ANDREA PALLADIO'S 500th BIRTHDAY

Today in 2008 is the five hundredth birthday of Andrea Di Pietro della Gondola, better known as Andrea Palladio. Clearly he got his first name from the date, St. Andrew’s Day. But his name Palladio was given to him as a young man by Gian Giorgio Trissino, a leading scholar of the time, who had written an epic poem in which he described an archangel called Palladio. Young Andrea learned the principles of classical architecture when he worked on new additions for a villa owned by Trissino, who gave the name Palladio to Andrea in an attempt to connect him with Classical times and perhaps in reference to the goddess Pallas Athene.

On our first trip together to Venice in 1987, Dennis and I took a boat tour up the Brenta canal from the Venetian Lagoon to Padua. We stopped at several villas including Villa Foscari, called La Malcontenta, which soon became one of Dennis’ favorites. We especially loved the vaulted cruciform central salon.

Of course we visited the great Palladian churches, San Giorgio Maggiore with its wonderful bell tower and Il Redentore. In fact we timed our visit to coincide with the Festa del Redentore. This festival commemorates the end of the 1576 bubonic plague that killed tens of thousands of Venetians. There was a week-long program of events leading up to the third Sunday in July. Every year, the Doge had made a pilgrimage to Palladio’s Franciscan church by way of a bridge of boats erected especially for the occasion. In late July visitors can make this same pilgrimage to the island across the pontoon bridge from the Zattere - the only time the Giudecca is accessible on foot. During the festival, there are bands, a regatta, and musical performances. The fireworks display on the final Sunday night was one of the most impressive we’d experienced anywhere. We had a perfect view around the corner from the old Custom House.

In 1997 we spent a few days in Vicenza. We even stayed at a B&B called Palladio. We had chosen it for its location near the central piazza and, of course, for its name (though it turned out, not to be very Palladian.) When I returned to Vicenza a year ago last August, it was gutted and being gentrified …and hopefully becoming a better reflection of the great architect.

(We had much better luck choosing a restaurant by its name when we were in Virginia four years ago for the Montpelier Hunt Race. After visiting the shell of Mr. Madison’s house being restored, and watching the races, we visited Barboursville winery named for Mr. Jefferson’s ruined Palladian house nearby–burned down by a Christmas tree— and then managed to get a reservation for dinner at the restaurant Palladio. It happened to be one of the best restaurants we ever experienced.)

In 1997 we visited the Basilica, Palladio’s first great civic commission in Vicenza from 1549, which established his reputation. To support a crumbling medieval structure he enclosed the older building in a new classical shell and disguised the irregularity of the window units by employing a series later called the Palladian motif. It was a three-part-design with a central arch. Palladio unified the elevation with consistent central arches, but camouflaged the irregularities by varying the widths of the horizontal side elements. (Please refer to my blog posting Palladio/Venetian Windows 9/5/08.) In August 2007 the Basilica was closed for renovations, which included a new roof.

Dennis and I also visited Palladio’s enclosed interpretation of an ancient Greek theatre, Teatro Olimpico, in Vicenza, with its extraordinary perspective and permanent architectural stage set. My friend and former Chanticleer colleague, Randall Wong, has performed on that stage in several Baroque operas.

A number of Palladio’s architectural innovations were his mistaken attempts to reconstruct ancient Greek and Roman building elements. He assumed that Greek and Roman temples were glorified versions of Greek and Roman houses. Since the temples had columned porticos, the houses must have too, even though he wasn’t aware of any surviving examples. So the wonderful temple porticos on Georgian country houses and Ante-Bellum plantations in the American South were originally based on faulty historical scholarship. How lucky for us!

Andrea Palladio is widely considered to be one of the most influential people in the history of Western Architecture. Apart from his actual buildings, of which there are relatively few in northern Italy, his influence derives more from his published treatise: Quattro Libri dell’Architettura (the Four Books of Architecture) published in Venice in 1570. Also his many drawings were bought from his student Vincenzo Scamozzi by the English architect Inigo Jones, and were later acquired by Lord Burlington. So today they are in London. (There’s going to be an extensive exhibition of Andrea Palladio at the Royal Academy of Art from January 30 through April 13, 2009.)

“Palladio's architecture was not dependent on expensive materials, which must have been an advantage to his more financially-pressed clients. Many of his buildings are of brick covered with stucco. In the later part of his career, Palladio was chosen by powerful members of Venetian society for numerous important commissions. His success as an architect is based not only on the beauty of his work, but also for its harmony with the culture of his time. His success and influence was a result of the integration of extraordinary aesthetic quality with expressive characteristics that resonated with his client's social aspirations. His buildings served to visually communicate their place in the social order of their culture. This integration of beauty and deep meaning is apparent in three major building types: the urban palazzo, the agricultural villa, and the church.

In his urban structures he developed a new improved version of the typical early renaissance palazzo (exemplified by the Palazzo Strozzi). Adapting a new urban palazzo type created by Bramante in the House of Raphael Palladio found a powerful expression of the importance of the owner and his social position. The main living quarters of the owner on the second level are now clearly distinguished in importance by use of a flattened classical portico, centered and raised above the subsidiary and utilitarian ground level (illustrated in the Palazzo da Porto Festa and the Palazzo Valmarana Braga). The tallness of the portico is achieved by incorporating the owner's sleeping quarters on the third level, within a giant two story classical colonnade, a motif adapted from Michelangelo's Capitoline buildings in Rome. The main floor level became known as the "piano nobile", and is still referred to as the "first floor" in continental Europe.

Palladio also established an influential new building format for the agricultural villas of the Venetian aristocracy. He consolidated the various stand-alone farm outbuildings into a single impressive structure, arranged as a highly organized whole dominated by a strong center and symmetrical side wings, as illustrated at Villa Barbaro. The Palladian villa configuration often consists of a centralized block raised on an elevated podium, accessed by grand steps and flanked by lower service wings, as at Villa Foscari and Villa Badoer. This format, with the quarters of the owner at the elevated center of their own universe, found resonance as a prototype for Italian villas and later for the country estates of the English nobility (such as Lord Burlington's Chiswick House, Vanbrugh's Blenheim, Walpole's Houghton Hall, and Adam's Kedleston Hall). The configuration was a perfect architectural expression of their perceived position in the social order of the times. His influence was extended worldwide into the British colonies. The Palladian villa format can seen at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello and as recently as 1940 in Pope's National Gallery in Washington DC, adapted to convey the importance of art. The rustication of exposed basement walls of Victorian residences are a remnant of the Palladian podium.

Similarly, Palladio created a new configuration for the design of Roman Catholic churches that established two interlocking architectural orders, each clearly articulated yet delineating a hierarchy of a larger order overriding a lesser order. This idea was in direct coincidence with the rising acceptance of the theological ideas of St. Thomas Aquinas, who postulated the notion of two worlds existing simultaneously: the divine world of faith and the earthly world of man. Palladio created an architecture which made a visual statement communicating the idea of two superimposed systems, as illustrated at San Francesco della Vigna.” Wikipedia

In 2003 Dennis and I had an offer from US Airways for really cheap tickets to Rome, so we decided to go to the opening of Carnevale in Venezia. My niece Allison Martin was studying at Christie’s in London at the time, and we invited her to join us in Venice. Actually, as I recall, the original offer was for inexpensive tickets to London to visit Allison, but Dennis said he’d rather go to Italy.

Before taking the train to Venice, we stayed at a large convent in the Trastevere and had dinner at a café, where I had had lunch my crazy jam-packed day in 1997 when I visited more than twenty churches, and five museums. (It had been our only free day in Rome when on a concert tour with the choir from St. Dominic’s Church in San Francisco!) In 2003 Dennis and I climbed the hill and saw the outside of Bramante’s Tempietto, (then closed) whose interior I had entered in 1997.

In Venezia we stayed again at the Artigianelli Monastery in the Zattere. We left a message for Allison and her friend at their hotel on the Lido to meet us at Café Florian in Piazza San Marco. They got the message and had already saved us an inside table when we met them.

Dennis and I brought 18^th Century costumes rented from the Bohemian Club thanks to my friend, John Blauer, head of costumes at the club. We had silk long johns to give a little substance to the clothes designed primarily for indoor productions. Allison and her friend brought costumes from London. We wore them to dinner at a restaurant next to Quadri.

We missed the official opening of Carnevale that Sunday in order to visit three Palladian villas in the Veneto. We rented a car which I drove. The tricky part was navigating through Mestre and making connections north. We first went to Villa Cornaro, where we had to make special arrangements for a private tour. We met the young lad at the Palladio Café across the street from the villa. Villa Cornaro was the inspiration for Jefferson’s original version of Monticello. It is owned by a family from Atlanta. Sally and Carl Gable have written a fascinating book about their house called Palladian Days. Then we drove to Villa Barbaro with its extraordinary frescos by Veronese and the handsome chapel, where Palladio reportedly died after falling off a scaffold. We saved Villa Emo, Dennis’ favorite, for last. It was a perfectly wonder-filled day!

Dennis and I also visited the former Roman Catholic Cathedral during that trip to Venezia. Palladio designed and supervised construction of the façade of San Pietro di Castello, which was his first commission in the city of the Lagoon. It’s not in the most convenient location, which may symbolize Venice’s troubled relationship with the Roman Church. It was only relatively recent – about one hundred years ago – that San Marco, the former Ducal Chapel, became the official Cathedral for Venice. (The original cathedral, of course, had been on Torcello. I have a story about that, which I’ll relate in a posting next February.)

I returned to Venice and Vicenza a year ago August with some of Dennis’ ashes. He’s now in six or seven locations throughout the Veneto. I also sprinkled a hand full under a rose bush in the garden at Villa Almerico-Capra, popularly known as Villa Rotunda.

My iPhone photo of rose garden at Villa Rotunda

ST. ANDREW'S DAY

Today, November 30, is Saint Andrew’s Day. He’s the patron Saint of Scotland. Supposedly he was crucified on an X shaped cross, hence the flag of Scotland is a white diagonal cross on a blue field, which is implied on the British Union Jack. There’s a graphic painting of his martyrdom at San Andrea della Valle around the corner from Piazza Navona in Rome. It’s the location of the first scene in Puccini’s Tosca and is across the street from the convent Falconieri, where Dennis and I stayed several times.

 

Last night was the annual St. Andrew’s Day Dinner and Ball celebrated by the St. Andrew’s Society of San Francisco. I didn’t go this year, but for many years Dennis and I did. I have a wonderful photo of Dennis and me and our nephew Matt Collins with our dear friend Lyle Richardson – all of us in our kilts. Matt was wearing my Dad’s Gunn tartan and I, the Bell Family tartan kilt Dennis had made for me in Edinburgh.

 

Matt was visiting us for Thanksgiving in 2004. We had dinner at our friend Deb’s as usual. The Friday afterwards Matt went with Dennis to Santa Rosa when he bought his beloved Fiat Spyder. Dennis drove the rental car, and Matt the convertible back to San Francisco. After Dennis died I gave the Spyder to Matt, who now has it in New York (though I think he keeps it at his Dad’s place in New Jersey).

 

####

 

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. I’m subbing at Grace Cathedral choir again for John Kelley, who is just returning from a European holiday, which included a few days in Istanbul. He may or may not make the Advent Procession of Lessons and Carols, since he’s scheduled to arrive only last night. So I’ll either join him or sing in his stead.

THANKSGIVING DAY

Phot0:theunquietlibrary.files.wordpress.com/2007/11/thanksgiving

The fourth Thursday in November is the official national celebration of Thanksgiving in the United States. It hasn’t always been official, nor on the fourth Thursday.

In elementary school we learned that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated by the Pilgrims in Massachusetts in 1621. But four years ago, when Dennis and I went to Virginia to visit Williamsburg, Monticello, and the hunt race at Madison’s Montpelier, we also visited some Charles River plantations, including Berkeley Plantation, which claims that honor. At this site in December 1619, a group of British settlers led by captain John Woodlief knelt in humble prayer and pledged “Thanksgiving” to God for their healthy arrival after a long voyage across the Atlantic.

Throughout the first century of the republic there were a number of Presidential Thanksgiving Proclamations, but not necessarily on a regular basis. The first was issued by George Washington on October 3, 1789.

Then in the midst of the horrors of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln on October 3, 1863 proclaimed a day of Thanksgiving to be observed on the last Thursday of November “as a day of Thanksgiving and praise.” It was almost as if things were so bad, that it was necessary to look beyond the bloodshed to discern some greater purpose.

At the beginning of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s presidency, Thanksgiving was not a fixed holiday and it was up to the President to issue a Thanksgiving Proclamation to announce what date the holiday would fall on. Most states followed Lincoln’s precedent and observed the last Thursday of November. But in 1939 there were two days celebrated a week apart. As a reaction to the Great Depression, Roosevelt decided to declare the third Thursday of November as a day of Thanksgiving. That was to give retailers an extra week of shopping before Christmas. (Of course today the Christmas shopping season starts almost before Halloween!) Most states, however, in 1939 continued to observe that last Thursday; so there were two Thanksgivings that year. (And World War II was already in its third month.)

Franklin Roosevelt observed Thanksgiving on the second to last Thursday of November for two more years, but the amount of public outrage prompted Congress to pass a law on December 26, 1941, ensuring that all Americans would celebrate a unified Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday of November every year, and that’s the way it’s been ever since. I don’t know how my grandfather Bob Rich voted, but he probably was in favor of it. Note that the vote was after Pearl Harbor, so the psychology may have been a little like Lincoln’s during the Civil War.

####

A few other countries have National Days of Thanksgiving. After observing several different dates, the Canadian Parliament on January 31, 1957 proclaimed “A day of General Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the bountiful harvest with which Canada has been blessed… to be observed on the 2nd Monday in October.”

Great Britain likewise has a “Harvest Festival” Day of Thanksgiving held every year in the month of September, on a Sunday nearing the harvest moon. I attended such a Harvest Festival Thanksgiving service at Lincoln Cathedral in 1988. The preacher that day was Neville Chamberlain’s grandson, or great-nephew.

(The week before I saw a BBC revisionist documentary on Neville Chamberlain, which put a somewhat different perspective on his blame for, and contribution to the outcome of WWII. After being burned by Hitler’s occupation of all Czechoslovakia in violation of the Munich accord, Chamberlain ordered the building of the Spitfires, which eventually won the Battle of Britain. Had war started in 1938, the Germans would have had clear air superiority. Reality is frequently more nuanced than popular perceptions.)

For the record, I prefer the British pronunciation of the word THANKS-giving. To me it seems closer to the meaning.

Anyway, have a Happy Thanksgiving!

THIRTY YEARS AGO

faculty.uml.edu/sgallagher/milk

Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of former Supervisor Dan White’s murder of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk in their offices at City Hall. Gary Murakami and I marched that night in the silent candlelight parade from the Castro to Civic Center.

I saw Gus Van Sant’s superb new film Milk at the Castro Theatre last night. It really managed to capture the time and brought back so many bittersweet memories!

I had bought two tickets online for the seven o’clock show and gave one to Tom, a tenor at Grace, but there were so many people that I never did find him. But I’m sure he went. I sat in the middle of the front row of the balcony, which is usually closed.

From my vantage point I was able to see several other acquaintances from a distance, including one who doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. But that just added to the evening’s internal drama.

The film was brilliant in so many ways: the acting, the screenplay, the direction, cinematography, music, editing. I was overwhelmed. Sean Penn, James Franco, Emile Hirsch, Josh Brolin, Diego Luna, and Alison Pill, as well as others, were simply wonderful in their roles. Sean Penn, however, was in a class by himself.

Of course, typical of me I noted several factual inaccuracies. They were perfectly fine and in no way detracted from the overall effect. I was amused, though, to see the Chapel of Grace at Grace Cathedral —with its marvelous Samuel Yellin wrought iron gates— depicted as a Roman Catholic parish for Dan White’s son’s christening. Robert Hillsborough’s name was mentioned at least twice. The movie stated he was murdered in the Castro. That’s a slight inaccuracy. I knew Robert. We were involved briefly. He was murdered at a fast food place on South Van Ness and 18th, which is the heart of the Mission and not the Castro. But that’s beside the point. His hate-murder did arouse the entire city just before the Gay Freedom Day Parade in 1977, and I went to his funeral in the full nave at Grace Cathedral, and may have even sung in the choir.

I hadn’t realized that Harvey Milk’s Hispanic lover Jack hanged himself. That was almost too much for me to take, because of the association with Gary.

Maureen Dowd’s column in the New York Times on Sunday November 23, 2006 referred to Dianne Feinstein’s involvement on that tragic day. She had discovered Milk’s body, and then was the one who announced the double tragedy to the Press, and as President of the Board of Supervisors, Feinstein succeeded the murdered mayor.

Maureen Dowd wrote:

Dianne Feinstein is not sure she’ll ever be able to watch the movie “Milk,” even though she’s in it.

There is 1978 footage of a stricken Feinstein in the opening minutes of the new Gus Van Sant biopic of Harvey Milk, her colleague on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and the first openly gay elected official in American history. (Sean Penn soars as Milk.)

“I was the one who found his body,” the California senator told me Friday, on route from the airport to her home in San Francisco. “To get a pulse, I put my finger in a bullet hole. It was a terrible, terrible time in the city’s history.”

The movie, chronicling the rancorous California fight of gay activists against church-backed forces in the ’70s to prevent discrimination against gays, is opening amid a rancorous California fight of gay activists against church-backed forces to prevent discrimination against gays.

Maureen Dowd’s entire column is worth reading.

(Please refer to my postings “Jury Duty” 11/12/08 and “California State Proposition 8” 11/6/08.)

THANKSGIVING MESSAGE REDUX

Photo/cookingeatingdurham.com

(Edited repeat of a Thanksgiving email to members of my grief-research support group in 2006.)

I've just begun the Joan Didion book, The Year of Magical Thinking. Even though I've barely started, it resonates with me already. I had been reading David Fromkin's book Europe's Last Summer: Who Started the Great War in 1914 (subject of one of their last conversations) about the same time that Joan's husband had his cardiac arrest, and for some reason it's one of the books I have on a pile to continue some day, but so far have not. And my Australian lawyer friend, Jeffrey (who stayed with me for a few months at the start of our sessions and will return in a few weeks for a few days before his return to Brisbane) had been an actor in London in the late '70's and early 80's and had had a role in the first episode of the BBC production Tenko, remembered fondly by Joan Didion. Jeffrey played a British officer, who befriended an attractive young Eurasian woman- a curious world of connections.

My last message was rather cursory, for which I apologize. I HAVE been busy, but wanted to communicate in some fashion just to say hello. It's strange though, I wrote that message early in the morning after a restless night, when I woke up a little after 4:00 a.m. I was restless and agitated without knowing why. Later I realized that it was seven months to the day after Dennis' death. He had died a little after 5:00. But the time had changed in the middle of that night, so it really had been a little after 4:00 a.m. It's amazing how the subconscious mind works and remembers!

This Thanksgiving will be the first in many years that I haven't spent the Wednesday night before cleaning cracked crab for Dennis to make his marvelous crab cakes. It traditionally was the first course at Thanksgiving dinner with a table full of friends. My job was just to prepare the crab. I'd clean my hands very thoroughly and sort the crab at least five times. After the third sort I'd think I was done, but then I'd always find a few tiny shards of shells and give it one more sort and inevitably find one more. You need bare fingers to feel it. Then Rose and Rupert would get to lick my fingers. It was a special treat for them. For many years we had Thanksgiving dinner at our friend Deb's place. We'd return the favor at Christmas. Last year Dennis just wasn't up to hosting dinner at home so we had dinner both times at Debbie's. Next Thursday I'll return to Deb’s with my sister Julie and brother-in-law Tom from New Jersey on their way to Hawaii. I'll bring some wine and two carving sets. Dennis had always sat opposite Deb and carved the turkey. Tom or I may do it this year. I've asked Debbie to come back to my place for Christmas. No doubt she'll help out. She makes amazing salads.

The last time Dennis had dinner with friends in our dining room was just after his elaborate liturgy of last rites the week before he died. Joan from Seattle came down. My nephew Matt was in town. Deb of course, was there. And our priest friend, David Sheetz, performed the most amazing service based on various traditions. Afterwards we had a formal dinner. Dennis had especially wanted cracked crab and roasted asparagus. He sat in his wheel chair at the head of the table and conducted the conversation in his own masterful, ironic style.

Even though I won't be making crab cakes this year, I thought I'd get a cooked whole crab for dinner this Wednesday. Then Rose and Rupert can again enjoy licking my fingers. At least one-half of a tradition will be maintained.

Tonight to the Opera; tomorrow, the Symphony; Sunday, dinner with friends; Monday, taking friends to dinner; Tuesday, ACT; Wednesday, cracked crab at home with the Cavaliers.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving. As difficult as it seems at times, we all have a great deal for which to be thankful. I certainly am for you.

####

This year–2008—I’m returning to Deb’s for Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve invited my cousin Clae and friend Juling from Starbucks. Tom and Julie invited me to go to dinner in New Jersey, but I don’t have the time or money to get away. I almost always work the Friday after Thanksgiving. Having been in retail for many years, the last thing in the world I would want to do is to go shopping at Union Square on Black Friday. I would just as soon go to my regular job and allow others to have the day off.

THE GAME ~ November 23, 1968

Frank O’Brien/Kino International

Sport was not listed as one of the various subjects of this blog. But occasionally, even I will delve into the topic, particularly when it has an historical or personal connection. When I started my freshman year at Yale College in the autumn of 1967, Yale hadn’t had a claim to football glory for at least several decades. We asserted that we were above it all, and didn’t care. Of course, that attitude lasted just until we had a winning team.

I recall one torchlight parade up Hillhouse Avenue to President Kingman Brewster’s handsome brick Georgian-style mansion (a re-facing of an earlier staid Victorian). It was just before the Princeton game in 1967 (or was it ’68?).  Our team had had a great season. President Brewster stepped out of his front door, held up a large naval orange, squeezed it, spiked it, and stomped on it, and then proclaimed: “Fuck Princeton!!”  The crowd went delirious. I was rather shocked. (Prude that I was, it took another two and a half years for me to utter that crude Anglo-Saxon expletive even to myself— and that was at the prompting of a psychiatric nurse.)  But this is an example of how even Yalies of my era picked up football fever. That’s one reason why the Yale-Harvard Game in 1968 was so traumatic. I didn’t go to The Game in Cambridge, but many of my friends did, and I clearly remember the anticipation before and the somber brooding afterwards.

A new documentary about The Game opened in New York on Wednesday. I can’t improve upon the review in the New York Times, so I quote it below.

Back in 1968, When a Tie Was No Tie

By MANOHLA DARGIS

Published: November 19, 2008

For most of the world, I suspect, the year 1968 signifies upheaval, revolution, power to the people, Vietnam and My Lai, Paris in flames, Martin and Bobby, Nixon versus Humphrey. Another great rivalry played out that year in the form of a college football game. And while it seems absurd to include such a picayune event in the annals, the filmmaker Kevin Rafferty makes the case for remembrance and for the art of the story in his preposterously entertaining documentary “Harvard Beats Yale 29-29,” preposterous at least for those of us who routinely shun that pagan sacrament.

True gridiron believers doubtless know every unlikely, heart-skipping minute of this showdown. (The schools, like some others, honor their football rivalry with vainglorious capitalization, calling each matchup The Game.) On Nov. 23, 1968, the undefeated Yale team and its two glittering stars — the quarterback Brian Dowling and the running back Calvin Hill — went helmet to helmet against its longtime rival, Harvard, also undefeated. Mr. Dowling, a legendary figure whom grown men still call god (and the inspiration for Garry Trudeau’s Doonesbury character B. D.), had not lost a game he started since the sixth grade, a record that well into the fourth quarter, with Yale leading by 16 points, seemed safe.

Everything changed in the final 42 seconds as all the forces of the universe, or so it seemed, shifted and one player after another either rose to the occasion or stumbled with agonizing frailty. Gods became men as the ball was lost and found and one improbable pass after another was completed. In front of the increasingly raucous packed stadium, each play became an epic battle in miniature with every second stretching into an eternity. As in film, time in football doesn’t tick, it races and oozes, a fact that Mr. Rafferty, working as his own editor and using the simplest visual material — talking-head interviews and game footage — exploits for a narrative that pulses with the artful, exciting beats of a thriller.

What’s most surprising about this consistently surprising movie is how forcefully those beats resonate, even though you know how the story ends from the start. (Take another look at the coyly, cleverly enigmatic title, borrowed from the famous headline in The Harvard Crimson.) One reason for the excitement is the game, of course, which remains a nail-biter despite the visual quality of the footage, which is so unadorned and so humble — and almost entirely in long shot — it looks like a dispatch from a foreign land. And in some ways it was: Football fans still wore raccoon coats to games and the women in the stands cheering for Yale could not attend the college. The same month, Yale announced it was (finally) opening that door.

This history helps explain why there are no women here, at least in close-up. “Harvard Beats Yale 29-29” is very much about men, triumphant, regretful, defiant, sentimental, touchingly vulnerable men who are made all the more poignant with each image of them as young players. For some, the game was and remains the greatest moment of their lives — even better than sex, one volunteers, prompting Mr. Rafferty to ask off-camera if the man had then been a virgin (no). Mr. Rafferty, himself a Harvard man, films his subjects (Tommy Lee Jones, a Harvard lineman, included) with a lack of fuss in plain kitchens and cluttered offices. He lets them roam around their memories and, for a time, gives them back sweet youth.

As reviewer Manohla Dargis alluded to, Garry Trudeau’s comic strip Doonesbury started in the Yale Daily News and featured B.D., Brian Dowling, our star quarterback. Running back Calvin Hill actually had a decent football career after Yale, while Brian Dowling’s legacy remains in the annals of New Haven and on the comic page.

LOLA MONTES

rialtopictures.com

This afternoon I went to the matinee at the Castro Theatre to see the restored film Lola Montes (French spelling). If you read my first blog postings back in September you would know that I have had a particular interest in Lola Montez, especially her California connection.

Max Ophüls’ 1955 “Lola Montès” was a box office flop, butchered by its producers, then restored as much as possible by producer Pierre Braunberger in 1968. And, now, 40 years later, his daughter Laurence has overseen a superb state-of-the-art restoration. Ophüls’ last film and first in color is the most baroque of his sumptuous period pictures – and to many critics, his greatest.

It is framed by a fictional device, an elaborate circus, in which a dying Lola (Martine Carol) participates in a series of tableaux dramatizing her scandalous career as an internationally popular Spanish dancer with a notorious private life. Montèz was actually born Eliza Gilbert in 1821 in Ireland, the daughter of a British soldier who died of cholera in India, leaving his daughter at the mercy of her cold, calculating mother. Headstrong and disillusioned, Eliza, admiring the freedom and passion of Spanish dances, takes to the stage as Lola Montèz.

If Lola was known more for her affairs than her dancing ability, Carol was known more for her glamour than her acting talent. The producers thrust Carol on Ophüls, but he turns Carol’s clear striving to do her best into an expression of Lola’s determination to live life as she pleases while underneath actually longing for love and security. With typical boldness, she lands it at last as the mistress of King Ludwig I of Bavaria (a dashing Anton Walbrook), but her notoriety threatens a revolution.

As the circus ringmaster, Peter Ustinov is the ultimate showman, stylish and ruthless, literally cracking a whip, wresting the last centime out of the fading Lola, but his remark that “she gave her body but kept her soul” reverberates through the film. By the end, she’s attained the transcendent spiritual dignity of Mizoguchi’s Oharu.

The film doesn’t deal with Lola’s American adventures, which included a two-year stay in a Grass Valley cottage, where she dreamed of being crowned queen of California but more constructively guided the young Lotta Crabtree into becoming one of the country’s most beloved entertainers. Lola turned to religion and died poor in New York at the age of 42 – Martine Carol herself died at 46.     Kevin Thomas  Los Angeles Times 10/08/08.

Peter Ustinov (with whom I share a birthday) is superb as the circus ringmaster in the opening and closing scenes reminiscent of the recent Rock Musical Moulin Rouge (or should I say the influence came from the other direction). A young Oskar Werner (later the doctor in the thoughtful film Ship of Fools and the hero in Fahrenheit 451) plays a Bavarian student who rescues Lola from the mob at the time of the 1848 Revolution.  

One of my few disappointments with the film plot is that it severely truncates Lola’s time and influence with Ludwig I in Bavaria. It seemed as if she had been there only a few weeks or months at most, when in fact she virtually ruled Bavaria for several years. (Refer to my Blog posting “California’s Connection to Wagner’s Ring Des Nibelungen” 09/07/08.) This leads to my other frustration, that there was no mention of Lola’s two years in Grass Valley, California during the Gold Rush. Her tragic comedown is made abundantly apparent, however, with her depicted humiliation in the circus.

Lola is somewhat effectively portrayed by Martine Carol, Franz Liszt by Will Quadflieg and King Ludwig I by Anton Walbrook. The sets –frequently surreal— are ravishing, and there were several nice touches, including a fleeting but accurate view of a model of Ludwig’s Bavarian Maiden in his first scene with Lola in the royal library. One possible anachronism was Lola’s portrait being painted while sitting in a sleigh. I’m certain that sleigh was made for Ludwig’s grandson, Ludwig II, a few decades later.  

The scene before, leading to the portrait's painting was utterly charming. King Ludwig wanted to find a painter for Lola’s portrait and interviewed a number of artists in the palace studio. As he examined the various paintings, his repeated question was: “How long did it take you to complete what you’ve already done?” He ended up choosing a rather inferior painter, who had taken the longest time. Clearly he just wanted Lola to remain in Munich.

DALLAS ~ NOVEMBER 22, 1963

Photo:PBS.org

Forty-five years ago, in the autumn of 1963, I was in ninth grade. I had Miss Mildred Brown again as homeroom teacher for the third year in a row. She was a rather plain looking geography instructor. But I guess she liked me. For citizenship she gave me an A double plus. That's really rather embarrassing.

My brother Sherry (Sheridan) was a senior at Princeton. For his junior year thesis, he had written a paper on Laos and Vietnam.  Sometime when I was in elementary school, Sherry had suggested a future career for me.  I should go to Princeton, of course, major in Arabic studies and become an expert in petroleum. This was 1960 or 1961. Today, Sherry doesn't recall suggesting that to me, but it was rather prescient for the time. Needless to say, I didn't do any of that. Although, for years I did have my heart set on going to Princeton for undergraduate studies. 

Senior year, Sherry escorted Madame Nhu (the Dragon Lady) and her very attractive daughter (who later died in a Paris motorcycle accident) around the Princeton campus.  This was just before the coup, which toppled the Diem regime in early November.

Friday November 22 started as an ordinary day. In second year Latin class with a severe Miss Halbert –while we were translating Julius Caesar's Gaul Commentaries— Miss Halbert started fiddling with the radio. As murmurs arose, she snapped at us:  "For your disorderly information…... the President has just been shot!"

The class went into an uproar. Students screamed and sobbed. But we went on to the next class, typing, I believe. Finally, an announcement came from the Principal on the intercom that we were excused to go home early.

As I walked past Italian Lake, toward the Zembo Shrine Mosque, and the Scottish Rite Temple— just before the McFarland Rose gardens— my Dad came by in his Ford, looking for me and drove me home. 

Remembering the events of that weekend, I regret I didn't insist on going to visit Aunt Marg and Uncle Elmer Staats in Washington.  I should have liked to have gone to the viewing in the rotunda. Instead, like everyone else, I stayed transfixed to the television screen, and watched Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald in real time.

  

#####

  

Last evening I had dinner with my friend Adam K at Cortez, one of our favorite restaurants, before seeing the current ACT production of Jane Anderson’s The Quality of Life. It’s a beautiful play— rich with poignancy and pathos. I was very moved.  It summoned up memories of Dennis’ quiet end, and my own periodic melancholy. It’s a story of life, loss and great love… and a chronicle of survival.

JONESTOWN

Photo:cbc.ca/thehour/blog/images/jonestown.jpg 

Thirty years ago tomorrow morning I left my friend Gary Murakami’s small apartment at Pierce and California Street and walked to Geary and observed the police barricades surrounding the San Francisco headquarters of the Peoples Temple. A few members of the cult were still inside. We didn’t know what kind of local violence might now be forthcoming. The news from Guyana had come out the night before. The SF headquarters of the Peoples Temple was in a former synagogue on Geary near the corner of Fillmore.  Years later the building became a museum of exotic feather art before it was completely destroyed in a fire. Today there’s a modern post office on the site next door to the current Fillmore Auditorium.

“The Rev. Jim Jones is infamous for leading hundreds to their deaths in Jonestown. Before that horrific event, however, Jones was known as a charismatic preacher who dazzled followers of the Peoples Temple with promises of racial equality and a socialist utopia. He rose to prominence in San Francisco, becoming a politically powerful figure. But lawsuits and investigations by the press would prompt the fateful move by Jones and his Bay Area flock to the jungles of Guyana.” San Francisco Chronicle 10/17/2008

Jim Jones was now an embarrassment to local politicos. Mayor George Moscone, Assembly Speaker Willie Brown and others had given wide support to Rev. Jones over the years. Now they realized what a deranged crank he had been. The news of the murder of U.S. Rep. Leo J. Ryan and several news media personnel, then the mass suicide and murder of nearly 900 Jonestown followers was almost beyond comprehension. The entire city was in mourning, led by our mayor, George Moscone. 

Little did we know that in nine days we would be mourning him and Supervisor Harvey Milk after the double murders at City Hall!

JURY DUTY

image:globalpackagegallery.com

Continuing last week’s discussion of civic affairs, I spent the day at the Hall of Justice in San Francisco. I was called to jury duty. This may have been the sixth or seventh time I’ve been summoned. I guess after thirty-five years in SF, that’s not excessive. Come to think of it, I don’t recall how many times I’ve been called, but I’ve actually been on six or seven juries over the years. Twice I’ve been jury foreman. And all but one case reached a verdict. With the added factor that federal employees are paid their full salaries while on jury duty, there’s a decent chance I may be selected for this case provided my name is drawn for voir dire. If so, I’ll have to reschedule some Kaiser appointments for next week.

I was impressed with the two slickly produced orientation videos played for us prospective jurors. That was something new from the last time I was at the Hall of Justice.

On the whole, my experience with the jury system is a variation of Winston Churchill’s comment about democracy: that it’s highly inefficient… but better than all the other options.

Sometimes juries reach questionable verdicts. A few weeks ago my boss at work put out various donuts and sweets with coffee. Among these were packages of Hostess Twinkies. I took one, but probably won’t eat it. I took it as a souvenir. I couldn’t help but think of Dan White’s voluntary manslaughter verdict in his murder case for assassinating Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk. The defense had claimed that former Supervisor White’s mental capacity had been diminished by a sugar rush – from Hostess Twinkies!! It was called the “Twinkie Defense” in the local press.

Months later on May 21, 1979, I exited the Opera House after going to a comedy show by Peter Schickele, aka P.D.Q. Bach. The scene was surreal. Smoke was everywhere. Sirens were screaming. It seemed like dozens of police cars were on fire. The streets were packed with rowdy, violent demonstrators chased by police. The Dan White verdict had just been announced. Chaos surrounded City Hall. The reaction-riot was called “White Night.”

The thirtieth anniversary of the Moscone–Milk murders is coming up this Thanksgiving Day. Life occasionally delivers mixed messages.

All SOULS DAY TRANSFERRED

Jerusalem Cross : nextjeneration.net

Today was a day of rituals and remembrance. I went to the Mozart Requiem performed as part of the regular service at Grace Cathedral. Initially I wasn’t sure why the All Souls Day commemoration had been postponed a week; but then it made sense. All Saints Day was on Saturday November 1, but was celebrated a day later. So All Souls had to wait a week. I didn’t sing today, but I had rehearsed part of the Mozart a few weeks ago when I subbed for John Kelley, fellow Yalie and Bohemian. In any case, I wanted to hear it and had given a donation in memory of Dennis.

I thought at first to wear the suit I had worn at Dennis’ funeral, but instead wore what had been my everyday outfit on our last trip to Venezia for Carnevale in 2006. So I wore olive corduroys, a black turtleneck with the gray, rust, olive and black Harris tweed Orvis jacket Dennis had given me as a final Christmas present. Since it was chilly, I wore the Woolrich logan coat I had bought for Dennis at the company store the day we were in Woolrich for Mother’s interment. Then with a muffler, tweed cap, and Dennis’ Cartier wristwatch, I headed to BART. It was a clear, beautiful, sunny day, particularly after the rain yesterday. As Charles Agneau— the late verger at Grace Cathedral— had recommended to my Dad, I took BART all the way to the Embarcadero stop and then the Cable Car up California Street to the cathedral, rather than walking up Powell Street as is my usual custom. At the coffee shop downstairs I bumped into former Chanticleer alto Jesse Antin, who was going to be one of the soloists today. He said he hoped to do an adequate job. He was utterly superb!!

I sat on one of the stack chairs in the left front of the nave with a perfect view of the choir and orchestra in the North Transept. Els Holt, a parishioner I hadn’t seen in several years, greeted me and asked how Dennis was. She was shocked to hear that he had died two and a half years ago – embarrassed that she hadn’t known.

The altar frontal was the ivory and gold mosaic-like fabric with the Jerusalem Cross motif that former Chanticleer singer Sanford Dole had sewn for Easter many years ago. It inspired me to find the gold Jerusalem Cross pendant Dennis had given me at the time of my confirmation. I nearly threw it away by mistake. He gave it to me right after Bishop Swing blessed me. It was wrapped in tissue paper, and I thought it was for a runny nose or emotional response. Dennis had it engraved with my name, the date 28~9~86 and a reference to Psalm 46 verse 10 :  “Be still and know that I am God.”

A few days before I was confirmed, Dennis almost retracted his sponsorship. We were having a heart-to-heart theological discussion, when all of a sudden he exclaimed: “I don’t think you’re a Christian!” But he deferred until I had had an opportunity to discuss the matter with our then pastor Dr. Lauren Artress, founder of the Labyrinth project at Grace Cathedral. Lauren and I hit it off pretty well. I think her own perspective is more universal than most Episcopalians’ and is open to Hindu and Buddhist influences.

I was being confirmed at Dennis’ insistence in the first place. He didn’t think it right that I was a 'music mercenary.' If I were going to sing at Grace Cathedral, I should be a contributing member. After all he was on the Board of Trustees and the Stewardship Committee.

I have one of the few 18 carrot gold Jerusalem Cross pendants that Dennis had designed and made especially for our then Dean David Gillespie to give to the visiting Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, a few years before. In 1987 Dennis and I had a private visit with the Archbishop on the grounds of York University when we were in England together for the first time. (We had hoped we might be invited to tea at Lambeth Palace instead, but the Archbishop wasn’t in London when we were.)

Anyway, this has been a day of remembrance. The Mozart was glorious. I particularly liked the 1994 completion by Robert Levin of Mozart’s incomplete final work. Afterwards, I visited Dennis’ plaque in the North Tower Columbarium. Dennis died without knowing that I would have the space next to his. I’m still paying a monthly mortgage on my Nob Hill condo.

Last night’s concert was excellent, though I’m afraid I have to agree with S.F. Chronicle reviewer Joshua Kosman, that the Brahms Violin Concerto was fine, but not outstanding – despite the soloist Nikolaj Znaider’s Guarneri violin once owned by Fritz Kreisler. The Nielsen Symphony No. 3, however, was absolutely grand. Herbert Blomstedt certainly knows how to interpret the symphonies of Carl Nielsen.

Tuesday is Veterans' Day and my late friend Gary Murakami’s mother Toki’s birthday. Since she’s allergic to fragrant flowers, I always send her an orchid plant. Her living room is full of them.

DONIZETTI ~ WAGNER

A brief return to the Bayreuth-like acoustics of the top balcony at the San Francisco Opera: when I saw Donizetti’s The Elixir of Love last Saturday night, I was somewhat surprised and amused that Adina’s story of the elixir was actually a version of Isolde’s love potion – and was written decades before Wagner’s supreme creation, with a very different outcome, indeed!

Last year I finally joined the local Wagner Society –many years after I probably should have. I figured it’s the only way I’ll ever afford to go to Bayreuth. The year before last, my Australian friend Jeffrey Hardy looked into my getting tickets to the Bayreuther Festspiele in August before returning to Venezia with some of Dennis’ ashes. It turned out the price for a single ticket was greater than the roundtrip airfare from San Francisco to Munich! But as a member of the Northern California Wagner Society, I would actually be able to afford to go someday. Next year’s program would be ideal: Tristan und Isolde, Meistersinger, the complete Ring, and Parsifal, of course (which was written especially for that theater, and for many years restricted to be performed only there.) Alas, this year won’t be financially feasible or fit into my planned schedule! I also haven’t been a member long enough to be eligible, I think.

A few months ago at coffee hour after the Sunday morning service at Grace Cathedral, I mentioned to Dr. Jeffrey Smith, organist and choir director, that I noticed he had quite a collection of books on Richard Wagner and Bayreuth. He stopped and beamed and then began an extended discourse on the wonders of Bayreuth. He had been there a few summer’s before with his wife, who is a journalist. Almost all the Wagner operas are long – indeed endurance events for the singers and for the audience. But at Bayreuth, the operas begin in the early afternoon— with hour intermissions between acts for lunch, tea or dinner— so even though extending through-out the day, there is sufficient rest between acts for singers and audience alike to appreciate the grandeur and majesty of Wagner’s art.

At Bayreuth there are no center or side aisles between rows of seats. Instead there are separate doors for each row, I imagine a little like the doors on English trains. Dr. Smith described how at the end of each intermission, patrons silently line up in order, and then return to their seats without a sound. Whenever I go to a performance here in the States and hear hacking and coughing, particularly at quiet moments— when I conclude the audience is really only bored— I think how that would never happen at Bayreuth. Patrons who are actually sick choose not to attend. And others, who need to cough, somehow do it in a way that is totally inaudible!

Tomorrow night I go with my friend Max to hear the Brahms Violin Concerto with Nikolaj Znaider and the San Francisco Symphony. It’s one of my all time favorites!

Image: home.c2i.net/monsalvat/potion.jpg

CALIFORNIA STATE PROPOSITION 8

Sadly, but not unexpectedly, California State Proposition 8 passed by a clear majority – 52 percent to 48 percent. I say not unexpectedly, because millions of dollars from the Mormon Church poured into California for slick, misleading television ads. The purpose of Prop 8 was “to enshrine bigotry in the state’s constitution by preventing people of the same sex from marrying. The measure was designed to overturn May’s State Supreme Court decision, which made California the second state to end that exclusion of same-sex couples. Massachusetts did so in 2004. The firmly grounded ruling said that everyone has a basic right ‘to establish a legally recognized family with the person of one’s choice,’ and found California’s strong domestic partnership statute to be inadequate.” So proclaimed the New York Times editorial this morning.

It continued: “We wish that Tuesday’s vote of 52 percent to 48 percent had gone the other way. But when those numbers are compared with the 61 percent to 39 percent result in 2000, when Californians approved the law that was overturned by their Supreme Court, it is evident that voters have grown more comfortable with marriage equality.”

As I wrote on October 19 with my Blog posting Ballot Initiatives, Amendments & Taxes, the major issue for me is procedural. I think it is completely out of kilter that it takes a two-thirds super-majority to pass an ordinary California State Budget, yet it requires only a majority of a single citizen’s vote to amend the state constitution, and in this case take away a civil right. In the federal constitution, one of the major objectives of the Bill of Rights is to protect minorities from the tyranny of the majority.

A curious sidebar: although Great Britain still has no written constitution, the precedent for our own Bill of Rights came from the 1689 English Bill of Rights, a result of the so-called “Glorious Revolution” of 1688. My Schola friend, Sam Smith, referred to it as the “Bloodless Revolution,” but I would contend that name wasn’t used until after the bloody French Revolution of 1789 and particularly the “Terror” of 1793-1794. (Refer to my September 21 Blog posting Evolution of Meaning and Two Flip-Flops.)

Still, we’ve made progress. Thirty years ago we celebrated the defeat of Proposition 6, the Briggs Initiative, which would have banned gays and lesbians from working in California's public schools and came on the heels of a highly explosive conservative campaign in Dade County, Florida to repeal one of the first gay rights ordinances in the U.S. With Anita Bryant as their spokesperson, the initiative temporarily passed. I remember how thrilled we were with the defeat of Proposition 6 and celebrated with a march in the Castro. Only a few weeks later we marched again with a candlelight procession down Market Street to City Hall after the assassination of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk— and that was only days after the horror of Jonestown!

I heard on NPR this morning that there have been disruptive marches in Los Angeles in opposition to passage of Proposition 8—also, that there has been a legal filing to the California Supreme Court to overturn the ballot initiative. One had been filed before the election to remove it from the ballot, but the court decided to defer until after the election. I think there could, in fact, be valid judicial reasons to overturn Prop 8, but the State Supreme Court has now let itself be subject to even greater rightwing criticism if it rules against the ballot initiative after the fact. It would have been much cleaner to act before. Again, I strongly assert that ballot initiatives passed by a simple majority are no fair or proper way to amend any constitution!

Image:ornellas.apanela.com/.../artwork:rings.jpg

PRESIDENT-ELECT BARACK OBAMA!

Photo: campaignwindow.com

Well, my apprehensions were misplaced! Senator Barack Obama won a convincing victory, with about 52% of the popular vote – the largest Democratic margin in a generation— and an Electoral College vote of at least 349, well above the required 270. With Pennsylvania, Florida, Ohio, Nevada, New Mexico, Colorado, Virginia and even Indiana, he demonstrated a cross-party appeal he’ll need to govern in these difficult times. (North Carolina and Missouri were still in play as of this morning.) One commentator on CNN said that Obama has inherited the “in-box from Hell!”

President-Elect Barack Obama’s speech in Grant Park was somewhat subdued— perhaps in part because of the recent death of his grandmother just the day before the election— and more importantly because of the enormity of the task before him and us as a country. I believe that Senator Obama has already shown the steadiness and temperament needed for the job.

I recall how impressed my Dad was with President-Elect John F. Kennedy in 1960. Dad had not voted for him, but he was amazed that the morning after the election, Kennedy had the confidence and steadiness to shave himself with a straight razor.

The scene last night in Grant Park was so different from forty years ago at the Democratic National Convention in 1968. I had just returned from Latin America with the Yale Glee Club, and had dropped off my friend Mary Saxon at home and was invited in to talk to her parents, who were watching the riots in Chicago on TV. I ended up staying over an hour – transfixed and alarmed by the violence.

Senator John McCain delivered one of the best speeches of his life in the courtyard of the Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix. He was gracious, eloquent and spoke from the heart. (Had he only conducted himself as well during the campaign.) McCain is a great American hero and his concession speech has restored and enhanced his reputation.

(Dennis and I were in the same courtyard three years ago last month. We were in Phoenix for the installation of our Bohemian friend Carl Noelke in the Roman Catholic Order of St. John of Jerusalem. We went to a marvelous party at the Biltmore after the church ceremony. This was the last trip Dennis and I took together before our final return to Venice in February 2006. I’m still sorry I convinced Dennis to take BART to the airport instead of being picked up by SuperShuttle. I hadn’t realized how near the end Dennis was. I thought it would be faster to take BART at rush hour, but it turned out there was construction on the line and we were delayed between stations for over 45 minutes and ended up missing the flight. Fortunately, we were able to take a later one that night, but the whole experience was a severe drain on Dennis. Nevertheless, we had a wonderful time in Phoenix, and Dennis really liked the Biltmore.)

STANDING AT THE OPERA

sfopera.com

On my way to the opera Sunday afternoon, I bumped into fellow Bohemian Tim Santry, who does makeup for the Club and at the San Francisco Opera. I mentioned that I had seen Donizetti’s The Elixir of Love the night before. I said the singing was really excellent, and I loved the fixed set—though it reminded me more of New England from Carousel rather than Napa Valley as advertised. He said it seemed to him more like River City in The Music Man. I agreed. Then he commented that the star of the whole production was a white balustrade, which seemed to outshine all the singers. This afternoon I left Tim a voicemail to check out my Blog posting for September 18 about Judith and the Baluster.

Ramon Vargas was outstanding as Nemorino. (Though I prefer my recollection of Jose Carreras back in 1975— my third year in San Francisco— and well before he was struck with cancer). Inva Mula was very good as Adina, though she had intonation problems with her parallel thirds in the duet at the end of Act I. She was much improved in Act II.

That role for years was the property of Beverly Sills. I never saw her sing Adina live, but I believe it was one of her signature roles at New York City Opera. I have heard several recordings and seen some programs on PBS.

I remember the first time I heard Beverly Sills in person was as a soloist with the New Haven Symphony back in 1971 or 1972. Afterwards I was invited to a party in her honor at a music professor’s house.

Beverly Sills’ career nearly started in San Francisco. She had been selected to be the protégé of San Francisco Opera’s maestro Gaetano Merola. She was in her late teens and was to live with his family and be featured with the San Francisco Opera. She traveled cross country by train and arrived at his house, only to learn that he had died the day before! Nobody was expecting her. Beverly had only enough money to stay in a cheap hotel for several days and she survived on canned beans. Then in despair she returned home by train to New York. Her jump start career was still born. Years later, however, she concluded that it had actually had been to her advantage. Otherwise, she might have done big roles too quickly and burned out at an early age.

Miss Sills related how she had had a long career, that she had carefully paced herself in order to prolong that career, and that going forward, she wasn’t going to hold back any more, and that she expected to sing only another two or three years. About a decade later, I heard her sing I Puritani in San Francisco, and wished she had kept to her stated intention. I guess it’s really difficult to let go, especially when contracts are signed years in advance.

I met Beverly Sills and her family several times at La Traviata, an Italian restaurant in the Mission District not far from where I live. She had a disabled daughter, who was completely deaf. What a pity…she never heard her mother sing.

Tim Santry told me to look out for the Simpleton in Boris Gudonov, the matinee on Sunday. Tim said he had great hair, but you’d never know from the role.

San Francisco’s production of Boris Gudunov was absolutely superb! I stood downstairs in the back of the orchestra until intermission, and had a marvelous view of the coronation scene. For the second half I stood at the back of the top balcony. The acoustics at the War Memorial Opera House are really peculiar. The very best place to hear is standing room in the balcony. The orchestra is perfectly balanced and the singers project gloriously over the orchestra, almost like a Bayreuth acoustic, where Wagner placed the orchestra under the stage to give the singers a fighting chance to be heard.

In an attempt to economize this year (something I’m not very good at, for those who know me) I gave up my season seats at the opera. For the price of a first run movie, I can get a standing room ticket to the San Francisco Opera, and change locations between acts. For some acts you want to see the stage, and for others it’s more important just to listen. (I did keep my season subscriptions to the San Francisco Ballet, ACT, Chanticleer & a shortened Symphony season.)

Back to the production on Sunday, the three basses were simply wonderful. Samuel Ramey, Boris, is celebrating his thirtieth season with San Francisco Opera. He’s had an extraordinary career. His voice has a little more wobble than it used to, but it suited the role. His power was overwhelming.

San Francisco performed the original version as orchestrated by the composer, Modest Mussorgsky. A number of Nineteenth Century critics thought his orchestration lacking. So the brilliant version by Rimsky-Korsakov is probably performed more often today. But Mussorgsky’s appropriately dark orchestration is very effective and extremely moving.

After buying my standing room ticket on Sunday, I had two hours to occupy so I went to the Asian Art Museum a few blocks away for the Afghanistan exhibit: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul. I was amazed that so much Hellenic art had escaped destruction by the Taliban. And the gold jewelry was stunning!

"W"

Josh Brolin as George W. Bush & director Oliver Stone. Photo: latimes.com

Tomorrow is the Election!! It looks very good for Obama and the Democratic Party as a whole; but I’m still apprehensive. I can’t wait until tomorrow night for the results. (Though in 2000, I ended up watching CNN at my friend Umur’s condo in Istanbul every night I was there, and, of course, didn’t find out the results until December!)

To get in the mood for tomorrow, I went to see “W” at AMC 1000 Van Ness on Saturday afternoon. On the whole it was pretty good. It was a typical Oliver Stone format with flashbacks and time juggling throughout. Josh Brolin did an amazing job as ‘Jr.’ (The ads for coming attractions showed him as Dan White in “Milk,” and it looks as though he really got that character down too. More about Harvey Milk, Mayor Moscone, and Dan White later in the month.) Back to “W”…. I thought the scenes at Yale were somewhat exaggerated, and as I wrote in an earlier posting, nobody I knew in New Haven would ever sing the Whiffenpoof Song (reserved for the Whiffs); but then most of my friends were in undergraduate a cappella groups and may have been more sensitive about the issue than Fraternity jocks.

George W. Bush and I overlapped one year in New Haven, 1967/68 (along with Garry Trudeau). I think I recall seeing George in April 1968 on Whiff Tap Night. I know I saw Don Schollander and think that somebody pointed out George as a friend of Don’s, and as the son of the new Congressman from Texas, though my memory may be somewhat blurry on that point. (On the whole, my recollection of people and details of past events is fairly good. If only my short term memory would improve; but I’m afraid it’s only getting worse!)

I know I did sing at Bush’s baccalaureate service at Woolsey Hall just before his graduation. Among other things we sang a TTBB version of Antonio Lotti’s Crucifixus. I was back in New Haven rehearsing with the Glee Club before departing on a six week tour of Latin America.

Hillary Clinton was criticized a few months ago re: her comments about late primaries for her reference to RFK’s assassination. But I can empathize with her. I think her point was that even in June the Democratic candidate had not yet been selected. And even after the assassination of President Kennedy, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr., my initial reaction – as I sat eating breakfast at the Yankee Doodle on Elm Street – when I heard that Kennedy had been shot, was to think that he had been shot down…. that is, had lost the California primary. I didn’t want to imagine the truth… and didn’t learn the facts for another ten minutes or so. Again, I don’t think Hillary was suggesting that Senator Obama might not survive the campaign season, but that historically candidates were frequently selected late in the process. Heck, I remember when they weren’t selected until the actual convention! Isn’t that what they were for?

The rest of this past weekend was fairly cultural with two standing room tickets to the San Francisco Opera and the opening of the Afghanistan Exhibit at the Asian Art Museum. More about these in a later posting.

CONSTANTINE (continued from 10/28/08)

The Emperor Constantine seeks absolute power…with Unity of Empire, Faith and Family. Ossius wants Christianity to breathe the fresh air outside the catacombs – to be established and accepted in the open. Each uses the other as a means to his own goal. Each achieves that goal – but as is often the case in real life – gets more than he bargained for as a result of the new cliché: the “law of unintended consequences.” The scene between Ossius and Constantine just before the Council of Nicaea is the heart of the play.

Constantine:

It is essential that we deal with this Arian heresy.

Ossius:

Yes, his ideas are dangerous. Arius preaches that Jesus is our brother— that we are all brothers.

Constantine:

Exactly! If Jesus is not Divine, on what basis do we owe him allegiance? If all men are brothers, on what basis do they owe ME allegiance? Anarchy- that’s the result of his ideas. The very integrity of the Empire is at stake.

Ossius:

I agree. We need hierarchy to maintain order. An ox will submit to his yoke, if he knows who's in command-- and if there’s a dog beneath him can kick.

Recitative:

Ossius:

Things are not always

as they seem.

The DREAM was

full fraternity;

But the folly

of that ideal

has only now

become too clear.

Constantine:

We’re...

too disorganized.

It would be

totally...

impracticable.

The need...

is for

Order.

Ossius:

With recognition--

The Church has responsibilities

for Stewardship of resources.

We cannot afford

to squander Authority.

Hierarchy enhances Power--

Power for the

Greater Good.

Duet:

Would that it were different.

The Situation’s changed.

Constantine: TRUTH is an ABSOLUTE

Ossius: (Though in practice it is not.)

Constantine: Truths, perhaps, are relative.

Ossius: (Indeed, some can be bought.)

Constantine: POWER is a process.

Ossius: (A means for good or ill.)

Constantine: UNITY is our purpose

Ossius: (Meaning submission to HIS will.)

Constantine: UNITY of EMPIRE

already is achieved.

Ossius: UNITY of FAMILY --

substantially, believed.

DUET: UNITY of FAITH

is the matter here at hand.

Without IT, all may crumble...

to blow away like sand.

UNITY, UNITY!

(C): One EMPIRE, (O): One EMPEROR!

(C): One FAMILY, (O ): One FAITH!

Duet: Our DREAM is Salvation (Subjugation)

for the whole Human Race.

Constantine:

Good friend, I would like you to chair this Council on my behalf.

It is of utmost importance that we reach consenus. Above all--Unity.

Constantine puts on his crown and an elaborate robe and leads Ossius to the main stage set up for the Council.

Soldiers with swords drawn flank the entrance for the procession of Bishops.

At the beginning of that scene, each of the two main characters has already accomplished most of his principal goals. Constantine has absolute power in a unified empire (after his son, Crispus, had won a great naval victory in the Hellespont, where he defeated the superior fleet of Licinius, Augustus in the East). Ossius is a bishop in a recognized and powerfully established Christian Church. But here is the fatal flaw— hubris. Constantine’s quest for Unity had three elements: Empire, Family and Faith. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” The operative word is foolish. Consistency in itself may be a noble goal; but the word ‘foolish’ implies an unreasonable consistency. By imposing conformity at the Council of Nicaea and excommunicating those with whom they disagreed – by being exclusionary with people and texts – Constantine and the Church cut themselves off from collective wisdom. Selecting four Gospels may appear to be balanced; but prohibiting other writings is a foolish consistency. Arius may indeed have been a heretic and worthy of excommunication. It is clear to me, however, that the Church has not had a monopoly of those seeking truth. Further, it appears that some of the most profound thinkers have been rejected and persecuted by institutions. The classic example is Jesus.

In the play, the character Arius is one of my heroes. His view is that Jesus is a great man, and not a deity. His song is one of the few that I chose to write in a regular –almost sing-song – rhyme scheme… largely because the historical Arius was known to preach in such a style. I called Arius’ piece “Heretic’s Song.”

(Dennis didn’t like that title and preferred the first line “Jesus is our Brother” and thought the theology expressed in the lyrics was actually fairly mainstream. I’m not so sure. In any case, as he lay dying, Dennis asked me to play Robby’s song— and along with The Bach unaccompanied 'cello suites— was one of the last things he heard. Dennis also requested that my recording be played during communion at his funeral at Grace Cathedral. The sound person at the Cathedral, however, got a mixed signal and didn’t play the CD at the right time. I had to get up and go back to the sound booth more than halfway down the nave to ask her to begin. But it probably turned out for the best, since then there wasn’t the clicking sound of high heels and shuffling of feet during communion).

Jesus is our Brother

He teaches us the way

To reach our heavenly Father

By learning how to pray.

Note well, he says OUR Father

Not merely his own.

To be a model for us mortals

What good is a God alone.

Oh yes, Jesus is our Brother,

Jesus is our Brother,

Jesus is our Brother

But more than this

Jesus is our Friend!

Jesus is our pastor

A shepherd to his flock.

Not only is he master

But paschal lamb; take stock

Of what he offers

A means so we’ll atone—

Be one with God creator

Round an inward heavenly throne

For the kingdom is within you

The kingdom is within you

The kingdom is WITHIN YOU

And through the end

Jesus is our Friend.

Our Brother Jesus

Is our Friend!

The tragedy for Constantine in terms of the play is that by insisting on complete unity in matters of faith, he depends more completely on Ossius’ corrupted, incomplete wisdom. Arius is truer to the ideals expressed by the younger Ossius in his song “Blessed are the Poor” but Arius is excommunicated and his writings banned. So complete unity of faith leads eventually to disunity of family and the tragic execution of Crispus. Therefore, the Fausta/Crispus story in part four is a necessary dramatic consequence to the scene at the Council of Nicaea.

The main external villains are the anti-Christian Emperor Maxentius, defeated by Constantine at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, and his sister Fausta – Constantine’s second wife – who plots the downfall of Crispus, Constantine’s heroic, virtuous son. The Crispus/Fausta story is based on legend. What is clear is that Constantine ordered the execution of both. For my play, I chose to adapt a variation of the Greek myth about Hippolytus & Phaedra, that is: the virtuous son, who rebuffs the sexual advances of his step-mother, and is then jealously accused by her of rape. Constantine learns the truth too late, after his son is already executed on his command. Fausta is then crushed beneath shields as in Richard Strauss’ opera based on Oscar Wilde’s Salome.

No doubt one of the most controversial elements of this play is my choice of Sophia as the name of the third part of the Trinity. It may sound like New Age or feminist jargon. I believe, however, it is correct historically that it was not until the latter part of the Fourth Century (two generations later than the events of the play) with the translation of the Bible and liturgy from Greek to Latin by St. Jerome that spiritus sanctus acquired its masculine character. In Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, and other Middle Eastern languages, the equivalent word is feminine. Hagia Sophia, Justinian’s great church is Constantinople, does not mean Saint Sophia, but Holy Wisdom. And so I have used the names Holy Wisdom and Sophia interchangeably as the third part of the Trinity, which gives a rather Zen-like balance to the concept.

The play ends as it began— with Constantine’s baptism on his deathbed. In death Constantine is finally reconciled to his executed son, Crispus. The anachronistic, bejeweled Byzantine angel from the vision the night before the Battle of the Milvian Bridge returns and stands in benediction above a kneeling Constantine and Crispus to form a visual tableau of reconciled Unity—a Father, Son and Holy Wisdom.

Chi-Rho image: gbgm-umc.org