My late father Earl I. Turner (1918-92) on a trip he made to the Canadian Rockies, 1982. He went by himself and had a great adventure. On the back of the photo is written in his familiar printing, “10 Peaks, Moraigne Lake, July 1982”. Dad loved dramatic scenery, maybe one of the reasons I’ve always been partial to landscapes like this one in Canada, as well as Scotland, the Southwest, and New Hampshire’s White Mountains, where I went to Franconia College.
“If the GOP wants to pick cabinet members…it should start by winning a presidential election.”-Jamelle Bouie @jbouie wapo.st/13iQ7hw
— Philip Turner (@philipsturner) January 9, 2013
Well put by Mr. Bouie in the Washington Post’s Plum Line blog, after reading about the GOP’s reaction to advance word of President Obama’s latest Cabinet appointment–naming Jack Lew Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Lew has extensive experience with the Federal budget, after lengthy stints in the Clinton and Obama administrations.
New Year’s Day I began to feel creeping over me one of the viruses that’s been forcing so many people to their beds. Day One’s utter tiredness soon morphed into a stomach bug. After three semi-miserable days, by Thursday night, Jan. 3, I was finally well enough to venture out of the apartment. I’d been building myself up to enough of a rally that I hoped I could manage at least a couple hours out in public. I was scheduled to be among the readers at a long-planned night of readings from Rust Belt Chic: The Cleveland Anthology, to which I’d contributed, “Remembering Mr. Stress, Live at the Euclid Tavern.” I’d been looking forward to it since RBC co-editor Anne Trubek asked if I wanted to be part of the event. What’s more, I’d invited friends who said they’d be there–I couldn’t not show up. Still, not feeling good yet, I let Jason Diamond, host of the reading series Vol. 1 Brooklyn know that I’d been ill and asked if he could slot me in early on the program, in case I had to bail or something. He was great about it, putting me first. I appreciated this. I used to often speak up first in classes, and have never minded being in that spot.
The reading room at Public Assembly in Williamsburg, Brooklyn was a big darkish space with rows of folding metal chairs, some upholstered benches, and lights above and behind a wide stage on one side. Jason introduced the program by revealing his geographic own roots–not Cleveland but Chicago. He said that to a kid like him growing up in Chicago–while parts of the nearby Midwest clearly identified with something: Minnesota=hockey; Wisconsin=the Packers; Detroit=the Pistons, who Bulls fans hated–about Cleveland–even less was certain. It struck me that while Chicago may have its widely reputed Second City issues, it’s always the First City of the Midwest. After Jason read the brief bio about me that I’d provided, he brought me up to the stage. As I set my talking script on a music stand next to the mic I looked out across the chairs and found I couldn’t see anything or anybody. Those lights above the stage were now all behind me, leaving me peering in to a black cavern. I was a bit unsettled, not having presented somewhere like this before. When I speak, say, at a publisher’s sales conferences, I rely on eye contact with the book reps to know how my points and pitches are landing. I had some lines in my script I hoped would prompt a few laughs, or a tear, but the delivery was going to be tricky under the circs. No problem, I thought, I know people are still sitting there, even if I can’t see anyone. With that, I launched in to the piece:.
Growing up in the hotbed of rock n’ roll that was Cleveland in the 60s and 70s, I began going to hear live music before I had even turned fourteen.
This was exciting. I could feel confidence growing in the crowd that they were going to be hearing something interesting. Their interest seemed to grow as I read and talked the piece over the next six minutes. At about the midpoint, I revealed a visual aid I had brought–my copy of the album that gave my essay its name, “Mr. Stress, Live at the Euclid Tavern.” This drew an appreciative titter from the crowd. I wrapped up with these two graphs:
In reporting this piece, I interviewed Cleveland musician Alan Green, with whom Stress played live gigs as late as 2010. He reminded me that Stress was born a minute after midnight on New Year’s Day in 1943, and was feted as Cleveland’s firstborn of the new year—a fitting birth for a bluesman if you remember bluesmen singing the lyric about the fabled character, “born the 7th son of a 7th mother on the 7th day.” Clearly, Stress had a suitable pedigree for a bluesman. Alan’s reminder that Stress had long ago been a New Year’s baby brought back a flood of rich memories from great New Year’s Eve shows when Stress and revelers raucously marked a new year and Bill’s birthday.
Living in New York City today I remain a devotee of going out to hear live music, a happy habit I formed forty years ago listening to Mr. Stress. I must add that after Rust Belt Chic was published last fall, Stress read my essay and we’ve been reunited via telephone and the Internet, after more than 25 years being out of touch. He’s very glad to see his career remembered in this book. Even with macular degeneration, he still reads voraciously with the aid of voice-enabled software. We were in touch on his birthday two days ago, his 70th, and he knows I’m presenting his story here tonight.
I felt good delivering this tribute. It was mete and right to honor Mr. Stress who warrants more homage and notoriety for having given so much to the blues and Cleveland’s live music scene over many decades. As I added for the crowd, Stress’s impaired vision may be at least partly attributable to his music-making, for he told a Cleveland Plain Dealer reporter in 2011,
“I woke up one morning and. . . I had lost a third of my vision. I’ve heard it comes from [a harmonica player] blowing so hard, you pop blood vessels. I can’t drive or get around as well. But it ain’t stopping me from playing the blues.”
As I finished I glanced up from my pages and looked into the darkness. A soft “Whew” and a whistle came from the audience, then an uprush of clapping. I was amazed at how long the applause lasted, seeming to go on for many seconds. I couldn’t have asked for a more attentive audience, or a more appreciative reception.
I was followed by six other readers, five of whom were contributors to Rust Belt Chic, all former Clevelanders, and one guest Michigander, who told a story about Detroit. It was a grand night, made grander by the boisterous crowd, easily more than 50 people–this, only three nights after New Year’s Eve–Jason Diamond‘s inspired MCing; and stellar presentations.
The order in which the seven of us read, from last to first is pasted in below, with our bios as they were provided to Jason, readers’ relevant links, and a brief note on the topics each of us presented. I made an audio recording and if I’m able, will later share my reading on Mr. Stress. I want to thank certain friends who came to the event: Bridget Marmion, of Your Expert Nation, a book marketing firm with which I am also associated ; Daniel Zitin, independent editor, and his son Benjamin; and Peter Ginna and George Gibson, of Bloomsbury Publishing (they are also colleagues with RBC contributor, Pete Beatty, who was the evening’s last reader.). Copies of Rust Belt Chic: The Cleveland Anthology were sold that night, and you can buy it too, from Cleveland-area retailers, online booksellers, and the RBC website. I urge you to support this unique expression of community literary spirit.
Meantime, if you want to read my essay pretty much as I delivered it Thursday night, please find it at the post below this one here on The Great Gray Bridge. You may also click on this link for the complete post with photos, the contributor bios and their topics of discussion.
Here’s to a good 2013. Let’s be safe, strong and support each other. It’d be great if folks could be decent to each other, even kind, solicitous, and reciprocal. Or if all that’s too much, let’s just leave other alone. As an accompaniment to my New Year’s message, here’s an image of “The Circus,” A. Logan (1874) is from the splendid exhibit about circus art that my wife and I viewed on my birthday a few months ago, on September 22. You can see more art like this in the post, Life is a Carnival. The title of that post is an homage to the song of the same name by The Band from their album “Cahoots.”
Last night in my household we listened to music from several old LPs featuring folk songs, folk themes, and original music for chamber groups and orchestra by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958), the English composer whose work I’ve listened to since I was a student at Franconia College, a student at Franconia College, when a professor there, Bill Congdon, turned me on to his music. Appropriate to the season, we heard RVW’s arrangements of “Wassail Song,” and similar songs. Not carols, exactly, but old folk songs of the season. I’m Jewish and so don’t observe Christmas, but I do love this music without reservations. RVW was part of a worldwide interest in folk idioms that also engaged many of his musical forebears and contemporaries in other countries–like Smetana and Dvorak in Hungary and Czechoslovakia; Sibelius in Finland; and Aaron Copland in the States. Like Alan Lomax in the U.S. in later decades, RVW took early recording equipment in to the field and had nonprofessional musicians sing and play songs for him, also making notes of what he was told. It should be said, that Vaughan Williams didn’t just take folk themes and rework them–he was also a bold, original composer with an edge, exhibited in such works as his modernist Fourth and Sixth symphonies.
Famously, RWV arranged and reworked “Greensleeves,” as a song, and as a suite for orchestra, and many lesser known songs with names like “The Captain’s Apprentice,” “The Lark in the Morning,” “Bushes and Briars, and “The Unquiet Grave.” His output was vast and in the years when vinyl was still the dominant music medium I bought a lot of it. When I visited London for the first time, in 1980, I bought secondhand albums, releases that were never even brought out in the U.S., such as EMI’s boxed set of his nine symphonies and other orchestral music, conducted by Sir Adrian Boult. The album covers still bear the name of the dealer where I found them, Harold Moores Records. The records I bought there all evidently came from a public or college library, because inside I found little index cards, which had noted each time a patron or student had checked out the item. On “English Folk Songs, Arranged by Ralph Vaughan Williams, with the Purcell Singers conducted by Imogen Holst” a tiny, spidery hand had recorded each of the 13 times the album was requested and played between 1963-78. A scant 13 plays in 15 years? The album was in great shape when I brought it back home, and still is. Checking the Internet, I see that Harold Moores Records is still in business on Great Marlborough Street in London.
This afternoon, we made a change of pace and have been listening to a magnificent live album, “Bob Dylan–The 30th Anniversary Concert Celebration,” the Madison Square tribute concert staged in 1992 to commemorate Dylan’s first recordings. This is a 3-LP six-sided banquet that features guest performances of 28 Dylan songs by–brace yourself, in order–John Mellencamp; Stevie Wonder; Eddie Vedder; Lou Reed; Tracy Chapman; Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash; Willie Nelson; Kris Kristofferson; Johnny Winter; Ron Wood; Richie Havens; the Clancy Brothers with Tommy Makem; Mary Chapin-Carpenter, Rosanne Cash, and Shawn Colvin; Neil Young; Chrissie Hynde; Eric Clapton; the O’Jays; The Band; George Harrison; Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers; and Roger McGuinn. The house band was Booker T & the MGs, while Al Kooper makes a key appearance on Mellencamp’s rendition of “Like a Rolling Stone.” Toward the end, Dylan steps on stage at the Garden to play 4 songs, “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding),” “Girl of the North Country,” and “My Back Pages and “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,” with McGuinn, Harrison, Clapton, Petty, and Neil. I bought my copy about 15 years ago, again secondhand, and it still sounds great, as day has slipped on toward night.
Readers of this blog may have noted my recent post, Benjamin Wheeler, September 12, 2006-December 15, 2012–RIP, about one of the children murdered last Friday in Newtown, CT, and his father, David Cole Wheeler, with whom I was a co-worker at Avalon Publishing Group from 2001-2006. When I put up that post on Saturday there was no picture yet online of young Benjamin, but I see tonight that the Wheeler family has now released a photograph of their handsome young boy, and I am sharing it here.
A full obituary has now run in the Newtown Bee:
Benjamin Andrew Wheeler
Benjamin Andrew Wheeler was born in Manhattan, September 12, 2006, and moved to Newtown in April 2007 with his parents, Francine and David Wheeler, and his now 9-year-old brother, Nate.
Ben died December 14.
Inspired by dear friends who had made the move some years before, the family found a house in Sandy Hook and a cultural, spiritual, and creative home in the rare collection of priorities and spirit that is Newtown. Since then, Francine has become a fixture in Newtown as a music educator and performer, and more broadly, as a founding member of the children’s music group, The Dream Jam Band, while David works as an illustrator and designer. Both of them are members of Newtown’s own Flagpole Radio Cafe live radio show.
Ben was an irrepressibly bright and spirited boy whose love of fun and excitement at the wonders of life and the world could rarely be contained. His rush to experience life was headlong, creative, and immediate.
He was a devoted fan of his older brother, Nate, and the two of them together filled the house with the noise of four children. He loved the local soccer program, often running across the field long after it was actually necessary, but always smiling and laughing as he moved the ball, nearly always at full tilt. He was becoming a strong swimmer and loved his lessons.
Eager to learn, he could not wait to get to school to see his teacher and his growing group of new first grade friends. Ben was also a member of Tiger Scout Den 6, which met at the Sandy Hook Volunteer Firehouse.
Earlier in December, Ben performed at his piano recital, and sitting still long enough to play one piece was an accomplishment he reveled in. He loved The Beatles, lighthouses, and the number 7 train to Sunnyside, Queens.
In a conversation with Francine before school on Friday, he said, “I still want to be an architect, but I also want to be a paleontologist, because that’s what Nate is going to be and I want to do everything Nate does.”
He will be sadly missed by his loving parents; his brother Nate; his grandparents Carmen and Annette Lobis of Garnet Valley, Penn., Ellsworth and Kay Wheeler of Charleston, S.C., and Harry Berquist of Newport News, Va.; great-grandmother Sophia Turchi of Broomall, Penn.; aunts and uncles Michael and Sheila Lobis, Anthony and Colleen Lobis, and Steven and Ann Lobis, all of Penn., Jeffrey and Dawn Wheeler of Wash., and Andrew and Jamie Wheeler of Hawaii; great-aunts and uncles James and Nancy Cole of Va., Robert Lobis of Colo., and Michael Lobis, Marianne Stewart, and Marie Turchi, all of Penn.; and numerous cousins and friends. He was predeceased by grandmother Ann Cole Berquist.
It is suggested that memorial donations be made to the Benjamin Wheeler Fund, c/o Trinity Episcopal Church, 36 Main Street, Newtown CT 06470.
The family will receive visitors at the Trinity Episcopal Church, Newtown, Wednesday, December 19, from 4 to 8 pm. The funeral will be held at the church Thursday, December 20, at 11 am. Burial will be private.
The B.C. Bailey Funeral Home of Wallingford has been entrusted with the arrangements. To leave a message of remembrance, please visit www.BCBailey.com.
—
My deepest condolences to David, Ben’s mother Francine, and their older son, Nate. Please feel free to leave a comment in space below, if you worked at Avalon with us, or would just like to say something.
A K-9 team of comfort dogs has been flown from Chicago to Newtown, CT to be available to grieving children and adults to be petted and hugged for consolation in the wake of the mass murders there last Friday. As reported by Naomi Nix in the Chicago Tribune, ten golden retrievers, including the dogs pictured here–Chewie, Ruthie, and Luther–are now in the small town, provided by Lutheran Church Charities. Nix’s story adds,
The dogs have been helpful even to those without children in Sandy Hook Elementary School . . . organizers said. “I asked [one man] how he is doing. He just kind of teared up and said: ‘This year, I’ve lost five loved ones and now this happened,’ Hetzner said. ”The whole town is suffering.“ The comfort-dog initiative first started in 2008 at Northern Illinois University after a gunman killed five students. . . . [It] was so successful that weeks later students petitioned university leadership to bring comfort dogs back to campus, Hetzner said. The initiative has grown from a handful of dogs in the Chicago area to 60 dogs in six different states, he said. Since then, the dogs have traveled across the nation to comfort people in the aftermath of major tragedies such as, Hurricane Sandy, and the tornado that hit Joplin, MO. On Monday, the dogs plan to be with Sandy Hook students for after-school activities.
Amid this tragedy, it gladdens my heart that these dogs will be in the town to be held and hugged, to give back what dogs do give, unconditional love. H/t Michael Rosenwald of the Washington Post who tweeted this earlier.
The son of a former colleague was among those murdered in #Newtown: Benjamin Wheeler, Sept 12, 2006-Dec 15, 2012–-RIP bit.ly/T1ye3x
— Philip Turner (@philipsturner) December 16, 2012