mentoring himself.
“At first there was more of a fun, summer-camp aspect to it,” Collopy recalled. Making money was important, too, he said. Equally valuable, though, have been the relationships he’s forged with club members and their guests.
“You make strong connections here,” he said. Seated next to him in the camp mess hall was Bryan Garland, a 21-year-old senior at The College of New Jersey. Garland said he switched his major from engineering to finance — and landed a plum internship at Merrill Lynch — on the advice of a club member for whom he’d caddied over several summers.
By next summer, according to Hinman, the camp will be offering courses in being interviewed for college or employment. “There’s still some tweaking to be done,” he acknowledged. “We really want to keep camp traditions alive, though. They’re too valuable to lose.”
I have previously posted a few times about my experiences at caddy camps in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and on Cape Cod, about 70 miles south of Boston, MA. My most recent posts were 26 December 2012 and 4 September 2012.
So what is this post about? Well, a reunion was held last weekend at the Maplewood Caddy Camp(MCC) site (the building still exists, is in great shape, and is occupied by a rehabilitation center) on Route 302about one mile east of Bethlehem, NH. The reunion celebrated the reconstruction of the 'Our Lady of the Fairways' shrine/memorial just outside the camp's driveway on the north side of Route 302. I regret being unable to attend - I was committed to a conference in Denver.
To finance the reconstruction, engraved bricks were sold to former campers, indicating the years they spent at MCC and other caddy camps run by Boston's North Bennet Street School. I bought bricks for my father and me.
Thanks to Fred Forte for arranging this.
"There can be no keener revelation of a society's soul than the way in which it treats its children." - Nelson Mandela
Three Dog Night? WTF? A canineophile? No, a rock band whose heyday was from the late 1960s to the mid-1970s. Four of the seven original members are still performing: singers Cory Wells and Danny Hutton; guitarist Mike Allsup; and keyboardist Jimmy Greenspoon.
Excellent show - almost 75 minutes, with all their many hits and some new material as well. They did two great versions of Mama Told Me (Not To Come): the usual, and then a hilarious rap version.
You beat a woman and drag her down a flight of stairs, pulling her hair out by the roots? You're the fourth guy taken in the NFL draft. You kill people while driving drunk? That guy's welcome. Players caught in hotel rooms with illegal drugs and prostitutes? We know they're welcome. Players accused of rape and pay the woman to go away? You lie to police, trying to cover up a murder? We're comfortable with that.
"You love another man? Well, now you've gone too far!" - Dale Hansen
This song,Waist Deep in the Big Muddy, from the Vietnam War era, still rings true today. Seeger wrote it in 1967 and it caused a fuss because it really wasn't about some military exercise in Louisiana that went awry.
I suspect the song will have a long period of relevance; there will always be big fools around.
Circle of Blue Circle of Blue uses journalism, scientific research, and conversations from around the world to bring the story of the global freshwater crisis to life. Here you’ll find new water reports, news headlines, and hear from leading scientists.
Drink Water For Life The idea is simple. Drink water or other cheap beverages instead of expensive lattes, sodas, and bottled water for a set period of time. A day, a week, a month, Lent, Ramadan, Passover, or some other holiday period.
eFlowNet Newsletter From the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) this newsletter has lots of information about environmental flows and related issues.
Sustainable Water Resources Roundtable Since 2002, the Sustainable Water Resources Roundtable (SWRR) has brought together federal, state, corporate, non-profit and academic sectors to advance our understanding of the nation’s water resources and to develop tools for their sustainable management.