The Second Coming of The Americans

In the mid-1950's Robert Frank won a Guggenheim grant to travel the United States and document what he observed through photography. When the resulting book, The Americans, was first published in the United States in 1959 it was widely criticized, even reviled, for presenting a bleak, unflattering portrait of the nation. I was not aware of this as a child in the late 1960's when, for the first of innumerable times, I pored over my father's paperback copy. The images I saw then were compelling to me because they seemed to explain the social unrest that, it turns out, was simmering at the time he was taking them and would come to a full boil in the coming decade and which I heard so much about at home. For example, one of the most famous photographs from the book shows four bus passengers, each seated at a window; a white lady and a white boy are in the front two seats, behind them are a black man and a black woman. Frank took this picture just days after he was arrested in Mississippi and spent the night in jail, apparently for no other reason than he was a foreigner. A few weeks later, Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to sit in the back of the bus.

Today I spent much of my morning in the Metropolitan Museum exhibit devoted to Frank's The Americans. The occasion for the exhibit is the 50th anniversary of the book's publication. The occasion for my trip to the Met was a field trip for a class I teach, Shapers of the World. After setting my students loose in the Greek and Roman gallery to sketch and then embark on self-directed exploration of the museum, I self-directed myself over to the Frank exhibit. There I renewed my experience of revelation: seeing all 83 images, most original prints for use in the first edition, in sequence was powerful. In addition, the curation of the show was simple, direct, and helpful. Most fascinating, perhaps, was Frank's letter of application for the Guggenheim grant: a simple two-page statement of intent of refreshing eloquence and clarity of purpose (in the end he accomplished exactly what he proposed to do). In the letter he discusses the fact that he is a foreigner (Frank is Swiss-born and immigrated to the US as a young man), proposing that this will enable him to document the country from a perspective not available to Americans. I can relate to this as I feel much more attuned to what I am observing when I am abroad than when I am at home. No doubt, Frank's outsider viewpoint shaped the images that were initially met with hostility by much of the US public, yet it also proved more honest than its critics could admit and more enduring than they ever would have imagined.

Fittingly, in my Shapers class we just studied Plato's Allegory of the Cave, which describes society as essentially a safe haven of illusion. Only intrepid souls venture out of the cave and try to report back that the shadows on the walls of the cave are not real; however, their news is met with hostility. Plato believed that philosophers were those who sought to bring the light into the cave. My students did projects on who may be playing that part in today's society. While the topic is fresh in their minds, I will tell them about Robert Frank and show them The Americans.

Kindled

The experience of being, for once, an early adopter of new technology is proving to be more complex than I might have expected if I'd given it much thought. When the Kindle, Amazon's digital reading device - think iPod for reading material - was introduced nearly a year and a half ago, I was very intrigued, but resisted the temptation until a month ago when the second generation became available. The delay was the result of caution: I didn't want to drop several hundred dollars on something I hadn't actually held in my hands, and I didn't know anyone who had been more daring. Finally, one day in February I was on the Metro-North train to the city and saw a woman using the Kindle. When I caught her eye she knew instantly what I was interested in; it was like she recognized a kindred spirit. With great enthusiasm she came down the aisle and started showing me all the great features of the little electronic book, even encouraging me to hold it and flip through the pages. It was indeed impressive and I resolved to buy one. This decision was assisted by the fact that I had just given up driving to work and was now spending an hour every day on the train; a portable, cost and space efficient way to haul my reading material along was very appealing.
The day after my Kindle arrived in the mail I brought it to work and showed it to my colleagues and students. Some people were eager to see it; several concluded it might be a good gift for their aging parents because the font size is adjustable (this made me feel old). Others sort of kept their distance, sensing the sleek object to be a threat to their bond with the beloved book. The students, who tend to be less circumspect in expressing their enthusiasm and consternation than adults, reacted to it passionately. Some were fascinated, some - the ones in the know - made sure to share their relative expertise in what the Kindle can do (later that day one student helpfully sent me a link to a video about its many uses); but some became wistful or worried ("But I love books!"). One student started protesting, "No! No! No!" His mother works for Scholastic putting together book fairs at schools. So that was awkward. I did my best to reassure him that the Kindle is not going to kill the printed book, especially for the children's market.
In the past month, many strangers have asked me about the Kindle, mainly on the commuter line. I am so happy with it that I feel a little bit like an evangelist when I start to talk about it and demonstrate it. It is incredibly easy to use. The newspaper and magazines are downloaded the minute they are published; I can buy and start reading a book while sitting on the train. And it carries my entire library (that is, whatever I have in digital form).The only complaint I have about it is a function of one of its strengths: because the screen is not backlit like a computer monitor, it looks to the eye very much like paper; the grayscale of the display, however, loses much of its contrast in low light conditions, making it harder to read than a real book or newspaper.
There is a part of me, too, that is wistful; I used to design book covers and my family has a rich, illustrious history in book design. I like owning a bookcase, or several, filled with good books. But the Kindle isn't the end of the printed book, I believe, but just a smart, practical alternative to it, like so many other media options that have developed in recent years. And it makes so much sense that, in reality, there's no stopping it.

The Running Lady

A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of assisting Nigel on his commute to school. Our February vacations did not fall on the same week, so when I was home I would give him a ride to the train station in time for the train to Norwalk. It was in the course of this daily drive at sunrise that I noticed the Running Lady.

The first morning, while driving home from the station, I caught sight of a woman in business clothes running through this vast traffic circle. She was wearing a shoulder bag tucked under her elbow and clutching a little pink gift bag in her right hand. Her gait was hurried and she was heading in the direction of a motel on the far side of the circle. I thought, what a drag, she must have forgotten something and has to hurry back to her room, and she has to deal with navigating this horrible suburban landscape. It looked quite treacherous.

The second morning I saw her again, but further along, past the motel. Once more she was dressed in work clothes and carried a shoulder bag and the pink gift bag. She still looked like she was in a big hurry. Now I was a little puzzled. Later that day I said to Lizzy, "Have you seen the Running Lady?" Without hesitation, she said, "Yes! What's her story?" She had seen this woman several times and assumed she was going to work, and didn't give much thought to the fact that the woman wasn't really dressed for exercising. But then one morning Lizzy had to stop at the grocery store after dropping Nigel off at the station, so she was about twenty minutes behind schedule when she saw the Running Lady; only this time she was coming from the other direction. So it seemed she wasn't running to work, but rather was making a roundtrip.

The third morning, right on time, I saw the Running Lady cross a busy intersection, against the light. This time she was wearing Uggs and a winter coat that reached below her knees, but still with the shoulder and gift bags. As I drove past her, I didn't get a good luck at her face, but I could see her cheeks were pink from the effort and the cold. The whole scene, the traffic, the maze of intersections, the neon lights of the donut shops and gas stations, the early morning sky, and this little woman improbably braving these chaotic elements to go running in street clothes fascinated me. I resolved to bring my camera the next morning to try to document what I was seeing.

As expected, the fourth morning, following the Nigel drop-off, I saw the Running Lady once more. She was already past the traffic circle and the motel, heading up a quieter stretch of the road that did not match the scene I hoped to capture. Nevertheless, after passing her, I pulled into a shopping center parking lot and got out to take a picture as she ran by. An uneasy feeling came to me as I tracked her progress through my camera lens and finally pressed the shutter once, twice, three times.

Later that afternoon, after I picked Nigel up and brought him home, I showed him the pictures. He'd been hearing about the Running Lady from me all week, but hadn't actually seen her. As he looked at the photo in the camera display, I asked him, "Hey Nigel, what's weirder: the lady running in street clothes or my obsession with her?" He laughed, "Yeah, I know." So I deleted the photographs.

Since then I've learned that the Running Lady is known around the neighborhood as the Walker. Apparently, at some point she stops running and spends much of the day walking all over town.

Two Men with the Blues

Yesterday evening Lizzy and I attended the Willie Nelson-Wynton Marsalis concert at the Rose Theater at Lincoln Center. It was a terrific performance, highlighted by the guest appearance of Norah Jones, who sang lead, duet or backup on most of the numbers. The song list was both a tribute to Ray Charles, as he had recorded signature versions of all of them, and a musical arc of the emotional highs and lows of love. Between songs Wynton, Willie and Norah would banter a bit about what was going on between the lovers.

The band, consisting of Marsalis' quintet and Nelson's harmonica player, and Willie on his old battered guitar, was outstanding. As always, Marsalis was a smart and warm emcee; Lizzy pointed out how much he seemed to enjoy listening to his fellow musicians during their solo turns. Jones brought an emotional depth to many of the songs that Nelson's restrained, smooth vocals can't, thus acting as the live connection to the old Charles' recordings that inspired the concert. In particular, her interpretation of "You Don't Know Me" was truly heart-rending.

There was a swarm of HD video cameras at work documenting the show, so it is likely that it will be aired, perhaps on PBS, in the near future. I highly recommend it.

Here's the playlist: Hallelujah, I Love Her So; Come Rain or Come Shine; You Are My Sunshine; Unchain My Heart; Crying Time; Losing Hand; Hit the Road Jack; I'm Moving On; Busted; You Don't Know Me; Here We Go Again; Makin' Whoopee; I Love You So Much (It Hurts); What'd I Say. The encore was, fittingly, That's All.

For those interested, the Times reviewed the concert: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/11/arts/music/11mars.html?_r=1&scp=4&sq=willie%20nelson&st=cse