HALLOWEEN 1960

(Can this really be more than half a century later?)

1960 was the year of the Kennedy–Nixon Election. I, of course, supported Richard Nixon. I was still too young to think for myself. I came from a strong Republican background. Bob Rich— my maternal grandfather, for whom I was named – after all, had been a Republican member of the House for almost two decades. Furthermore, "Experience Counts!" John Kennedy was nothing but a young whipper-snapper!

In typical fashion, I overplayed my enthusiasm. I wish I had a photograph of it!! For the Halloween parade at Steele Elementary School, I went as a Nixon supporter. No jest intended. I wore black pants with 'NIXON' in white adhesive tape up one leg, and 'LODGE' on the other, an 'N' on one shoe, an 'L' the other, campaign buttons on my sleeves, and a sandwich sign with Nixon-Lodge campaign posters. I carried two other double-sided mounted posters on wooden sticks and, of course, wore a Nixon boater hat with extra buttons on the band.

I was crushed when Nixon lost.

(How quickly …and soundly I changed!)

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On April 18, 2007 I listened to NPR, and at the end of an obituary for Kitty Carlisle Hart, as she sang Smoke Gets in Your Eyes during the credits, I recalled the autumn of my sophomore year in New Haven. Yale Glee Club conductor Fenno Heath’s secretary was a strikingly elegant blond soprano named Judith (I think), a student in the Music School, and had the female lead in a local production of Roberta at a High School near East Rock. I went to see her in the show. Her principal song was Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. I remember talking with Judith occasionally— particularly the morning after the 1968 election. We were horribly depressed that Nixon had won. Judith commented, however, that maybe it would work out for the best since Nixon evidently wanted the job so badly. (Fenno’s Glee Club office in Hendrie Hall had a moody bust of Sibelius, which I thought rather curious, since Sibelius had been out of favor for several decades. Now, of course, he’s considered one of the greats of the Twentieth Century).

Anyway, on Saturday night 04/21/07 I went to a small, local Spizzwink(?) alumni get-together at Perry’s on Union Street. After a fine lunch with Adam K at the Rotunda in Neiman-Marcus and a too-short nap with Rose and Rupert, I really wasn’t up for the evening—especially with the downpour. I got a taxi with a cell-phone-chatting Asian cab driver, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to the weather conditions, or the traffic. So I was grateful when I managed to get there alive.

On leaving my flat, I had picked up my copy of the Spizzwink(?) song book from 1971. When I opened it I came across a notation on the back of a sheet of music: “Latest Harris Poll H 43 N 40” The night before the ’68 election, it had looked as though Humphrey would win! Devin, one of the newer alums and a graduate student in Poly Sci at UC Berkeley, was fascinated to hear that. He said that it showed you couldn’t depend on polling data then. Of course, 2000 demonstrated that even if Humphrey had received 43 % and Nixon 40 %, that alone would not necessarily have guaranteed election victory for either one.

(Check out my 10/02/08 posting : October Surprise 1980 (1968) for more comments on the ’68 election.)

By the way, the Spizzwink(?) dinner was great fun! I went to our Ninety-Fifth Anniversary Reunion in New Haven two years last April with my friend Mary Ellen.

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In 1993 I met former President Nixon at a rehearsal for the Low Jinks during the summer encampment at the Grove. I introduced myself as Rob Bell, Robert F. Rich Bell, grandson of Congressman Robert F. Rich, who had served in the Congress with Nixon in the late forty’s and early fifty’s. Nixon said “I remember Bob Rich. He always asked: ‘Where are we going to get the money?’”* To his friends nearby Nixon exclaimed: “I knew this man’s grandfather!!” (This was Nixon’s first and last visit to the Grove after his resignation. For years he had been persona non grata in the Club, and not welcomed to the summer encampment.)

I was impressed – that he would remember after all these years. A few months later I learned from my nephew Sheridan, that Nixon had been at the embassy in Beijing about six months before, and when asked by my nephew –visiting his Dad at the embassy—if he remembered Congressmen Rich, Nixon admitted that he did not. So either Nixon’s memory was jogged by my nephew’s question, or he went back and researched his files. (The internet wouldn’t have been so friendly in 1993. There was no Google.) Either way, it’s still impressive.

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* One thing about my grandfather: he may have been very stingy with the people’s money, but he was extraordinarily generous with his own.

Post Birthday Dinner with Justin and Adam

Tonight I'm taking Adam and Justin to the buffet at the Olympic Club in downtown San Francsico. I can only do this in August when my club is closed. The picture shows Justin last night at his birthday dinner with Adam at Zuni's.

PIMM'S & ASCOT revisited

Image:eclipse-newmedia.com/Portals/13/2008_05_16-PimmsCup.jpg

Before dinner tonight with my good friend Adam Kozlowski on the third anniversary of our friendship, I had a Pimm's at Cortez one of our favorite restaurants. Tasting the Pimm's reminded me of horse races. Below is a reposting of one of my first from last September.

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Early last May 2008, I flew to Philadelphia for my second Point to Point steeplechase in Wilmington, Delaware at Winterthur, one of the DuPont estates with  a wonderful American furniture collection. This was only my fifth horse race. All have been specialty races.

The first two were at Ascot in 1987 and ’88. They weren’t Royal Ascot, but instead the Diamond Stakes sponsored by DeBeers in honor of King George VI. Because of that, Dennis figured the Royal Family would attend—and he was right. We paid extra to be in the Reserved section next to the Royal Enclosure. Queen Elizabeth, Prince Phillip, Charles and Diana and the Queen Mum were sitting only a few hundred feet from our seats. Anne, the Princess Royal, rode and won one of the races. I shouldn’t have been surprised—but as the English drive cars in the opposite direction— they run horse races clockwise, rather than counter clockwise as we do. When Anne won, we followed the crowd to the paddock to watch the Queen award the prize to her daughter. Elizabeth II was wearing a handsome yellow silk outfit with matching hat. Dennis remarked how the Queen was perfectly at ease and adjusted her belt just like anybody else. Why not? We had the mandatory Pimm’s cup and spent a glorious afternoon at Ascot.

The next summer we returned for the same race. We walked by the Queen Mum’s stately Daimler with its sterling silver Lion hood ornament. Because of our experience the previous summer, I knew to go to the paddock to watch the Queen award the prize after a race. In my attempt to stride ahead to get to the paddock to watch the Queen I nearly had a very close encounter with her Britannic Majesty. All of a sudden two-well dressed men grabbed me & pulled me aside. They must have seen that I was looking several hundred feet ahead to the paddock, and that I didn’t notice that the Queen and her Lady-in-Waiting were roughly four feet in front of me. Elizabeth II is rather short and I was stretching my neck to look over her head. This was before 9/11 and I wasn’t even interrogated. No doubt today I’d be taken away.

My New Blenheim Cavalier Puppy ~ RENZO

Just four weeks from today, my new red-and-white Blenheim Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy, Renzo, will arrive from New York City with my nephew Sheridan and his wife Sylvie. They're flying out for a family wedding in Tahoe that weekend. Renzo's currently with the breeder, Mary Louise Gregg, from whom I found Rupert and dear Rose. ML now lives near Newville, Pennsylvania, where my Mother spent her last years at Green Ridge Village. She had previously lived in Dillsburg, PA where my Mother spent many happy years on the golf course. S & S will pick up my new little guy the weekend before, and he'll spend a few days with them in their new apartment in Manhattan near St. John the Divine.

There are four color varieties in the breed: Blenheim, Tri-Color, Ruby, and Black-and-Tan. I've had all four at different times, but only three at the same time. With Renzo I'll be lacking only a Tri-Color. But I have wonderful memories of Lord Dundee and Elizabeth Lady St. Albans (named by Dennis).

I was going to name my new puppy Roger. (It had to start with an 'R' so we would then be 4 R's.) But my friend Adam objected and suggested Renzo instead. Dennis would have approved since it's Italian. :-) The photo above is not Renzo; but from having seen pictures of his champion parents, I think it's probably a decent likeness.

Photo:courtesy A.Kozlowski

"SOUVENIR" at ACT

"They may say I can't sing,

but they can't say I didn't."

Florence Foster Jenkins

February 13–March 15, 2009

by Stephen Temperley

Directed by Vivian Matalon


"The remarkable Judy Kaye (Sweeney Todd) returns to A.C.T. in the outrageous Broadway role that earned her a Tony Award nomination. A fresh, original adventure, Souvenir imagines the story of real-life Florence Foster Jenkins, a New York socialite and tone-deaf diva who thought she was a great soprano. Broadway's brilliant Donald Corren plays her wry accompanist, who chronicles Florence's unlikely rise to cult status, culminating in an infamous sold-out Carnegie Hall performance. A heartfelt, wickedly funny look at the limits of self-perception and the unpredictable nature of friendship." (Courtesy of ACT website)

My friend Adam and I went to one of the final performances of "Souvenir" last Friday. It was one of the funniest shows I've seen in years. Adam said it was the funniest live show he had ever seen. We laughed and guffawed...even snorted at times...then cried and cheered!

I had had my doubts that two actors could pull off a two hour show by themselves. Happily I was mistaken.

Because I was reading a book instead of the program notes, I only glanced cursorily at it, and thought at first that the accompanist was Edwin McArthur. I was quite surprised, because he had been Kirsten Flagstad's vocal coach and accompanist and was a friend of my Father's. He also was the conductor of the Harrisburg Symphony, in which I played 'cello for a season before moving to San Francisco.

It turned out that he HAD been Florence Foster Jenkins accompanist, but was fired by her because he couldn't keep a straight face. That made me feel a lot better about him. But it was strange that he had played for her at all. It reminded me of my late W & J Sloane customer/friend, Miriam Cameron, who had been the personal assistant to Sally Rand, the fan dancer, back in the Thirties. Miriam was rather straight-laced. But I guess, people do what they have to... especially in a Depression!

SWAN LAKE at San Francisco Ballet

Tonight my friend Adam K and I saw San Francisco Ballet's new production of "Swan Lake."

World Premiere

Composer: Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Choreographer: Helgi Tomasson after Marius Petipa

Odette/Odile: Vanessa Zahorian

Prince Siegfried: Ruben Martin

Since his last triumphant production of this revered classic debuted over 20 years ago, Helgi Tomasson is proud to unveil a spectacular, all-new production of Swan Lake. Set to one of Tchaikovsky’s most beautiful scores, this completely restaged ballet features elaborate new scenery and costumes by critically acclaimed European designer Jonathan Fensom.

It was wonderful in every way. Adam particularly loved the music. The new sets and costumes are splendid...and the dancing was magical! 

The First Act had an imposing Palladian gate with a broken pediment. It was architectually stunning. The Second and Fourth Acts were set with a massive basalt rock formation, which reminded me of my brief visit to the Black Sea when I visited Umur in Istanbul a year ago last September. Above it was an impressive full moon, also featured at the center of the divided curving staircase in the Third Act. In addition the sets were greatly enhanced by creative projections. 

The costumes were beautifully coordinated in subtle and appropriate hues. The period was the early 19th Century just before the time of Tolstoy's War and Peace. The program notes mentioned that some of the adults were dressed more in the style of the late 18th Century. That was probably true of Prince Sigfried's mother -- slightly anachronistic, but very elegant.

The heart of the production, of course, was the music of Tchaikovsky, Tomasson's choreography and the splendid dancing. The Corps de Ballet was superb. Vanessa Zahorian and Ruben Martin were absolutely marvelous together.

Swan Lake was the last ballet Dennis ever saw before we left for Venice three years ago. That was on a Friday night. I returned by myself that Sunday to stand for the matinee to see Gonzalo Garcia dance the role of Prince Siegfried. He is one of my favorite dancers. Gonzalo is now in New York. I miss him a lot, as I'm sure most of the San Francisco dance community does as well!

SAN FRANCISCO BALLET PROGRAM 1

Program 1

Prism

Composer:

Ludwig van Beethoven

Choreographer: 

Helgi Tomasson

Diving into the Lilacs —New!

Choreographer: Yuri Possokhov

The Four Temperaments

Composer: Paul Hindemith

Choreographer: George Balanchine

The season begins in full grandeur with Diving into the Lilacs, a world premiere by Yuri Possokhov, along with the return of Helgi Tomasson’s critically acclaimed work Prism and George Balanchine’s timeless neoclassical masterpiece The Four Temperaments.

Last night my friend Adam K and I went to San Francisco Ballet's Program 1. It was such a pleasure to attend! Artistic director and choreographer Helgi Tomasson has made San Francisco Ballet one of the preeminent dance companies in the world.

I have conflicts with ACT for two ballet programs. I'll have my friend Craig at work exhange the ACT tickets for Wednesday, my old subscription night. It's actually his subscription. But he bought a condo and has me keep his seats warm to retain his priority until he can afford them again. Craig was also responsible for getting me my ballet subscription. He knows the ins and outs of ticketing. The seats just to the left of mine are double the price. But the view from mine is just fine, particularly with binoculors. I like to see the dancers' faces.

Photos:sfballet.org

HARVEY MILK'S SUIT

Phot0/castrovalues.com

While waiting tonight for my friend Adam K to join me for an early dinner at Brandy Ho's, a stylish Chinese restaurant on 18th Street in the Castro, I went to the GLBT Historical Society on Castro Street, the former location of a franchise camera shop. That it had been a camera shop reminded me of Harvey Milk, since his own shop had been just up the street.

The San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus celebrated its 30th anniversary last year. I remember when they returned from their first tour of the Midwest... I think sometime in 1980. When they got off their bus at 18th and Castro, they all acted like Pope John Paul II returning to Poland. One at a time, they got on their knees and kissed the pavement in the middle of the intersection! 

The displays inside the Historical Society are rather sparce; but there were some interesting items, mainly old photographs, pamphlets, posters, book covers, etc. There was even a marriage certificate from 2004 that looked just like Dennis' and mine. 

The most powerful display or relic was Harvey Milk's suit, shirt and shoes worn the day of his assassination, November 27, 1978. (Please refer to my posting 11/27/08 "Thirty Years Ago.") The scruffy brown shoes with broken shoe laces show that Harvey had priorities other than fashion. But the coat was the main point of interest. It had at least four bullet holes. And the white shirt looked brown at first glance from all the dried blood. I crossed myself and waited in silence for a few minutes.

GOODBYE 2008 and WELCOME 2009!

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Tonight my friend Adam K and I will have an early dinner at Garcon, one of our favorite French restaurants in my neighborhood. We probably won't see midnight, but no doubt I'll be awakened by the fireworks, or more likely fire crackers.

What a year it's been... with the meltdown of the stock market, collapse of housing and mortgages... general economic uncertainty. It makes me grateful to have a government job! And who, one year ago, would have predicted the election of Barack Obama? At least now there's a chance for intelligent and creative approaches to the myriad problems we face both here at home and around the world. To quote Lynn Cheney (of all people): "The adults are in charge again!" Onward to the inauguration!

So my best wishes for a healthy, prosperous, invigorating, creative and peaceful 2009!

We three R's: Rupert, Rose and Rob

CHRISTMAS EVE 2008

They let us out from work at 2:30 yesterday afternoon, so I was able to sing the 4:00 service of Lessons and Carols with a 3:00 p.m. rehearsal call before taking Adam to dinner last night. 

The Midnight Mass was full to the brim. Dean Alan Jones-- about to retire next month-- is somewhat still the consummate showman. To illustrate his point that Christmas represents dreaming and expectant longing, he had a boy from the choir sing White Christmas somewhere in the nave or possibly from the rear gallery, while artificial snow fell on the high altar from the crossing. It was reminiscent of the Easter Vigil poppy fall, when heat from the many candles surrounding the high altar causes paper poppies left over from Veterans' Day to rise and drift down like isolated autumn leaves. Whenever I go, it's the high point of the Easter Vigil for me. 

The new bishop is still a creative composer when singing the liturgy. I doubt that he'll ever be able to change. He just doesn't hear it. At least, he speaks very well. 

I'm up only to feed my dogs, then back to bed, before returning to Grace Cathedral for a 10:00 a.m. rehearsal and 11:00 service. 

To think that Dennis and I used to celebrate Christmas after the Midnight Mass with champagne, oysters, cold lamb chops, grilled asperagus, and a special dessert, then open our presents, play with the dogs, and go back to bed before rising for the morning service! We were a lot younger then!!

CHRISTMAS EVE 1972

Sometime in the late autumn of 1972— when I stayed at home in Harrisburg, Central Pennsylvania to help my parents get re-settled after the flood of Hurricane Agnes– my father's friend and older assistant pastor, Wallace J. Cummings died. I don't recall the exact circumstances of his death, but I do remember his funeral.

Following my reflexive, spontaneous remarks from the pulpit the Sunday after Christmas 1969— a traumatic time in my life— when during a student-led service I said that I hadn't been sure about my faith in God since I had been a child, but appreciated all the support I had recently been given— Pastor Cummings informed Dad that I had told a different story when I had given a talk, concerning young people's doubts about religious faith, to the Men's Bible Class at Hart's diner in Paxtang two years before.

I clearly recall that talk, and remember how I very carefully phrased and characterized my remarks as "not necessarily my own." In fact, they mostly were. But I had learned the lawyer's – or politicians trick— of plausible deniability.

At Wallace Cummings' funeral, the Grace Church Chancel Choir sang a chorus from the Du Bois "Seven last Words", a traditional Good Friday anthem at Grace Church. Most of the choir was in tears, and could barely make it through the piece. For some reason, I was strangely unaffected.

But the Sunday afternoon before Christmas, when we sang the same chorus—from the rear gallery below the marvelous Tiffany Ascension window—as part of the annual Christmas pageant, I had a delayed reaction, I guess, and blubbered throughout the entire piece.

Later that week, we had choir rehearsal in the Robert Lee George Chapel— for the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service. My father's organist, Robert Clippinger, had been there for years. He was a superb musician with impeccable technique. He never made finger errors. His entire family –wife, two sons, and a daughter, who had made extraordinary efforts to be there— and his entire choir – were at the rehearsal. Half way through a "Halleluia" from a Bach Christmas Cantata, Dr. Clippinger had a cerebral hemorrhage. He started to make mistakes, again, something he had never done in my memory. I was sitting behind him. I couldn't see his face, but he kept on playing. With almost super-human effort, he finished that piece. Then he toppled over—never to regain consciousness. He died two days later. For all practical purposes he died at the rehearsal. Think about it: an organist with his family and choir at Christmas rehearsing Bach. It doesn't get much better than that.

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Today, December 24 – Christmas Eve— is my friend Adam Kozlowski’s Name Day. Evidently it’s a big deal in Central Europe. So for the third year in a row, I’m taking him to dinner tonight. Afterwards I’ll sing the Christmas Eve service at Grace Cathedral. Have a happy Christmas! I certainly have with the miraculous recovery of my sweet, dear Rose! Fortunately my neighbors Ben and Susan will dog sit Rose today and tonight while I'm at dinner with Adam and at the Christmas Eve service.                            

Image:answers.com

BIRTHDAYS

Recently I’ve written a lot about death and funerals. So it’s a pleasant change to talk instead about birthdays. Today I had brunch with my young Hungarian friend Szilard, who turned twenty-three today. Adam K was supposed to join us, but had a bad headache. So Rupert, Rose and I walked to the Castro and sat outside at Catch to celebrate Szilard’s day. He’s going to be moving to Las Vegas soon, so it was good to see him on a beautiful autumn day here in San Francisco. I had ordered a small chocolate cake from my favorite local French bakery, Tartine, on Guerrero & 18th.

When I was off work after my heart attack four years ago, I used to take Rose and Rupert for a walk over the hill to Tartine for a hot chocolate and fresh croissant. The walk was good. I’m not sure it was such a great idea to have a croissant every day.

Two weeks ago, we three R's --Rupert, Rose & I -- attended a champagne reception at Chris Wahlgren's house the week after his fortieth birthday. Chris is our friend who owns Nomad Rugs on 24th Street near Church. Dennis used to help out there after being let go from Lang's Estate Jewelry. And Chris is very dog friendly. I've never been to a party at his place without at least five or six dogs in attendance.

Yesterday was Herb Goodrich's birthday on 10/10 (the anniversary of the rebellion that started the Chinese Revolution in 1911. Sun Yat-sen was in San Francisco on the day, a little like Lenin's being in Switzerland at the beginning of the Russian Revolution. Leaders sometimes don't start world events, they just manage and manipulate them.) Herb is a good friend and Bohemian...a fine writer, composer and director. He wrote and conducted the wonderful score for last summer's Grove Play. I called him Friday and sent him a Jacquie Lawson online card.

Tomorrow Adam and I are going to my friend Dave Jones’ fiftieth birthday celebration at the Bohemian Club. Dennis and I went to his extraordinary wedding several years ago on September 1st (my parents’ wedding anniversary) at an estate in Carmel. We were put up in a fine hotel in Monterrey for several nights. It was a wonderful affair. Dave’s wife Lissa Morgenthaler-Jones, originally from Cincinnati, really knows how to throw a party.

A First Day in PARIS

I was a weird little kid. I was somewhat knowledgeable and would have been absolutely thrilled to wander through the Louvre as an eleven-year-old. * But I didn’t visit until I was thirty. I did go to Paris for a single day when I was twenty-nine. It was the Monday after the middle weekend of my first fortnight in Britain – thirty years ago next month.

My Australian friend, Jeffrey Hardy, was living in Farnham, Surrey, and was an actor in the Michael Redgrave Repertory Theatre there. He invited me to visit. I saw him in a performance of Tom Stoppard’s play Jumpers. I recall that I stayed with him at the home of a Miss Titmarsh, and used Farnham as my base for going around England. I went as far north as Edinburgh, and had lovely days in York, Cambridge (to hear the choirs at Kings College and St. Johns), Oxford, and London, of course, for St. Paul’s, Temple Church, Westminster Abbey, and the Queen’s Chapel at St. James Palace— the National Gallery, Tate, British Museum and the V & A. I took a boat trip to Greenwich, and enjoyed a beautiful Sunday at Canterbury Cathedral.

My brother Sherry and his wife Sallie had recommended I go to Paris, if only for a day. So from Canterbury, I took the train to Dover and had a night crossing to Dunkirk and arrived in Paris early Monday morning. I didn’t take any public transportation, but walked all over the city. I had planned to do only three things for sure: visit Sainte-Chapelle, Notre Dame, and Les Invalides (Napoleon’s tomb). Of course, I did more. It was a perfect autumn day. I particularly enjoyed strolling through the Jardin Luxembourg, and climbing the Eiffel Tower as high as you were then allowed to go.

On my return to Gare du Nord, I noticed the headlines: “Jacques Brel Est Mort!” So my first day in Paris, was the first day that Jacques Brel was not alive and well and living in Paris.

A year ago July, I was in France for my nephew Sheridan’s wedding in Nantes. I spent July 4^th in Paris and most of that in the Louvre. My Polish friend, Adam, texted me, and I replied: “Here I sit in the loo in the Louvre.” Quipped AK: “So that’s how you celebrate your national holiday!”

* As an eleven-year old, I stunned our dentist neighbor from Baltimore, whose cottage adjoined ours on Pine Island on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. The Cooke family had just returned from a vacation in Europe and put on a slide show for us. Dr. Cooke proudly showed us slides of his favorite places in Italy. When he put up one particular slide from Venice, I said: “It looks like a Titian.” I don’t think I had ever seen it before. It just looked like a Titian to me. In fact it was: the Assunta (Assumption of the Virgin) in Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice’s enormous Franciscan church, where my partner Dennis currently resides in an inlaid Moroccan box underneath an enormous chest within sight of that wondrous altar piece.