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Medium 9780253352545

Color illustrations

Bob Hammel Indiana University Press ePub

11

Health

I don’t fear death. I have no control over it other than what I’m doing now, to try to keep myself happy, content, working, not overdoing, not be too worried, do my exercises religiously, eat a reasonable diet—all these things I’ve tried to do because I don’t particularly want to give it all up. Now, if I get killed, I’ll sure as hell be mad.

—Bill Cook

On January 27, 2008, Bill Cook turned 77. That’s not a milestone in most lives, but it had significance for him. It meant he had spent more than half his years knowing he had a bad heart. “I’ve reconciled life and death pretty well,” he said. “The thought of dying has been with me since I first began having heart problems at 38. My heart is pretty well loused up. I don’t know exactly what can be done about that—I don’t think anything less than a transplant.”

That’s a possibility he obviously has considered, and decided no. “I could tolerate the surgery. And I probably could get a heart if I said I wanted one. If you have money, it’s amazing how fast a heart shows up. But I’ve made up my mind that I’d just as soon other people have it.

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Medium 9781574412734

Chapter 10 • Realization 1961

Helene LaFaro-Fernandez University of North Texas Press PDF

• 

Chapter 10  •

Realization

1961

This year Scotty was to be exceptionally busy, flying from coast to coast and places in between several times a month. The Bill Evans Trio did a New Year’s tour of the Midwest. January 17 to 29 he was back with the Ornette Coleman Quartet, which included Don

Cherry and Edward Blackwell at the Village Vanguard. They were playing opposite Nina Simone, who received top billing. A review in Variety (“Night Club Reviews,” Wednesday, January 25, 1961, page 54) was skeptical: “This Greenwich Village cellar continues its modern jazz policy with the return of Nina Simone and Ornette

Coleman, who’s split the jazz buff ranks into distinct camps of dig and don’t dig with his atonal [sic] plastic alto sax.The Ornette Coleman return precedes an eight-week assault on European jazz centers, which probably will do little to clear up the domestic controversy.1

After several catches, it’s this reviewer’s considered opinion that

Coleman’s cacophonic protest to current jazz forms has about run its string, and the group should move ahead, or maybe backwards.

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Medium 9781847777416

1969

Raphael, Frederic Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

For The triangle ABC. A knows that the house he has built, for all his ingenuity and the purity of his effort, lacks what even a competent builder, let alone an architect, would have supplied. For all the satisfaction of practical accomplishment, he has done something unremarkable, perhaps ugly. Even as he and B are spending their first night under the shelter they have made together, he suspects her of sharing his doubts. He would accuse her of them, but if his insight is to be trusted, he guesses that she has no such feelings. With a desolate sense of the rolling wave of his past thundering after him (or of his future recoiling towards him), he has to despise her for not harbouring the criticisms which would have entitled him to hate her.

Later, he is joined in a corrupt, perverse alliance with C, an undeclared pact, he imagines it, to exclude B. He thinks that C, with all the choices available to money, must have the good taste to see the ineptitudes of the cottage. And so he is powerless when C takes B, whom his glance has (at first) declared negligible, without apology. A is left theoretically (the theory being his own) liberated, disembarrassed. Poor A! He finds that he needs the love of both B and C, but he discovers this only when he no longer has either. His tears oblige him to believe that he has been faithful to both and that both have been unfaithful to him. Now he has the opportunity he has secretly craved: he can be free, inflict pain, release his powers from domestic constraint. He has no obligations. But now he needs B; oh he needs her, he wants her! On whom else can be practise his cruelty and before whom else can he dance the triumph of liberty?

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Medium 9781607321460

1. ORIGINS

Pat Pascoe University Press of Colorado ePub

Twenty years of teaching provided the skills that propelled Helen Ring Robinson into the Colorado State Senate. She became a scholar, an excellent speaker, and a fine writer, and she developed a lifelong interest in the education of young people. Though she only attended Wellesley for one year, her studies there were impressive. In the early years of her career she taught in New York and at a private school in Cleveland before coming to Colorado to teach at Colorado College. Then she taught at two private girls’ schools in Denver. When she married lawyer Ewing Robinson, her teaching career ended, but her writing career began. Drawn into a fight over a water company monopoly, she became involved in progressive political campaigns that led to her election to the state senate in 1912.

We do not have a clear picture of Helen Ring Robinson’s birth and family or of her experiences as a child and young woman. Even her birth date and her parents’ exact identities are uncertain.1 She was born Helen Margaret Ring in the early 1860s to Thomas Warren Ring and Mary Ring.2 Two biographical references contemporary with Helen’s rise to political office asserted that she was the daughter of Thomas and Mary (Prescott) Ring and was born in Eastport, Maine.3 Maine is also cited as Helen’s birthplace in several census reports, including the 1870 census.

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Medium 9780253002358

9 On the Road to Chiapas

Rudolf A. Raff Indiana University Press ePub

As 1968 bloomed, we watched in dismay the growing ferocity of the Vietnam War with the shattering surprise of the Tet Offensive at the beginning of the year, the decline of Lyndon Johnson’s hold on the presidency, and the depressing inevitability of Nixon’s election that autumn. However, my time in the U.S. Navy would come to an end early in the summer of 1969, and exciting science beckoned. One enticing new discipline bubbled up about that time from the sudden re-awakening of developmental biology: the study of how organisms develop from the fertilized egg to the adult, with the marvelous unfolding of the elaborate form of an organism from the apparently structureless spherical and homogeneous egg. I looked for postdoctoral opportunities in this new molecular developmental biology being pioneered by just a few labs. Developmental biology had made famous discoveries earlier in the twentieth century through ingenious microsurgical experiments but had languished by the 1960s because of a lack of tools to penetrate further into how embryos work. This was about to change in a completely unexpected way as genes became better understood and ways to study them were found.

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Medium 9781576754825

24: The Nobel Prize: My Mother Expected It

Lown, Bernard Berrett-Koehler Publishers ePub

The curtain is lifting. We can have triumph or tragedy, for we are the playwrights, the actors, and the audience. Let us book our seats for triumph. The world is sickened of tragedy.
—JOHN MACAULEY

MANY OF THE ACTIVITIES I have described would have been unsustainable without a respite, a break in the high tension of unflagging deadlines and looming crises. Every year Louise and I and our children and grandchildren took an August break. We escaped to a family retreat on Lake Sebago in Maine. For harried urban dwellers this was a New England version of Shangri-la, still untouched by malls and shopping kiosks. Humanity had made a perch but had not yet forced nature into submission.

We were surrounded by dense pine forests that rendered a stillness equivalent to yoga meditation. The trees, with their skyward-reaching majesty, retained a cool breeze from the huge glacier lake. Midsummer days, when the air was densely immobile with blistering heat, we were cooled by a perceptible breeze floating off the water that whispered, “Slow down. It is too hot outside to make a difference.”

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Medium 9781574412505

Part 3: Country Music Widow

Sybil Rosen University of North Texas Press PDF

44

Scavengers

T

wenty-six years after I said good-bye to Depty Dawg in Chicago, I’m wandering around a deserted graveyard outside Austin looking for

Blaze Foley’s grave. No one here can tell me how to find it; you have to let him guide you, his friends all say.

The entrance to Live Oak Cemetery is marked by a sprawling grove of ancient oaks whose leathery leaves are evergreen; they don’t fall in autumn.

Live oaks can defy the seasons for hundreds of years, and here their sprawled branches cast a dense canopy over the sun-baked Texas plain. Under the great trees, gravestones—some of them dating back to the 1800s—are nestled comfortably, tilted with time, the etching on the rough granite almost worn away.

It’s the beginning of February, a few days after the fourteenth anniversary of Blaze’s death. The weather in Austin has been surprisingly warm; only yesterday it shifted, turning cold and raw. I’ve been walking under the old oaks searching for his gravesite for over an hour, and I’m starting to shiver. Beyond the massive grove, the burial grounds open onto a barren field where neat rows of young trees have been planted. I move into the sunshine, but the wind blows unhampered here and if anything, it’s colder. The gravestones beside the smaller oaks are more recent; exposed to sun and wind, they feel forlorn, less settled than the ones whose names are no longer recorded beneath the shaded stand.

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Medium 9781576752760

CHAPTER 9: A Passion for Learning

Frick, Don M. Berrett-Koehler Publishers ePub

So my search shall bear fruit—not in final accomplishments on which I shall rest—but in ever widening horizons. My satisfaction shall derive from the contemplation of these horizons and in the satisfactions that accrue from expanding my powers to explore them. Life then is growth; when growth stops there is atrophy. The object of the quest is the capacity to grow, the strength to bear the burden of the search and the capacity to live nobly—if not heroically—in the situations that develop. 1

ROBERT GREENLEAF

They called it The Great Depression, but there was nothing great about it, at least not for most stockholders. Owners of AT&T stock, however, were the exception. There was no reason for them to expect that the company would continue paying pre-Depression dividends of $9.00 per share. In 1932, net earnings were only $5.96; in 1933, $5.38; 1934 figures were again $5.96; and in 1935, per share earnings totaled only $7.11. 2 AT&T had laid off 20% of its work force. At its most desperate time, Western Electric had 110 laid off 80% of its employees.3 Still, like clockwork, shareholders got their $9.00 per share checks from AT&T.

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Medium 9781574412000

Chapter Four: Martha Sherman

John R. Erickson University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter Four: Martha Sherman

M

other told me stories about Joe Sherman, but he always seemed a man who occupied the shadows. He died when Mother was a small child and, for reasons that remained obscure to me until many years later, his death was shrouded in mystery. When Mother spoke of that event, her voice dropped into a hushed tone that caused me to lean forward and listen to every word. She was four years old at the time, which would have placed the event in 1916 or 1917. She heard an odd sound coming from her mother’s bedroom. Alarmed, Anna Beth broke one of Mrs. Curry’s iron rules and entered the room without knocking.

Inside, she saw her mother sitting in front of her dressing table, her face buried in her hands. She was crying.

Anna Beth went to her and said, “Mother, what’s wrong?” Startled,

Mable turned on the child and screamed, “Get out! Get out!”

Mother ran out of the room, terrified and certain that something dreadful had come over the house. Later, she learned that her grandfather, Joe Sherman, had died from a gunshot wound. It was an event that brought such disgrace to the Shermans and Currys that no one in my family ever discussed it. Fifty years after it happened,

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Medium 9780253001931

3 - The Tools of the Trade

John T. Shaw Indiana University Press ePub

In September 2005, Richard Lugar gave a lecture at the Library of Congress sponsored by the John Brademas Center for the Study of Congress, a research center based at New York University. The center was beginning a lecture series to consider how Congress shapes American public policy, and Lugar and Democratic senator Paul Sarbanes were asked to give the inaugural lectures to a group of invited guests that included current and former members of Congress and congressional scholars.

Sarbanes, a former chairman of the Senate Banking Committee, focused his remarks on domestic policy, discussing the history of the Sarbanes-Oxley law that he helped write to strengthen corporate accounting standards in response to a raft of business accounting scandals. Lugar, then the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, described the various tools and techniques that individual lawmakers and Congress use to influence American foreign policy. He observed that in the foreign policy realm Congress has a mixed record, with notable failures as well as striking successes. The successes, he said, prove that Congress can be a serious player on foreign policy even though the president’s power to initiate foreign and military policies is enormous. The president can dispatch hundreds of thousands of troops around the world and negotiate agreements with foreign governments, with no need for congressional consent, at least at the outset. Congress alone can declare war, though in the contemporary world this essentially means approving the use of force at the request of the president. And Congress’s formidable budget and taxing power is usually a response to the president’s fiscal agenda. Congress’s reactive approach to foreign policy is reinforced by the modest resources allocated for staffing and research compared to the executive branch. This makes it more difficult for lawmakers to develop policies that are relevant to a complex, fast-changing world.

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Medium 9781574415056

24. End of the Gunfighters

Chuck Parsons and Norman Wayne Brown University of North Texas Press PDF
Medium 9780253352545

11. Health

Bob Hammel Indiana University Press ePub

11

Health

I don’t fear death. I have no control over it other than what I’m doing now, to try to keep myself happy, content, working, not overdoing, not be too worried, do my exercises religiously, eat a reasonable diet—all these things I’ve tried to do because I don’t particularly want to give it all up. Now, if I get killed, I’ll sure as hell be mad.

—Bill Cook

On January 27, 2008, Bill Cook turned 77. That’s not a milestone in most lives, but it had significance for him. It meant he had spent more than half his years knowing he had a bad heart. “I’ve reconciled life and death pretty well,” he said. “The thought of dying has been with me since I first began having heart problems at 38. My heart is pretty well loused up. I don’t know exactly what can be done about that—I don’t think anything less than a transplant.”

That’s a possibility he obviously has considered, and decided no. “I could tolerate the surgery. And I probably could get a heart if I said I wanted one. If you have money, it’s amazing how fast a heart shows up. But I’ve made up my mind that I’d just as soon other people have it.

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Medium 9781626566743

19 Confessions of a Tortured Man

Perkins, John Berrett-Koehler Publishers ePub

Several days later, Yamin drove me out of Tehran, through a dusty and impoverished shantytown, along an old camel trail, and out to the edge of the desert. With the sun setting behind the city, he stopped his car at a cluster of tiny mud shacks surrounded by palm trees.

“A very old oasis,” he explained, “dating back centuries before Marco Polo.” He preceded me to one of the shacks. “The man inside has a PhD from one of your most prestigious universities. For reasons that will soon be clear, he must remain nameless. You can call him Doc.”

He knocked on the wooden door, and there was a muffled response. Yamin pushed the door open and led me inside. The tiny room was windowless and lit only by an oil lamp on a low table in one corner. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the dirt floor was covered with Persian carpets. Then the shadowy outline of a man began to emerge. He was seated in front of the lamp in a way that kept his features hidden. I could tell only that he was bundled in blankets and was wearing something around his head. He sat in a wheelchair, and other than the table, this was the only piece of furniture in the room. Yamin motioned for me to sit on a carpet. He approached and gently embraced the man, speaking a few words in his ear, then returned and sat at my side.

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Medium 9780253223449

Chapter 62

Marianne Boruch Indiana University Press ePub

Chapter 62

Frances and I both slept in the living room that night, she on the couch while I hunkered down on a thin mat under blankets Emil supplied. He stood in the kitchen and said goodnight to us, sad but good-natured. I waved from the floor. Then I was trying to find my spot in that makeshift bed, something my grandmother always said one had to do with meticulous care before letting go, sinking down, past dream.

Frances was out in no time, but I couldn’t sleep. I imagined this was where Ned had sacked out too, probably right where his wife—no, his widow—lay now though I had the feeling the guy actually never slept. Still, he must have stretched out on that couch, eyes wide open or not. By most accounts, he walked around in a state of permanent undoing and awe.

There were stars. I could see them through the window, more stars than night sky, it seemed. How did humans ever manage to pick out a few, put together the constellations, coherent shape after shape, pictures that might lead to story? I remembered the line drawings in an old textbook pretending the exact moment of such invention, ragged boys with sheep looking up at the sky around 2 a.m. and pointing. Why weren’t they sleeping? Pegasus, the Great Bear, Cassiopeia easing crooked onto her lightning bolt throne. An embarrassment of riches up there, one still the heart of my favorite joke, that play on the name of a sidekick star: what did Orion say to his dog? Pause one, two, three: Are you Sirius?

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Medium 9780253010766

1 Early Roots of the Heifetz Family

Galina Kopytova Indiana University Press ePub

THE HEIFETZ FAMILY TREE includes over one hundred people across five generations and family members who now reside in the United States, Australia, Israel, Latvia, and Russia. The oldest Heifetz name preserved in family memory is that of Ilya (or Elye), Jascha’s paternal grandfather, who was born around 1830. Two photographs of Ilya survive in the personal records of his descendants; one is an individual portrait, and the other a group photograph featuring Ilya, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. With one photograph now located in Russia and the other in the United States, these two unique, symbolic documents unite the Heifetz clan across the world.

According to family legend, Ilya Heifetz worked as a teacher (melamed) in a Jewish boys’ school (cheder) and lived with his large family in Polotsk, a provincial city in the western Russian province (guberniya) of Vitebsk, which is now part of Belarus. The surviving family group photograph dates from the late 1890s, when Ilya was well over sixty and his wife, Feyga, was no longer alive. An earlier photograph from the 1870s shows Jascha’s father, Ruvin, as a child, with his mother and grandmother, and is stamped, “Novo-Alexandria (Poulavy).”1 Novo-Alexandria was the name of a settlement in the Lublin province located on the bank of the Vistula (Wisła) River, seventy-five miles from Warsaw. Formerly known as Puławy, the city was renamed Novo-Alexandria in 1846 after a visit by Empress Alexandra Fyodorovna, wife of Tsar Nicholas I. It functioned as an important trade center between Russia, Austria, and the Baltic region, and reverted to its former name, Puławy, in 1918. By the end of the nineteenth century, Novo-Alexandria had experienced a large influx of Jewish settlers; about 2,500 of its 3,500 residents were Jewish.

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